The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1886-02-26


hatred witch. No, SIR; I sOsu ssever DO
e.! Bron5 Van Wqrter IS not for sale -
When Brom reached his boarding
place he quietly retired, saying nothing
of his adventure. Days, weeks, and
months, flew past, and Brom heard
nothing about the expected marriage.
Winter at length arrived, and the
children began teasing for a spelling
school. So one was appointed for the
next coming Saturday evening. The
time arrived and the spelling school
passed off as all spelling schools used
TO do.
After the children had all left, and
Brom was alone in the little school
house, he blew out all the lights but
one from tallow candle, and lighting
his pipe sat down in front of the fire
place, (stOves were not yet invented)
to enjoy quiet smoke and reveFie.
AS he sat thus, he fell into dreamy
reverie, and mentally bewailing the
misfortune of poverty, and his ill-luck
in general, he gradually became obliv-
ious to all things else.
The feeble blaze of the candle was
wildly struggling to reach the top of
the long burned wick, the embers in
| the fireplace were slowly dying into
ashes, the old clock in the corner be-
| coming sleepy, had ceased its mOnot-
onOus ticking, and nothing broke the
| silence of the school room, save wee
little half-starved mouse, which had
| jumped onto the teachers table and
was industriously gnawing at the cor
ner of an old Dutch spelling book.
Softly and silently the door swung
open and the wild, weird figure of the
| Witch of the Mohawk glided noise
lessly into the room.
The mouse ceased its nibbling and
disappeared through knot-hOle-the
candle blaze made one feeble effort,
| and went out-the backlog in the fire.
place fell between the andirons, for
moment feebly blazing, and casting
weird-like shadows on the wall.
Brom started from his reverie and
| beheld the Witch of the Mohawk con-
fronting him in all her hideous ugli-
ness. A long loose robe or mantle en-
veloped her form, and her long white
hair hung in wild disorder upon her
| shoulders. In her hand she held some
thing which in the uncertain light
looked like broom.
Brom was astonished beyond meas.
ure, and imagined that the little room
smelled of sulphur.
But being man of courage he quick.
| " regained his equanimity and felt pre-
pared for the interview, whatever ii
might be.
''Brom Van Warker,'' said the old
witch, ''you saved my life once at the
peril of your own. By the terms of
| the will you have in your possession, a
| large fortune falls to the man who weds
with me, for good old Bogardus is no
| more. Gratitude. if nothing more,
would prompt me to reward you. am
here to offer you my hand upon one con-
1 dition, to-wit: ''that you shall place
your right hand in mine, and sOlemnlY
| declare that your heart is free, and you
| love no woman, unless it be me. Dare
qOsE do Gt?''
"Alas," replied he. 81 can not so de.
clare-I love another-nOt all the for
tunes in the valley of the Mohawk
could tempt me to marry any save her,
and that is impossible"
''May inquire the name of the for
tunate female who has stolen your
hearth" said the witch.
"Under present circumstances 1have
no objection to informing you that she
| is Betsy Vedder," replied Brom.
The old backlog suddenly shot forth
a brighter blaze, the mouse resumed
| its nibbling, the old clock in the corner
commenced ticking in the old familiar
way-a sprightiy little cricket hoped
out from under the wood-box, chirping
never so lively, and just then the silver
moon, emerging from the clouds,
poured flood of light through the
| window.
The dirty old mantle, the repulsive
mask, and the white wig, suddenly fell
in heap upon the floor, and 10, the
beautiful Betsy Vedder stood before
him in all her native loneliness.
There was a rustling as of wings
through the open doorway, she room
seemed filled with invisible sprites who
in concert sang with sweetest melody:
| Lucky is the man, who, if he can,
| VIII wed with the Witch of the Mohawk:
| Certainly you can! BrOm. you are the man,
| To wed with the Witch of the Mohawk"
Richard II. Rosa, IN albany Journal.