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For Woman’s Work.
WHERE.
BY HARDEMAN BINFORD.
Was I dreaming ’neath the linden ?
Whence the dulcet tones I heard ?
Sweet the dream, if dream it could be,
That has all my being stirred.
By my side there stood an angel
Clad in beauty ns the day;
And a voice of subtle sweetness
Thrilled me with its mystic sway—
Breathed its accents: “Maiden, tell me,
Where my pen shall trace thy name—
Shall I blazon it forever
On the deathless roll of Fame ?’’
Trembling answered I; “Bright Angel,
Fame can never give to me
What is sweetest and divinest
In a woman’s destiny.
Not on Fame’s proud scroll, oh Angel!
I would choose a happier part—
Be my name in fadeless letters,
Written on a loving heart.”
For Woman’s Work.
THE CASTLE OF EISENFELS.
BY S. 11. BRADFORD.
[CONTINUED FROM LAST MONTH.]
“ Fearing that she might be discovered,
she ran with a light step to the door, and
taking notice of the large key as she went
out, she concealed herself behind an effigy
of an old knight till the old dame passed
across the hall again. Then she ran to
her room and told Zelma, who had re
turned, what she had seen and heard.
“ Now, ladies, - ’ said the old Doctor, in
terrupting himself in his story, “if you
will come around to the back of the castle
I will show you where that building
stood in which the Lady Adelheid was a
prisoner, for you know by this time that
the story of her death was a fiction of that
wicked Baron, devised for purposes of his
own. Just here,” he continued, when we
had followed him round to the other side,
“ was a wing of which you see the crumb
ling ruins. It extended out in this direc
tion nearly to the battlements; and far
back out of sight hearing of all living
in the castle must have been the room
where that poor lady was imprisoned.”
We returned to our stone bench by the
fountain, and the old Doctor continued his
narration.
“ The Countess Freda was in haste to
mature her plans, for the Baron and his
followers might return at any moment.
She therefore found her way to old Marge
rethe’s apartment, and begged the old
woman to go to the dairy and bring her a
drink of fresh milk, for she was very
thirsty. A small piece of silver as a
douceur quickened the steps of the old
crone, and no sooner had she left the room
than Freda, springing on a chair, took
down the large bunch of keys and de
tached No 8 from the ring.
“ ‘She will never see that they are gone,’
she said, ‘and I must replace them before
she needs them again.’
“ When the old woman returned, Freda
drank the milk hastily and left the
kitchen, the keys safely hidden in her
pocket. She lost no time in making her
way to the wing of the castle. With
trembling fingers she unlocked the great
door, and, closing it gently, she ran to the
end of the hall, and tapped softly at the
door of No. 8.
‘“ls that you, Margarethe?’ asked a fee
ble voice from within.
“Opening the door quietly, she replied
—‘Don’t be frightened, dear Cousin Adel
heid; it is I—Freda—
“‘Freda! Freda!’ cried the poor
woman, raising herself for a moment, and
then falling back in a dead faint.
“‘Ohl I have killed her! I have killed
her!’ said the young Countess; but she
went to work vigorously with water and
such restoratives as she could find, till at
length the Lady Adelheid opened her
eyes, and gazed with astonishment at her
visitor.
“ ‘lt is not a dream then, and you are
not a vision, Freda,’ she said, clasping the
hands of the young girl. ‘ You will not
vanish like the other visions I have had,
and leave me here a prisoner.’
“‘No, dear cousin—no—there is a long
story to tell, but I dare not stop to tell it
now. I can only say that your friends all
think you are dead, and that I have been
brought here in your place, but take cour
age, dear cousin; neither you nor I will
be here long. Ido not yet know just how
we shall accomplish it, but Zelma and I
will put our heads together, and you may
be sure it will be done. I have stolen the
key, and I must return it soon. And this
is your baby! How lovely he is! I have
no time to do more than kiss him now, but
I will come again as soon as I can with
out causing suspicion.’
