New Ulm weekly review., 1885-12-23

sAs2k ~
land torment him, but with 8 brighter
inward visage, and q heart more
pure. Above all, with the New Years
hopes and blessings.
CHAPTER u.
It is sixteen years after the events
recorded in the previous chapter six
teen eventful years, which have
brought with them the usual changes
that are born of time.
John Landor, merchant, of Pearl
street, New York, was between. forty
and forty five years old; with dark
hair and eyes-the former turning
fast to grey and a distressed express
sion Of countenance which reflected
mental care and trouble. It was
O'Clock in the evening; and although
the Office had been closed two hours,
and he had no particular business to
attend to, he still sat there, apparent
" unconscious. of the time, or OF
aught else around him. It was all
the stranger, too, as most OF the
houses were already closed, and the
streets were becoming less and less
crowded every minute. Yet still he
sat, in the same position, and jim the
same refecting attitude as before.
Better, he thought, to stay and
suffer there alone than carry home
his tale of woe. And yet he must tell
them, come what may. For in a few
days all would be known, and his
credit, reputation, fortune swept
away. He had done his utmost to
avert his fall. But each fresh venture
which he had made had failed; his re-
sources had grown feebler and feebler,
until, at length, actual ruin
stood before him.
He was married and had a wife and
five children This was the bitterest
part OF all. He loved them fondly
and devotedly; and as he pictured to
himself their grief and sorrow, and the
hardships which they might be forced
to undergo, he clenched his fists and
bit his teeth in blank despair.
He was a proud man too. and as
honest as he was proud. He could
not bear to think Of any loss inflicted
in his name, and was determined to
submit to any sacrifice, even of a per-
sonal and private nature, if only he
could vindicate his honor, and avoid
the slightest stain upon his CONNER
cial fame.
AS yet he had said nothing to his
wife. He had put off telling her, think
Ingalls,! vainly-that they would
improve at last, and the impending
danger pass away. He had found it
hard to play the hypocrite-if he had
| loved her less he would have felt it
less-and to support SO great a load
without herloving sympathy to share
it was about as hard a fate as he could
bear.
He resolved accordingly to acquaint
| her, to disclose to her that same even
ing the actual state of his affairs, and
the personal sacrifice which they in
volved. He did not for a moment
doubt her courage-her cheerful resig-
nation and submission to the change
butt he trembled in anticipation of
the shock the first disclosure would
convey, and the dread, anxiety that
must ensue.
| Firm in his resolve, however, he closed
| his desk, and, passing out into the
street, proceeded up Broadway on his
journey home.
1t was cold and bracing evening,
clear and sparkling overhead, and the
stars, superbly glittering. returned
each passing salutation with smile.
How much he needed sympathy
then! He thought OF the loving, kind
reception which awaited him at home
his wife's sweet greeting, and the
children's shouts of welcome. The
very thought OF them was happiness.
His wealth might go, but they would
still remain. They were j1is richest
treasures, after all-his greatest COM
fort and his sweetest blessing. They
were all the dearer to him now, and
the sense of their united love would
make the trial easier for all. 1t might
be but a short one in the end. He
would work with greater ardor than
he ever had, and in a little while-a
few years at the latest--he might re-
cover all his present losses. 1t would
be but temporary abandonment OF
their old home, their habits and ways
Of life; things would all come right at
last. And in the fervor fhis brighter
heart and feelings, he quickened his
pace, and struck out manfully for
home.
He arrived at the door as it was
striking O'Clock. His younger
children ran to meet him, and climbed
upon his knees, and threw their arms
around his neck to demonstrate their
Joy. He kissed them fondly one by
one, and then proceeded, with an ach-
ing heart, upstairs.
He met his wife on the way. She
had heard his voice and was coming
down herself to greet him; and in an.
other moment she was in his armg.
"You are late, darling, she exclaim-
ed, reproachfully. eve expected you
two hours ago. There is nothing
wrong, is there?"
II will tell you by and by" he
answered, forcing smile. "Wait till
the children are in bed, and we can
have quiet talk alone. / have not
time to tell you now.''
L L