Democratic Sentinel, Volume 10, Number 29, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 August 1886 — Page 6

“BETTER.” i BT W. H. 8. ATKINSON. Bettor to drink the water cool than to sip the flowing wine: Bettor the gleam from a rippling brook than the flash from a diamond mine. Better the love of a gentle heart than beauty’s favor proud; Better the clasp of a friendly band than the cheers of the fickle crowd. Better to love In loneliness than to bask in fame all day; Better the fountain in the heart than the torrent by the way. Better to sit at a Master’s feet than to thrill a listening state; Better be sure tbs* thou art good than suspect that thou art great.

BLANCHE MARVIN'S DEFEAT.

BY DWIGHT WELDON.

“Do you hear that, Mr. Arlington?” The speaker was Blanche Marvin, a handsome brunette, and her elegant dress and aristocratic bearing generally accorded but strangely with her surroundings. By her side stood a man whose handsome, earnest face won her admiring glance every time she looked at it. They stood in an untenanted room in a crowded, broken-down tenement house, the man gazing reflectively out at the wilderness of roofs and chimneys before them, the woman listening intently to the soft, mellow notes of a song, which echoed from the hallway without. Its rare harmony impressed the man at last. He aroused himself from his reverie and looked at his beautiful companion in wonderment. Not a word was exchanged until the last note of the song was completed. Whoever the singer was, her voice was one of marvelous scope and sweetpess, and a mutual appreciation showed in the rapt faces of the two listeners. Maurice Arlington's usually calm features wore an expression of curiosity and interest as he started to leave the room. “This is another surprise,” he said. “We expected to And the tenements here a model home for the poor, instead of which they are a pile of straggling, ill-kept barracks. Then, when we pause to reflect over the misery and poverty around us, a voice as famous as that of a cantatrice startles us. Come, Miss Marvin, I must know the possessor of that voice.” Mr. Arlington’s companion frowned slightly. The voice belonged to a woman, and she was naturally jealous. Besides, she did not like Arlington’s deep interest in the beggurly tenants of the house; it distracted his attention from herself, an attention she was exerting all her sirenlike wiles to secure. It was a strange combination of circumstances that had brought these two together, and to the block of dilapidated tenements known as Bossiter Row. Two months previous Maurice Arlington was a poor and struggling artist in New York City, living on the bare pittance his avocation afforded him, and the beautiful Blanche Marvin was secretary to a parsimonious old money-lender named James Rossiter. James Rossiter died. In his will he bequeathed to his nephew, whom he had never seen, his entire fortune. It wus a surprise to Maurice Arlington, and a source of great disappointment to numerous distant relatives of the dead miser. So Arlington had come into his fortune. Ke had found Miss Marvin in charge of the little office where his uncle had transacted his business, and had learned that for years she had kept his accounts as .a proficient and reliable employe. She was the sole support of an invalid mother, and he was interested in her from the first. i “You shall retain your position, if you choose,” he had told her. “The numerous tenement leases demand some clerical supervision, and you seem to thoroughly understand them.” And now he was visiting his property, and was amazed at the misery and wretchedness of the habitations from which his uncle had made his immense fortune. Secretly he resolved to better the condition of his tenantry, and it was of this he was thinking when the incident which opens our story occurred. Miss Marvin had accompanied him in his visit to the tenements, and they had reached the garret floor of the house in their tour of inspection, when, from some room near by, there issued the song alluded to. It was a plaintive, tender love melody, and even Blanche Marvin, her mind filled with scheming thoughts concerning her wealthy employer, was momentarily entranced. She followed Arlington to the hall, and then to the open door of an apartment near by. There she paused, for Arlington had halted and stood surveying a homely but touching picture within the room. The apartment was meanly furnished, and showed evidences of extreme poverty. It held two inmates, an old man half reclining on a couch, and a beautjful girl just blooming into womanhood. Upon her the attention of Arlington was centered. Her perfect face and full, exEressive eyes looked down tenderly upon er companion, whose aged features were pale and emaciated and careworn. She held in her hand the manuscript music of the song she had been singing. Neither she nor her companion noticed the silent watchers at the threshold. “Will it do, cara mia?” the old man was saying. “Oh, my father, it is beautiful!” The old man sighed despairingly. “Your lovely voice makes it so, then." “No, no. It is the very soul of expression. the melody and words.” “Then why does not the stage-manager give me a hearing? Ah, Inez! the years are fleeting, the dream of my life is broken. I shall never live to see the one labor of my existence bringing joy to those who love music.” Blanche Marvin’s dusky lips trembled with suppressed passion, as she noticed by Arlington’s face that he 1 was deeply affected. Y : “Let us go,” she said,\alniost harshly. Without another word Arlington left the •place, jmd descended to the ground floor. In the weeks that ensued Blanche Marvin forgot the incident of the beautiful singer in the events of the days as they passed bv. She attended to the routine of her business tasks as methodically as ever, but her mind was ever fixed on the man she had learned to love, Maurice Arlington. She hoped to allure him by her beauty; she believed she would yet bo his wife.

