The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1880-11-06

S0nOiy, oehulng over MIN, "neb-
81 81 mind, now; neber mind thinkin'
,oo9t dat. De world am full OBJ trouble
-, !" TroubleP" repeated snedekor,
IIaerulously, turning his face toward
INN "Dick, am l any trouble to your
Dla you say l was trouble?''
Lord-a-massy, no, Massa Rob; no
more n little. bit a chile! There,
onere, JUS you res little, while I gwo
ouC 1or de medicine and de gemman
warns hisself by de fire. ',....,...
Durand sat down in front of the open
nle at the opposite side of the room, and
t when Snedekor dropped asleep, VEN
tured to look around. The place was a
portion OF an attic, and had originally
peen used, as the large skylights showed,
,oy photographer. The furniture had
oeen brought together from some sec
1nu-handi dealers, and consisted of
oroKen chairs, an ancient bureau, an
once table, the old-fashioned bed in
winch Snedekor was lying, and a barn
looking wardrobe. Over the fireplace
We're three or four hanging shelves of
books, and scattered here and there on
the rough walls were many old photo
graphs OF houses, machinery, and peo-
pie, which had probably been left there
oy the former occupant. The floor was
unexpected, but scrupulously clean.
:, For an hour or more nothing broke
the stiffness except now and then the
unintelligible mutterings of Snedekor in
his sleep or the dropping of the coal
from the CRATE. Where the negro had
gone Durand could not imagine. He
looked up through the skylight at the
stars, and tried to pass away the time
In vain effort to count them; then he
watched the fire glowing and crumb-
ling and falling apart, until he was
nearly asleep. AT length, however,
the books on the hanging shelves sug-
gested to him that he might find some
thing among them to keep him awake,
and he stood up and examined them.
The most of them were scrap books,
labeled "Mysterious Disappearance, -
with the date of the year added. The
volume for 1850, the first one Durand
happened to open, was filled with clip
pings from newspapers, many of which
were introduced by headings in large
type attracting attention to something
mysterious. Durand recalled at once
the interest Snedekor had always
manifested in everything of this kind,
and he came to the conclusion, as he
went on looking into one book after an
other, that the old gentleman was either
a trife insane on the subject or else -.
1t was an odd idiosyncrasy, at all
events. In one there was an account,
which filled several pages, of a Mr..
Langham that had disappeared from
Richmond, Va, in 1858; another, taken
from the New York Herald, related at
considerable length the strange freak of
man who had disappeared under pc
,culiar circumstances in 1862, and event
ually had been discovered by his broth
er at the Battle of Antietam. Each of
these clippings was commented upon
in foot-notes here and there, in Snede-
kor's handwriting. The extract, though,
that finally stimulated Durand's curiosi-
ty sufficiently to induce him to read it
through was in the book devoted to the
year 1865. His attention was drawn to
it particularly by the numerous marginal
notes that Snedekor had supplied in
connection with it. One was: 6. Pshaw I!
what nonsense! The motive was not,
as here stated, to evade anybody or any
thing; but, rather, to find somebody
Again, crowded in at the bottom of the
second slip, was written in a cramped
hand: 80 God! if men and women
would not let. their hearts become
stone!" Another noticeable feature of
+hsc =, ,.ro tive 1rac +bo+ tho oo,,,oe rf Al .
persons and places mentioned in it had
been carefully obliterated with a blue
pencil, so that it would become quite as
puzzling to the reader to find out who
had disappeared as to guess where he
had disappeared.
/ Durand, standing uneasily leaning
against the mantel-piece and with no
better light than came from dismal
lamp hanging at distance, read the
two or three columns only hastily !;
but he learned that it was an account of
the mysterious disappearance of a
physician in some Southern city, which
had attracted much attention. He had
fought through the war in the Confed-
crate ranks, and been impoverished in
the end, like the most of his friends.
"But Colonel - the writer went on
to state, &C is of the best blood of the
South, and never regretted his losses.
What has saddened his life more than
any thing else and caused him to evade
society and relinquish his practice, is
something which perhaps the commune
ty knows very little about. On the
breaking out of the war he owned one
of the largest and finest plantations in
the northern part of the State and an
elegant town house in -, where he
resided the most of the year. His wife
had been dead some years, and his
home was presided over by favorite
sister, to whom also was intrusted the
care of his only child, a beautiful little
daughter, twelve or thirteen years old.
This sister had been educated at the
North, and when the question of State
rights came to be discussed at the
Colonel's table she, unhappily, showed
Immediately the Yankee notions she
had imbibed. Moreover, as soon as the
State seeded and her brother FASTENED
to enroll himself among its defenders,
she induced the daughter to accompany
her to the North. Neither of them has
been heard from since" The mystery
enveloping the Colonel's disappearance
was something, the writer said, that the
whole community was interested in hav-
ing cleared up, and every effort would