The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1878-04-13
Married by Death.


the pleasant valley of Chester County,
Pennsylvania.
1t was near Chadd's Ford, and at a
beautifully romantic spot. There is
turbulent stream running between high
banks, on which stunted willows grow,
while further down, at the water edge,
the weeping variety of the same tree
dips its greenish dresses in the musical
water, which has hushed its riotous
noise to almost a requiem since the
death of George ricketts, and Mollie
Dolbell-'' as fine a young man and as
pretty a GIRL" the farmers say, " as
you will find in all Chester County,
This is how they met their death:
Mollie was one of those pink-and-
white dairy-maids that you sometimes
meet in the grazing regions of Penn
sylvania. Her hair was bonny brown,
but with just CLINT of black in it; as if
it had been touched by a ravens wing.
She was light-hearted and as merry as
the lark with which she arose, the lark
that caroled above her head as she looped
her neat dress about her enhancing
ankles, and skinned into the stone
dairy where the painted pans were
ranged in rows and the yellow pots of
butter flecked the cool water.
The trouble of Mollie was that she
had two lovers-one George ricketts,,
stalwart farm-hand, and the other Hugh
O'Donnell, a sullen, whiskered
man, employed on the small drawbridge
over Fox Run that we have spoken of.
This draw was seldom used save for a
lazy schooner that came up to get
terra-cotta pipe from mandatory
above.
The two pen knew that they were
rivals, and Mollie knew it, too, being
sore troubled as she stood, Saturday
evening before Lent, in the porch of the
house where she lived, and promised to
take ride on the morrow with George
not ride in buggy nor boat, but
a rafting ride on hand-car, practice
which is frequent on these lonely lines,
whose rails vibrate but seldom under
the crunching advance of the engine.
1t is unnecessary to describe the hand
car, that fits the rails, is worked bv a
crank and when started goes like the
wind. The car had been loaned George
by a band of laborers who were making
repairs about mile above. He had
busted it neatly, and when the pretty
girl reached him by short path
through the woods he had arranged
the vehicle so cleverly, with cushion
for Mollie, that it did not seem unlike
Cleopatra's barge. She was in her
Sunday best, and she laughed lightly
in the sunshine as George swung her
into her seat and then leaped to the
handles.
There were no Sunday trains; there
was no danger. Mollie crossed her tiny
feet, felt the eXhilaration of the move
ment, as Georges swelling arms pro-
duced the terrible momentum, and saw
her neat skirts blown about by the rush
ing wind beneath the platform. On, on
they went, the glistening rails ringing.
the bonny brown hair blown about, and
the Fox Run bridge near at hand.
On that bridge Hugh O'Donnell sat,
smoking his pipe. The draw was open
although no drifting schooner was in
sight. Some evil bird had whispered
to Hugh the Sunday trip of his rival
with Mollie. He determined on MUIR
der at once. This is the reason the
rusty draw was open, while Hugh sat
i'll his sentry-boX on the other side,
smoking his pipe and watching up the
converging lines of metal that seemed
like satin ribbons tied in bow by the
perspective.
He did not have to wait long. First
came the rumble-the far-awav sound
that dies away while it increases-and
then, swinging suddenly around curve,
the hand-car, bearing the girl he loved
and the man he hated. He drew an
other Whit of smoke and looked calmly
at the tumbril of death, with its arms
whirling wildly, since George had trust
ed to the steep grade and the appalling
acceleration he had given the machine
to accomplish the passage of the bridge,
and had sat down alongside Mollie
with his arm around her waist.
Just as they neared the draw, which
was never legally allowed open on Sun
day, he turned his head, and his face
became white. Mollie felt the chill cir
Gle her waist as his blood froze in his
arms. He sprang to his feet and tried
to seize those revolving handles, which
were only blur and a mist He
thought of throwing the girl off, but
before he could think of anything else
the car took the leap, and, as Hugh
ODonnell sat smoking in his sentry
box, he saw the upturned faces, pallid
with agony, but pressed close together,
go down with the hand-car to the deep
pools and cruel rocks of the Fox Run,
and, as he did so, he said: Curse your
and lighted another pipe.
They found him there, but mad-not
raving mad, but in that Emphatic state
of mania which is beyond reach. On
the shore below, held by the gnarled
roots of a willow, were discovered the
bodies of George and Mollic. In the
moment of death she had thrown her
arms about him, and, as the sunlight
filtered through the surging branches
and fell upon the upturned faces, they
seemed like bride and groom in the
sleep of happiness. So they were, but
Death had been the minister. Philodel-
phia Press.
Tho