Day by day she sought to become more valuable to and more esteemed by him. He scarcely noticed her. His mind seemed of a naturally melancholy cast, and he devoted most of his time to art, to music, and to making plans to better the condition of his tenantry. She did not know also that he very often visited Rossiter’s Row. She supposed he had forgotten the song and the singer of the day of their mutual visit to the tenements. The picture of the old composer and his lovely, faithful daughter had haunted Arlington. He had made a .visit to their rooms, had interested himself in the musician, and had learned all their sad, strange history. Alvin Vincent was an artist, like himself. In Italy he had learned the art of painting, and had studied music. His wife had died, leaving one child, Inez, and since then he had led a precarious career, devoting much time to the composition of an opera, a song from which Arlington had heard the first day he saw them. Within two weeks the young man had become a welcome guest at the home of the composer, and the lovely Inez had learned to greet his coming with a flush of conscious delight. The old composer seemed to have but one hope in life—to produce his opera. It certainly was a wonderful composition, and Maurice Arlington determined to assist him in his laudable designs. Through a friend in Boston he secured for it a bearing at an opera bouse in that oily. Mr. Vincent was in failing health, in fact was dying of consumption, but his drooping energies seemed to revive when the word came that people in Boston desired him to go there at once to superintend a preliminary hearing of bis opera. Inez was to remain for the present in New York. Maurice Arlington never forgot her deep emotion as she thanked him with tears for all his kindness, as she told him how happy he bad made her father, how her life’s devotion was his for all his benevolence and care in their behalf. It wus the first time after leaving her that evening that Arlington realized his emotion. He was amazed to find whnt comfort and happiness these two people had brought of late into his life, and a vague sense of deep regard for the beautiful Inez caused him to wonder if he had not involuntarily fallen in love with her. But a rude shock to this vision came before the evening had passed away. A strange revelatiou was made that very hour which so materially changed all his plans of life that he was dazed and bewildered at its sudden manifestation. The office of his dead uncle was located in the family mansion of James Rossiter, and here Arlington resided. Usually, when he returned home in the eveniug. Blanche Marvin had completed her work and gone home. Upon the evening in question, somewhat to his surprise, as he entered the house, he noticed a light in the office, and went thither to ascertain its cause. Seated in the room, and apparently waiting for some one, was Miss Marvin. “You here, Miss Marvin?” said Arlington. “You have remained late this evening.” There was a peculiar look in the woman’s face as she replied: “Yes, Mr. Arlington, I have been waiting for you.” “For me? Some business concerning the tenements ” “No, it is something that concerns yourself. Mr. Arlington, please be seated, and prepare for a rather unpleasant revelation.” Arlington obeyed her, silently, repressively. Her eyes were filled with an expression he could not mistake. Ardent, longing love trembled on her lips as she said, in a low, unsteady voice: “Mr. Arlington, you know that my regard for you has always been more of a friendly character than of the nature of mere duty.” “You have certainly been most considerate in relieving me of much of the annoying details of the tenement leases, Miss Marvin,” replied Arlington courteously, yet wonderingly. “For you personally I could not resist trying to do more than my duty. For your sake, now, Mr. Arlington, I am going to make a great sacrifice.” He stared at her in bewilderment. “I do not understand you,” he said. “Then let me ask you this question: You have a cousin, a resident of the far West, named Ernest Travis?” “Yes, but I have not seen him for years.” “He is, except yourself, yosr uncle’s nearest relative. He was here a few years ago. He asked me to become his wife. I did not love him, and I refused him.” “And now?” “Now r I have made a discovery which would tempt most women, for Ernest Travis is heir to an immense fortune.” The woman came nearer to Arlington, her dark, earnest eyes beaming ardently upon him. “Mr. Arlington,” she said, “the fortune that is left to your cousin he knows nothing of.” “Then it is a legacy he has never heard of?” “He will never hear of it, if you say the word.”, “I, Miss Marvin? What is this mystery?” “I alone know that Ernest Travis is heir to a million. To bestow it upon him means for me to rob the man I love. I can disguise the truth no longer. Maurice Arlington, my heart is breaking for one kind smile from you. I love you. I loved you since the time I first saw von. Am I unwomanly? Then the vital circumstances of the hour so make me, for to-day I have discovered that you are not the real heir to the wealth of your dead uncle, James Rossiter!” She had expected that Arlington would start and pale with surprise and dismay. Instead his calm face betrayed the very slightest amazement, and he said steadily. “Then a new will has been discovered?” “Yes, Mr- Arlington.” “And a later one?” “Soveral months later.” “Making my cousin the heir to the Rossiter estates?” “Yes.” “You discovered this will, Miss Marvin?” “I did, to-day, among some old papeis.” “Then take it at once to the family lawyer, and let Ernest Travis be notified of his good fortune.” “And you, Mr. Arlington?” “I? Why, I will return to my art, satisfied that wealth could never make me happy.” Blanche Marvin stood overwhelmed.

