8
UNIVERSITY COURIER.
host. "I am going to Mynheer van der Werde's funeral."
"Going to my funeral?" screamed van der Werde. "What can this idiot mean?"
"I say you are dead! Look here!" And van Artaveld pulled out the letter. "Here is your nephew's letter inviting me to your funeral."
"And here is your daughter's letter inviting me to your funeral."
At these words van Artaveld sprang forward, snatched the letter and read :
ARNHEIM, 27, May, 188- .
Most respected Mynheer van der Werde :——
This is to inform you of the sorrowful death of my dear father. A sudden attack of heart-disease has bereft me of my only parent. In the midst of my grief I can tell you that my father's will in your favor is unchanged. Pray come on the first day of June to assist me in my last sad duties. The absence of my brother excuses my writing you. Mynheer van der Werde I remain your most attentive well-wisher—
KATHO VAN ARTAVELD.
Mynheer van Artaveld read it through, then sat down to get his breath.
"How, what do you say now?" asked van der Werde.
"This is an infamous conspiracy; read that;" so saying he handed van der Werde Jan's letter.
The latter read it through. "I see it all, Mynheer van Artaveld. But let us return at once,and see about these youngsters."
Then van der Werde got back into his carriage and ordered a return. Van Artaveld did the same. We can imagine their thoughts.
When Mynheer van der Werde reached his own house, he found Minette at the door.
“Go," he roared, "send Jan here instantly."
Minette soon returned. "If you please, Mynheer, they say Mynheer Jan went out this morning to Mynheer de Leskin's house, and has not returned. The chief-clerk says, too, that he took with him the fifteen thousand gilders you gave him as his part af your legacy from Mynheer van Artaveld."
Mynheer van der Werde threw his steel mirror at Minette and followed it himself. But she dodged the mirror and escaped down stairs. But Mynheer went out and down the street to see de Lesken. He found him in his counting-room.
"Mynheer de Lesken, have you seen my nephew Jan to day?"
"Yes, Mynheer van der Werde, he was here this morning, ha, ha, and I was glad to see him for we signed articles of copartnership, and he put into the firm twenty thousand gilders. Not much—not much, but he is a pushing young man, your nephew and I am glad to have him since——my son is dead."
"The scoundrel! Where is he now?"
"He is forty miles up the Rhine; he said he would go to work at once so I sent him off on business. But what is the matter, Mynheer van der Werde?"
Mynheer van der Werde did not answer, but bolted out of the house, up the street, into his own room, all in such a rage that he nearly had a stroke of apoplexy in earnest.
When van Artaveld reached home, he found affairs much in the same state. Katho was gone; Dietrich was gone; they had been married in a neighboring village and were now well on the way to Amsterdam. At first Mynheer van Artaveld raged; then he cooled down; then he laughed. "We were a pair of old fools; it serves us right for making such a bargain. I wnoder what van der Werde did with my thirty thousand gilders? But Kattie—she shall come back—I will speak to Peter about it."
WAR.
There is a planet whose light gleaming down the distant way, falls on a world of wondrous beauty. Long, long ago, when chaos yet was, the All-wise Being spake these words: "Let there be lights in the firmament to divide the day from the night; and let them be for lights in the firmament of heaven to give light upon the earth." And it was so.
These stars, so manifold, so wonderful, partake of the awful and sublime, and seem to tell us of the ages upon ages that lie hidden in the past. Not as the astrologers of old can we read our future, but somehow, somewhere they point us to a far beyond. Deeply colored with wars red hue one star from all the rest has taken the battle of the elements, as if when our world and it were one it had drawn to itself all conflicting forces. Peace then reigned, and in the fullness of time the same Infinite Being, not content with the fishes, the fowis and the beasts, created man in his own image, pure and undefiled. The years rolled on. Man had fallen from his high estate. Then this same star, whose beams before fell on peaceful man, kindled in him the fire of war. Ever since he has fashioned arms for strife, and hsa used them with woe to himself unending.
What is this influence, and why this strife? On looking over the hoary past my eyes rest on a lowland plain, whose name will hereafter resound through all ages. There between Marthon and the sea, I behold the marshalled squadrons of Greece in her golden prime. Look! no thought of reason for reason, but strength for strength. On all sides are war's rude weapons. The sun sinks to rest, and on the field where democratic Europe met despotic Asia, lie heroes dead and chill. We call them heroes. They are only men who in heat of passion struck down their fellow-men.
The times have changed. Far in the West a new nation arises. Freedom, born of old in Grecian colonies, in these has now her latest home. The old order changes, yielding to the new. Again I see an army marshalled under Freedom's banner. Not so decisive is the fight that day won. But America is triumphant on the field of Saratoga. The Old world helps the New against the Old, later to feel the reaction within herself. Heroes again? Only men who slaying their fellow-men are victorious, and follow in triumph where Freedom leads. On the battle field they lie; here one stricken down in manhood's prime, here one in the bloom of youth, here one in white-haired old age. Shot through and through, gashed with the sword, trampled