“‘Oh! come quick! come quick! Freda;
1 think he means to take my baby from
me as soon as he is old enough to be
weaned, and then he will have no need to
kill me, for how would I live after my one
ray of comfort is taken from me ?’
“ ‘Do not be troubled about that, dear
cousin,’ answered Freda; ‘whether I can
come or not we will be working for you.
and your father, and my brother Otto will
soon know that you are living a captive
here.’
“‘Otto! is he living, and does he think
of me yet?’ asked Lady Adelheid.
“ ‘Oh, darling 1 how much you have to
learn ! Otto has gone to the wars in de
spair and grief, but he will soon return,
and you shall be freed—do not despair !’
“ The keys were safely replaced when
Margarethe was out of the way, and
Freda and Zelma busied themselves in
planning some mode of deliverance for
themselves and the captive Baroness.
“ Twice again Freda managed to visit
her cousin, and there was much talk be
tween the two of events that had passed
since Adelheid had been carried off to this
old castle. She did not even know how long
she had been shut up in her prison house,
and could only guess at the age of her
child.
“ ‘You have been here now seventeen
months, Adelheid,’ said Freda.
“ ‘Oh! it seems as many years,’ said
Adelheid; 'but of course I knew that my
baby could not be a year old. I suppose,
when he is a year old, the intention is to
take him aw’ay. Oh! Freda, hurry!’
‘To-morrow the blow is to be struck,
dear cousin—pray God we may be suc
cessful !’
“We must go back a little to tell how
it had been managed that the blow was to
be struck on the next day. Zelma, the
faithful attendant of the Countess Freda,
was a bright, quick-witted girl, who had
busied herself ever since their enforced
entrance to the castle in devising plans
for their escape.
“‘I think I have it;’ she said, one day,
to her young mistress. ‘One of the equer
ries of the Baron has had the good sense
and impertinence to fall desperately in
love with the fair face of your handmaid
en, mistress mine. Till within a few days
I have flouted him, but lately I have
seemed to favor his suit, and, as you
know, I have become very fond of old
Margarethe, who is very fond of bits of
silver and gold. In her room I have met
my devoted knight, who, finding that
naught but marriage will suit my pur
pose, has agreed to my plan of an elope
ment.’
“‘But, oh! Zelma, how can you manage
it?’
“‘Wait a moment, dear Countess, and
you shall know all. To-morrow the Baron
and his followers start early for a long
day of hunting. My knight, for some
good reason, will stay behind, and when
they are well out of sight he will leave
the castle, telling the porter he has been
delayed, but he has the Baron’s orders to
follow the train. He will have an attend
ant, one of the stable helpers, with him,
and that attendant will be your humble
servant.’
“‘But how is that to help the Lady
Adelheid and me, and whither are you go
ing, Zelma?’
“ ‘Straight to Castle Waldorf, dear lady.
I have told my lover that we of Waldorf
are followers of Luther, the Reformer,
and I will never consent to be married by
a Romish priest. Straight, then, to Wal
dorf we go to be married. Ha! ha ! but
my poor knight will find himself a cap
tive knight, as soon as he enters the gates,
and when the Baron and his hunters re
turn, to-morrow night, and have eaten
their fill of venison and boar’s-head, and
drunken themselves drunk with wine, there
will be heard a thundering at the gates of
Eisenfels, and ere those drunken swine
have rubbed their eyes, and gathered their
senses together, the lord of this castle will
have suffered the penalty of his crimes,
and the baby boy off there in the old
wing of the castle will be ruler of the
lands and stronghold of Eisenfels.’
“‘Oh, Zelma! Zelma! you will be our
deliverer, and dear Adelheid will be free!’
exclaimed the Countess.
“ ‘The Lady Adelheid had not entered
into my plan when it was first formed,’
answered Zelma, ‘for I knew not that she
still lived; but that which works for us
will work for her also, and we may be
sure her father and your brother, though
zealous enough in your cause, will be all
the more eager to attack this castle when
they hear the tale I have to carry to them.
