The Cambria freeman. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1867-1938, 1882-08-11
THE LONG-LOST BROTHER.

Types are not warm enough to paint the
true, pathetic color of a picture seen Tues
day night on a north-side car about 1890 o.
clock, The car was of the open kind and
was crowded with humanity struggling for
foot room. AS 1t neared Clark-street bridge
a gentleman sitting pretty well forward no.
ticed lady standing on the east side of the
car, and clinging desperately to one of the
upright posts. He told the conductor to ask
her to step forward and she might have his
seat. She came clambering forward and
took theiproffered seat with hearty ''Thank
ye." The gentleman casually glanced at
her, and saw that she was neatly-dressed
Irish woman, about thirty-two years Of age
She spoke with rich Irish brogue, and was
evidently domestic. The car logged along
for several blocks, and, happening to glance
at the lady again, the gentleman noticed that
she was evidently laboring under some great
excitement Her bosom throbbed violently,
and her face, even in the poor light of the
car, was deadly pale. She was bending ca
gerly forward, and her eyes were strained to
their greatest extent at some object immedi-
ately in front of her. Following the wo-
mans gaze it was seen that she was staring
straight into the face OF man who sat in
the opposite seat. As the car pass ed on her
excitement seemed to increa Sc, so much so
as to attract the attention of the other pas
sengers. The man returned her gaze at in
tervals in somewhat interested manner
He was about twenty-six years old and look
ed as If he might be mechanic At length
the woman's breath came thick and fast and
leaning still further forward, she asked him
hoarsely in her brogue
AREN'T you from Oireland 2"
81 am" he answered, calmly. She quick
ly asked:
From BalIanslOe?"
81 was born there" he said, looking into
her eye. She paused long moment as If to
steady her voice 1t luivered like child's,
as she half rose from her seat and INQUIRED,
slowly:
can isn't yer name McCoskry7"
"Yis," he answered quickly.
"Dan McCoskry9'
Qn high key.)
"Dan McCoskry."
The woman rose to her feet, and crossing
herself, piously exclaimed in a deep and
earnest voice:
Praise be to God, this blissed day. Thank
God I've found ye, Dan, at last" And be-
fore she had finished she was on his breast,
smothering him with kisses. The young
man seemed astonished, and she pro ceeded /:
Don't ye know me, Dan Yer sister
Nora. Praise be to God. I've found ye at
last. An me searchin' for twilve year from
Boston to New York an from New York
to Baltimore and from Baltimore to Cincin-
natty. where l gave ye up six year ago. OF
NrAS Sc l.. Z.
him again with caresses. He held her at
aims length, and looked her all over, ex-
claiming at last as il hardly yet convinced
"An' are you rally moi sisther Nora 4?
Well, well, if iver /" and it was evidently
he never had from the sincerity of his man-
ner. A few more questions, and there was
no doubt of the relationship. Regardless
of the hundred eyes fixed upon them, they
gave themselves over to a regular Des
PLANES camp-meeting scene. 1t appeared
from the excited questions aud answers
which passed between the couple that Dan
had run away from the town with the un-
pronOunceable name eighteen years ago, and
come to America, from whence no tidin gs
had ever come from him. The family, all
but the eldest daughter, Nora, had died or
emigrated, and twelve years ago she had
taken her earnings and crossed the ocean
with but one purpose in view, that purpose
being to ascertain if Dan was living, and to
! ind him If she could. She told of her land
ing all alone at Castle Garden, her search
through New York, her journey to Boston,
ever asking for her Brother Dan :" how
every night she would leave the place where
she was employed, to search streets, stores
a0 off l,..r zl,o
| tions, scanned ne wspapers, visited hospitals,
never giving up the hope Of finding her
brother Dan )" how one blessed morning
| in Boston she heard from a carpenter that a
person of that name had worked for him,
but was now in Baltimore her trip to that
| town, only to find that he had gone west,
probably to Cincinnati her journey there,
and despair at seeing in the death list
''Died, at Mercy hospital, of smallpox
Daniel McCorskY - her joy at discovering
the dead man to be Scotchman, her further
search, and final despair; her coming to
Chicago FIVE years ago, and the great pain at
| really having to think him dead. She Is a
domestic in a family on Lincoln avenue,
near Fullerton, so she said, and she had a
beau on the back platform "smokin' a sey-
gar, so he was.''
Dan then told his story. He was Boston
| carpenter, and had gone to Baltimore, but
had come directly from there to Chicago
He had worked at Pullman, but had lately
quit, and was looking about for a shop OF
his own. And so the pair chatted on, heed
| less Of the watchers, and fre quently inter
| rupting their conversation for a fond hug
AL the scenes Of their childhood were lived
over again, and many were the questions
Dan asked about the could sod.,' So inter-
ested were the spectators, and especially the
| gentleman who had relinquished his seat
that he was carried nearly half mile past
his destination but there was something IN
the scene he had witnessed which made the
homeward walk one Of the pleasantest he
| ever had.-Chica9o Times.
THE LOCAL NEWSPAPER. Every reflect
ing mind knows that the local newspaper
| adds much tn the general Ith and nrnsDeri