What strange man was this, who, without a tremor, heard of poverty, and faced it indifferently! “Stay!” cried Blanche, impassionately. “Do you not understand that yon and I only know of this will? Why should yon beggar yourself? Say the word, Maurice Arlington; make me your wife, and the world | shall never know that a second will exists.” i “Are yon mad? Do you imagine I would I defraud Ernest Travis of his rights?” dei manded Arlington, sternly. “Miss Marvin, forget all you have said to-night, or our business relations must cease at once.” He passed from the room as he spoke. With a baffled, crushed cry, Blanche i Marvin glared after him. ! “Foiled—defeated!” she cried wildly. ! “He does not love me. So be it, then. He shall be a beggar, and I will hasten to the West, find Ernest Travis, wed him, and as mistress of the Rossiter estates, gloat over this miserable man who spurns my love!” Two days later all New York knew of the discoveiy of this new will. Blanche Marvin was speeding westward to find her former lover, and now the heir to the Rossiter fortune. Maurice Arlington had left the mansion as poor as he entered it, calmly, indifferently, with two pleasant memories in his heart —his love of art, and Inez Vincent. He had gone once to the tenements, and had learned that Inez had received a telegram from Boston, and had gone there two days previous. “'The old composer is in good hands; and I cannot aid him now, for I am as poor as himself,” soliloquized Arlington. “As to Inez—ah, me! I might have told her that she was very dear to me, but Maurice Arlington a poor man is not Maurice Arlington the man of wealth.” He spoke somewhat bitterly, for thefriends he had known of late had treated him very coolly since the loss of the fortune. So he determined to forget Inez and to devote himself to his art. And then, for some weeks, he became again the hard-working ariist of yore, and enjoyed the seclusion of his garret abode. And then, one day, he was taken ill. His pictures had not sold. He had become very poor. A fever set in, and a few hours later he lay on a cot at the city hospital, tossing in delirium and pain. “Insufficient food and hard work,” the doctor said seriously. “He will have a severe attack of it.” And it was nearly a month before Maurice Arlington again opened his eyes to the world. Not at the hospital, however. He was in a well-furnished, pleasant room, and near his bedside was a familiar figure. He stared in doubt at the beautiful face that looked solicitously into his own. “Inez, Miss Vincent,” he murmured faintly. It was indeed the composer’s daughter, and her eyes were cheerful with joy as she left the room a few minutes later, and hastened to tell her father of Arlington’s return to consciousness. As in a dream Maurice heard from the composer how his opera had been a complete success. Wealth aud honors were coming to him. He had heard of Arlington’s poverty, had come to New York, and day and night since then Inez had nursed him back to life. Amid his distress Maurice Arlington had found only two brave friends, but they were worth all the time-serving acquaintances of the past. Life seemed a rare dream of happiness during the days of convalescence, and Inez was an angel of goodness and peace. He was no longer a man of wealth; but w’hen ope day he told her of his love, he knew that as the poor artist she regarded him with more affection than had he been a millionaire. There w r as a quiet wedding a few months later, and a week later a pleasant surprise for all of them. “Great news, Maurice!” said the composer, as he rushed into Arlington’s studio one day. “Indeed? Another opera accepted?” “No; it is something about yourself.” “An order for a picture, then?” smiled Arlington. “Bettor than that. You are again a millionaire.” “Nonsense!” “It’s true. Your cousin, ErnestjTravis, died in the West long before your uncle. They have just discovered it, and you are once more the heir to the Rossiter estates.” There is a lonely, disappointed woman now, who thinks bitterly of the failure of her great scheme for wealth. It is Blanche Marvin. There are three very happy people at the Rossiter mansion now, who try to benefit all w'ho know them—the composer, Mauricp Arlington, and his beautiful wife, Inez.

