The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1872-05-03

saved during his prosperity, and the
sale of his uncle's various gifts; but this
store had been spent to the last kreut.
ger, and for the last two days he had
been starving. Another year, he said,
would see him through the university,
and tit him for profession, and he i'm
plored me to give him some copying to
| do, or assist him in some other way To
make little money. Do it," he
urged, "ior my uncle Herman's sake"
| was, indeed, most willing TO befriend
him for the sake OF my Meta, his
mother, my own poor early love; SO he
came to live with us, and he and Franz
attended lectures together.
jacob never forgave me for harbor'
ing the lad, whom he hated, as bad men
always will hate the injured; he had
kept up the semblance of neighborli-
ness until then, but at that period our
final rupture took place. Gustel got on
well he is now a piarrer i'll Ziegel-
hansen, useful and respected.
Jacobs strange curse is haunting me
to-day. | have but just returned from
his funeral, and ere sleep must con-
clude this memoir. Perhaps when the
last word is written | may be able to
forget.
Jacobs end came very suddenly. l
fear me his son was no gentle nurse dur
ing the one week of his illness.
A vast concourse Of his townsmen
helped to lay Jacob in his grave beneath
the row of yew-trees called the seven
sisters, in our cemetery outside the
Friedrichs Thor. Ii is there the great
men of Gottingen all lie, each in his
narrow house, underneath his heavy
marble monument.
The tallest yew has Jacobs tomb in
shadow. There stands the hoary sister,
gaunt and grim, stretching her black
arms over the white urn, whereon she
sheds her crimson berries in autumn,
staining the marble like drops of blood,
and weeping icy tears the winter through,
which gradually wash out the stains.
Oh Jacob, Jacob is that marble urn
and your gorgeous coffin all that is left
to you of your wealth? Farewell.
am not your judge. You have entered
the presence of a higher judge, into
whose hands we must all fall at last.
:" Du Reber himmell" muttered Rath
Marquardsen, lingering the yellow man
uscript tenderly; "this man should
have been a philosopher or preacher;
he was thrown away upon the magis.
tracy"
There was note at the foot Of the
page in different handwriting, to the
effect that Franz Volkhausen had found
the above among his late fathers papers,
and had placed it with the annals of
the court house for the year 1853.
Rath Marquardsen sat meditating be-
side his stove, but his delight with the !
was fast changing into a
creeping, gristly terror, such as he never
had experienced in all his life before.
Jacobs strange curse had taken full |
possession of his imagination. He was
afraid to look up lest he should see the
old mans covetous, cruel eyes fixed |
upon him. He had horrible idea that |
if he turned around he might find him
at his elbow, or peeping at him from be.
hind the window curtain, which was
certainly moving slightly. In his un-
trepidation, the rath got up
and made an undignified retreat into |
his bedroom, looking behind him at
every step. lie tumbled into bed after
but short toilet operations, feeling safe |
only when he drew the eider.down
plumeau over his head.
But wicked old Jacob followed him |
there, and tormente him all night in
dreams. He dreamed that he proceeded |
to the cemetery at Friedrich's Thor, got |
the sexton 10 open the grave, and found |
Jacobs corpse undecayed in its velvet |
coffin; that it opened its eyes when the
light reached it, and, springirg up, |
clutched him by the throat.
He awoke trembling, with cold drops |
of perspiration standing on his face.
Falling asleep again, the vivid dream
awakened him.
Strange TO say, the impression did |
not wear off, like most Authorizations,
with the daylight, but Jacobs history
haunted him all the time he was busy |
In the courthouse, and, instead of
going home to his dinner, he went to |
his friend and crony, Prof. Won Schenk
of the college museum, and showed |
him his treasure-trove, the yellow man
uscript.
A very long discussion between these |
two erudite men Of Gottingen ended in |
their taking their hats and setting out |
for the cemetery.
Marquardsen led his friend past the |
forest of little black crosses where the |
peasants lay, to the broad alley where
reposed the great and noble, a stately |
assembly of broken columns, snowy
urns, and tall monuments. The to,nos
of those lately dead were known ere
you came close enough to read the
date of their inscriptions, by the fresh
wreaths of everlasting which loving
hands had hung upon their tombstones
last All.Souls day. Bright gardens
hourished over the breasts of those
uch-lamented ones.
The name of Winterwerb was we'll
nigh forgotten in Gottingen, so that the
rath did not dream of searching among
these for Jacobs grave. He hurried on
to where the seven old yew-trees stood
in hoary array, and there, sure enough,
was the beautiful marble urn, no longer
white, but gray and venerable after the
lapse of century.
Here it is I" cried Rath Marquardsen
in hoarse tone, that almost startled
himself. Jacob Winterwerk, who de-