Now write a letter, dear lady, to the
Count of Waldorf, and to-morrow morn
ing it will reach him by the hands of the
attendant of the Baron’s equerry.’
“ The letter, which was to fall like a
bomb-shell into the Castle of Waldorf,
was speedily written. All happened as
the clever Zelma had planned it. Count
Otto had returned, summoned by his uncle
on important business, and many confer
ences had been held already to decide how
with their combined forces they might at-
WOMAN’S WORK.
tack the Castle of Eisenfels successfully.
“ The tidings brought by Zalma quick
ened their movements, you may be sure,
and ere night a goodly company of men
at-arms was marshalled for an attack on
the castle.
“ The Baron and his retainers returned
at nightfall. A stag and a boar had been
sent on by horsemen before the rest of the
troop, and ere long everything was in
readiness for one of their midnight ca
rousals so frequent in the castle. The
knights of those days could eat and drink
an incredible amount, but the time came
when even they were surfeited, and, as
the chronicles of the day tell us, they fell
one by one under the table, and slept like
dead men. Secure in their numbers and
strength, they never thought of danger
from outside; even the warder, to whom
the Lady Freda had sent a stoup of wine,
slept soundly at his post.
“ But the hour of doom was approach
ing. Steadily marched the troops of Wal
dorf and Werner, and ere morning’s light
they were battering at the gates of Eisen
fels. For a long time there was none to
hear, and when at last a few sleepy
and stupid attendants gathered in the
court, and refused admittance to the as
sailants, Count Waldorf ordered fuel to
be brought, and the huge wooden gates to
be set on fire. Fuel enough was at hand,
for the branches of the forest trees were
quickly hewn down ; soon a loud crackling
was heard, and flames ascended far above
the walls of the castle.
“ Old Margarethe and her husband had
not failed to help themselves to their
share of the wine, and it was not a diffi
cult matter for Freda to posssess herself of
the keys again, while they slept. She flew
to the door of the wing of the castle, opened
it without waiting to know whether
it clanged or not, rushed to that of the
prisoner, whom she almost carried forth,
with her baby in her arms, supporting her
to a front window from which they could
see the flames, and hear the cries of the
assailants.
“ ‘Now, God defend our cause, and help
our deliverers !’ groaned the Lady Adel
heid.
“ ‘No fear but He will, dear cousin,’ an
swered Freda. ‘Our jailors are sleeping
the sleep of the drunkard, and some of
them will soon sleep a sounder sleep, from
which only the last trump will wake
them.’
“ And now the attacking party were in
the court of the castle. Shrill cries and
heavy blows resounded on every side,
while the Baron’s men feebly tried to de
fend themselves and the castle. The bat
tle may have raged just where we are sit
ting now, and this old Hercules may have
lost his nose and his arm during that
bloody fray.
“ The cruel old Baron was rudely
awakened from his drunken sleep, but it
is likely he never clearly comprehended
what caused the disturbance around him,
for Count Otto, who had insisted upon his
right to give his bitter enemy his death
blow, quickly dispatched him with one
stroke of his sword. The Baron’s follow
ers were either slain in the fight, or taken
prisoners, or scattered. Old Margarethe
and her spouse hid themselves till the ene
my retired, and then hobbled down to the
village below to the house of a daughter
who lived there.
THE END.
For Woman’s Work.
THE PAST. PRESENT AND FU
TURE,
The Past has flown —vanished like a
beautiful dream. All of our anticipations,
our pleasures and sad realities, are folded
away, hidden in the silent tombs of our
yesterdays.
Memory kindly rears a tablet above
these sepulchers, so dear to every being.
And as we march on in the daily routine
of our busy lives, unconsciously we glance
backward, hoping to catch glimpses of
these wayside reminders, marking our lit
tle heart graves, for beside these, we have
found the resting places on life’s highway.
Although it is impossible to retrace our
steps, as we mourn over the grand oppor
tunities unimproved, or the misspent time
that has upward borne its record, yet show
me the heart that, in seeking to banish sor
row, would willingly drop everything per
taining to the Past, into the abyss of Ob
livion.