The Classics in Chicago.

While waiting in the house of a friend I espied a well-filled book case, and with the groedy eye of a bibliophile I determined to put in a few minutes in examining the volumes. A bulky volume labeled “Cicero” attracted my attention. Mechanically I laid hold of it and removed it from the shelf. It was remarkably heavy, and on turning it about I discovered it was no more or less than a pasteboard box, the lid of which formed the front of the alleged book. Lifting this up I disclosed to view a flat, transparent flask of extremely fine Henderson County whisky. While struggling with the cork my friend entered. “Ah,” he said, “I see you are as great an admirer of Cicero as I am—cheese it, my wife’s coming. ” There wasn’t a book in the case. They were all dummies. —Chicago News.

Electricity and Plants.

An interesting experiment, showing the influence of electricity on the growth of roots, has been made in Germany by Prof. Hodefieiss. Plates of copper were thrust upright into the earth and connected by wires with similarly placed zinc plates about one hundred feet distant, an electric battery being thus formed, with the earth be tween the copper and zinc in the circuit. Both potatoes and beets planted between such plates gave an increased yield—beets 15 per cent., potatoes 25 per cent. —as compared with other parts of the same field. The plenisphone, an instrument that unites the tones of a violin, viola, 'cello, and double bass, is a recent invention of a Buffalo musician.

Something of Confucius.

