New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1916-06-25

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Wor simpIifes life and patr9es II Of many Of
its oorr-tptions The passions Of 1Oar d'ooTf
all other passions The universal suffering
and ,acrifce tchich 1t entails makes the scat
tered, individual tragedies Of ordinary ez-
i,tence seer, petty and colorless.
Yet the ironies and infdelties Of ordinary
Hf. remain, even If they are Overshodorced IN
the bqqer, deeper drama. 1t Is the STRIKING
merit Of the story which follows that 1t g'Ve'
,r;lito,7, inrestiture TO one Of the familiar per-
sonol TRAGEDIES Of peace and thus successfully
-neroes the smaller reaction IN the greater
The author is Anna Gade, 'oeu k''otcn Ger
man short story ,oriter.
A SOUND of church bells hoated through
n the soft, mild air Of the spring morn
ing. A little strangely in this year
Of desolation these voices Of bronze rang ont
across the silvery surface Of the majestic
river. From the tower Of the old Fishers
Church, high up on the wooded bank OF the
CIbe they carried their message back into
the country-solemnly more insistently, per-
haps, than usual in spite Of the laughing sun
light and all the Joyous settings of spring time
beauty. From afar off came the echoes Of
Hamburg's mighty bells, mingled with the
lighter tones of the Altlander Church chimes
on the other side of the stream
For a moment the stranger in field gray
uniform stood in the show street of the picr-
uresque fishing village, lined with handsome
villas. and listened to the church bell chorus.
He also gazed at the white house across the
way, lying deep in the background of its park
like, beautifully cared-for garden like the
shimmering castle in fairy tale.
So that was the place!
Truly an idyllic home, high up in the whis-
pering greenness of the Elbe's hills, with
far-fung view Of the spreading river.
very picture of peace
Color and fragrance were all about the
house. Golden blooms stood out from the
emerald green Of the bushes and the heavy
scent Of blossoms filled the air.
The man at the gate, who, coming from the
roughness and squalor of trench life, caught
all Of sudden a glimpse Of this fairy-like
home had, as it were, vision Of radiantly
beautiful young woman, with laughing,
nymph-like eyes, walking through the mellow
light and fragrance Of the garden-in q
stately, white robe, with the suns rays
sparkling in her waving golden hair. Nothing
sombre seemed to him in keeping with the
joyously colored picture, with the white, glis-
tening villa.
Yet, would not the care-free, laughing, chal-
longing eyes of the beautiful woman whom he
did not know, but whose picture had so deeply
impressed him, be yelled with tears as were
those of so many other Of her companions in
bereavement?
1t seemed impossible to him TO imagine those
Eyes dimmed with pain and suffering-the
lines OF that tender mouth hardened by the
bitterness Of sorrow
There were some women whose radiant
beauty could not be associated with the gloom
Of suffering and mourning. They were meant
TO bewitch men and 70 master them-even TO
the point of turning love into hate. And there
were others whom the dedication of sorrow
ennobled. In their cases men bowed silently
before the insignia Of grief.
Captain Sandow, as he walked slowly tow
ard the white house, forced back his thoughts