Fancy, carefully bridging the chasm of
years, brings to our own vision the heart’s
cemetery, where slabs stand watching,
like grim sentinels on a moonless night,
above the graves of crushed ambitions,
blighted hopes, broken vows, angry words,
unkind thoughts, severed friendships, sep
aration.
If thought reverted only to these darker
spots, how wearily we should lie down at
night dreading the heralds of morning.
But see, scattered here and there, are spot
less shafts, upon whose gleaming surfaces,
characters stand out in hold relief, hearing
the date of precious moments well im
proved, great battles with self, fought and
won, grand victories attained, achieve
ments of which the world has never heard,
and never will. Around these, sunbeams
ever seem to linger, striving to gild their
purity with a holy light, bringing with
them that calm security of a conqueror.
Emerson tells us, “The Times are the
masquerade of the eternities, trivial to the
dull, tokens of noble and majestic agents
to the wise, the receptacle in which the
Past leaves its history, the quarry out of
which the genius of to-day is building up
the Future.”
It is indeed the experience of bygone
days which makes the Present so precious,
and the unexplored Future so wonderful
and valuable to the human mind.
To-day we live, think and act. We
have passed the milestones which marked
the fleeting years, scarcely thinking to note
their number, or for the very fact of their
number—if many—feel stronger and surer
of attaining success.
Working to-day with a steadier brain,
a firmer determination to accomplish
whatever our hands find to do, patiently
bearing the many disappointments as
signed us, striving to live in the ever
Present as we have never lived in the
Past, conscientiously planning for the Fu
ture, why seek to lift the curtain screen
ing the years to be; for
“It was good, it was kind, in the Wise One
above,
To fling Destiny’s veil o’er the face of our
years,
That we dread not the blow that shall strike
at our love,
And expect not the beams that shall dry up
our tears.”
If we could realize to the full extent
how many hours of exhaustive labor and
anxious toiling, aside from the many heart
aches held in reserve for us, what mind
would be capable of enduring such a
strain ?
True we expect to continue our daily oc
cupations, hoping to be able to perform
them so long as life is spared us; we know
that affliction comes to every one, and we
shall probably have our share; but we
cannot anticipate the thousand and one
extra tasks that will drop in our way, nor
the numberless steps our tired feet must
take in the space of one short year.
If the child, upon entering school, could
understand all of the difficulties to be en
countered in obtaining an education, and
of the long, tedious years of close applica
tion before him, do you think he would
have courage to attempt to learn that first
lesson? He merely realizes each day’s
triumph or defeat, and steadily plods on.
We, the children of circumstances, with
the memory of valuable experiences ever
before us, peering into the silent graves of
the Past, toiling in the vast quarries of
the Present, are laying the foundations of
the Future.
Are we forming it of, and for the per
ishable, or of the solid materials of honor,
truth, and love to mankind, cementing
each block carefully and firmly in the
Golden Rule ?
If so, others in ages to come, taking up
our unfinished work, will thank God that
such laborers once lived and toiled.
If we fulfil all that is required of us to
day, shirking nothing, God will take care
of to-morrow, and it for the best, give us
strength to endure its fatigue, or hearts
capable of appreciating its plca i ures.
“Live in the Present, ponder the Past,
Think what the Future may bring,
Act, for to-morrow may never be thine,
Sow precious seed in the Spring.”
Kenneth Aubrey DeVere.
We are creatures easily influenced
Even a cheery word or a smile means so
much. Os course it takes some toil and
care to make home attractive, and we
women sometimes tire of the same round
of duties that must be performed so often.
But instead of complaining, let us thank
God that we—even the dullest of our sex
—have a talent for “home making.’’
When we remember that even “a cup of
cold water,” given in the name of the
Master, is precious, we are encouraged to
do all that we can in His service, knowing
that we shall not fail some day in receiv
ing our reward.
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