His discrimination of character is amply illustrated in the many wise and witty sayings which he has bequeathed to us on the subject, a few of which we have grouped together, as combining his ideal of how man should behave in different positions of life. Thus he tells us how “a poor man who does not flatter, aDd a rich man who is not proud, are passable characters; bat they are not equal to the poor who vet are cheerful, and the rich who yet love the rules of propriety.” “A good man in his conduct of himself is humble, in serving his superiors he is respectful, in nourishing the people he is kind, in ordering the people he is just. ” Again, a man “is to think of virtue, not comfort; of the sanctions of law, not of gratification.” And “what the superior man seeks is in himself; what the small man thinks is in others.” He was firmly convinced of its beiDg more or less in the power of every man to acquire knowledge and thereby wisdom. Hence, as Dr. Legge tells us in his “Life of Confucius” (1867, p. 60), “his house became a resort for young and inquiring spirits who wished to learn the doctrines of antiquity. However small the fee his pupils were able to afiord, he never refused his instructions. All that he required was an ardent desire for improvement and some degree of capacity.” Thus, to quote his own words, “I do not open up truths to one who is not eager to get knowledge, nor keep out one who is anxious to explain himself.” By stimulating youth to study, he endeavored to create an instructed public opinion which should display an admiration for truth and goodness. That the same love of truth pervaded all his sentiments is exemplified by a remark he one day made: “Shall I teach you what knowledge is ?” said he. “When you know a thing, to hold that you know it, and when you do not know a thing, to allow that you do not know it; this is knowledge.” His definition of hypocrites reminds us of their comparison to whited sepulchers in the New Testament namely—- “ There may be fair words and a humble countenance when there is little virtue.” But lastly, it has often been urged that Confucius, in spite of his wisdom and the loftiness of his teaching, had nothing to say about Cod or a future life. He preferred, however to speak of heaven as in the following instance : “He who offends against heaven has none to whom he can pray, ” and “Alas!” said he, “there is no one that knows me.” But his friend replied, “What do you mean by thus saying that no o:e knows you?” He answered, “I do not murmur against heaven. Ido not grumble against men. But there is heaven that knows me.” Indeed it has been truly said that he was unreligious rather than irreligious. And if he had not a knowledge of a divine ruler it was his misfortune, and arose from no desire to disparage religious belief of any kind. In short, as Mr. Clodd remarks, his omitting to speak about God “was not because he was an unbeliever—for he, of all men, had reverence for the sacred, unknown power that underlies all things—but because his nature was so beautifully simple and sincere that he would not pretend to knowledge of that which he felt xvas beyond human reach and thought.” But nevertheless, one cannot but regret that his teaching was not more distinctive in this respect, especially as it was destined to be such a mighty power in molding the Chinese character for untold generations.— Quiver.

A Cure for Diphtheria.

A lady friend of the Auburn (N. Y.) Adveriiser has translated from the German a remedy for diphtheria which may be useful to some of our readers. R. Munch, proprietor of a drug establishment in Leipsic, Saxony, publishes in the Pharmacist, a medical paper, a remedy for diphtheria which has had surprising success. He urgently press s all physicians to try it for the benefit of all patients suffering from the disease, and also requests the press to publish it. He says: “My little daughter, 7 years of age, has had diphtheria twice within some weeks, with severe fever, about 105° Fahrenheit. We gave with great success rectified oil of turpentine (oleum terebinth n:e rectificatum). Dose, one teaspoonful in the morning and the same at evening.” Adults should take one tableapoonful. Afterward drink a little lukewarm milk to allay the burning in the throat. For children the second dose can be mixed with milk, which will render it easier to take. The result is really marvelous. The inflammation of the abnormal diphtheritic spots in the tlwoat grows lighter at the edges, and in this way they gradually shrink until in twenty-four hours they disappear entirely, leaving no sign. To quiet the inflamed tonsils the throat was gargled at first every two hours, and then every three hours, with the following gargle: One ounce chlorate of potash to forty ounces distilled water. This remedy has been used with perfect satisfaction both by adults and children, not one case endiug fatally. The Milwaukee Uolksbiatt quoted this remedy from the German paper, and afterward received a letter from a subscriber in Mitchell County, lowa, saying that “A child in the writer’s family was attacked by diphtheria, treated by local physicians, and died; then four members of the same family were similarly attacked, treated by this remedy, and, I am happy to tell you, all recovered.” Thebe is frozen music in many a heart that the beams of encouragement would melt into glorious song.

HUMOR.

End-hen— Adventists. A common by-word—Hl pass. Maids in waiting those beyond twenty-five. The barber can be relied on for data in the making up of “crop” reports.— Yonkers Gazette. Thebe are few disappointments in life equal to that experienced by a man who expects that he is going to sneeze and suddenly discovers that he can’t. “Keep going straight ahead,” says a writer. This is all very well, but when there is a bulldog in the path we would rather go round him.— Boston Courier. THE KIND OF A MAN TO HAVE. A husband? No -woman e'er had a better, And happiness gilds his life; He never forgets to mail a letter That’s given him by his wife. —Boston Courier. Young Babsteb is just learning Greek and has nearly mastered the alphabet. He said it was no wonder Homer was blind if be bad to read his own poetry in such outlandish type.— Lynn Union. Said a young lady to a female friend: “Why do you use two kinds of paper in writing your love letters ?” When I write to Jim 1 use red paper, because that means love, and when I write to Tom I use blue paper, for that means faithfulness.” At Lake Nyassa, Africa, a man can be bought for forty yards of white cotton cloth. This is certainly very reasonable ; in this country it sometimes takes several thousand dollars and a lot of telephone stock to buy a man, and then he may go back on you just before Congress adjourns.— Estelline. Bell. “No,” said the henpecked husband, as he scratched his bald head, “I am not v believer in Mormonism, not by a long chalk.” “Why not?” asked the Mormon sympathizer with whom h& was conversing. “Because,” replied the henpecked man, “I don’t believe in a man having two wives. ‘No man can serve two masters. ’ ” HEB LITTLE HAND. Her little hand, so soft and white, Like an imprisoned bird to night I held within my own. The beauteous maid I long had wooed, And for that little hand had sued Till hope had almost flown. At last in mine it trembling lay, I felt its fluttering pulses play A soundless melody; For liberty it scarcely fought, It was a prisoner, I thought, That wished not to be free. The trembling captive I caressed, The velvet lingers softly pressed, While her fair face I scanned; Then, as her color rose and fell, What joy was mine to hear her tell I’d won the little hand! Oh! little hand, so soft and white, Whose touch cau thrill me with delight, Oh I will it ever be That that fair hand, with satin skin, Armed witn a broom or rolling-nin, Will terrors have for me? A Philadelphia inventor predicts that the time is soon coming when the type-setting machine will be perfected and in use in all printing offices. The Philadelphia man is not far from right. Prof. Clamp, of Estelline, some time ago became interested in the matter and has labored on it to some purpose. He had but little difficulty in constructing a machine that would set type perfectly from the most complicated manuscript, and soon found that by the addition of a couple of cams and a thingumbob it could be used to write editorials. He had some trouble in getting it so that it would collect the bills and put ils feet on the desk, but has finally succeeded. He does not hope to get it so it will pay the bills. Alter offi e hours, by touching a spring it will turn out affidavits about the circulation till stopped. One of the most interesting sights in connection with Prof. Clamp’s invention is, when two of them are working together, to see one of them stop and attempt to bon ow a chew of tobacco of the other, and being unsuccessful turn around and strike the editor for some. Few editors can look on this without shedding tears. The Professor expects to realize a fortune from his invention, and is confident that sales will boom right up to the h'gliest notch as soon as it is understood that each machine is required to sign the temperance pledge before it leaves the shop.— Estelline Bell.

Bobby’s Article on Cats.

A cat is a curius animil. It has fore feat and also fore legs. Its head is at one end of its body and its tale is at the other. When it walks its hed gos before and its tale follows along behind. Its front feat walks before and its bine feat walks along behind. If a kan is tide to a cat’s tale it will not track when it walks. It is nut good for a cat to ti a bunch of firecra kersto its tale eather. It is apt to walk too fast and get heated. A cat’s tale is a good handel to pike the cat up by, but it’s hard on the cat. Cats can clime treas. Dogs kant. That is lucky for cats. When a dog gits after them they kan clime a tre, when they kan sass back without gitin kert. You kant hit a cat. Wunct I thru a bute at one, and I hit a nold ruster. The ole ruster he dide, but the cat didn’t.

Peril of Senatorial Heads.

We looked down upon the Senators for a few minutes. There were but few present. I was leaning upon the balustrade with my hat in hand when a henate employe approached and requested me to remove it from the railing. 1 remarked: “I am holding my hat sir,” to which the reply came: “I know that, but it is against the rules. ” And then he added: “If a hat or piece of paper fell down from here it might hit something soft, and then there would be a smash.” That appeal was sufficient, and the hat was instantly placed on the seat beside me. Washington letter. Thebe is much virtue in a blacksmith's vise.