Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 111, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 May 1910 — Page 2

TO THE MEN WHO LOSE

■mfa to the men who lose’ What though their work be ne’er so nobly planned. And watched with jealous care, M* glorious halo crowns their efforts grand. Contempt is failure's share. Here’s to the men who lose! If triumph's easy 'smile our struggles greet. Courage is easy then; The king is he who after fierce defeat Can up and, fight again. Here’s to the men who lose! The ready plaudits of a fawning world Ring sweet In victor's 'ears; The vanquished banners never are unfurled— For them there sound no cheers. Here’s to the men who lose! The touchstone of true world is not success, There Is a higher test —• Though fate may darkly frown onward to press. And bravely do one's best Here’s to the men who lose! It Is the vanquished’s praises that I sing. And this is the toast I choose; "A hard-f Ought failure is a noble thing. Here's to the men who lose!’’ —Unknown.

AMBER

At the sound of a footfall in the •erridor he laid down his pen and leaned wearily back in his big armchair. Presently a hand thrust back the curtain from the doorway and his wife entered. She was gowned for the •vesting in her favorite color—dull yellow. There were diamonds at her throat and in her golden-brown hair. She looked radiaht wTfff'pleasure. ‘’Shall I do?” she asked, coming forward and leaning upon the desk with her hands, palms downward. He inspected her deliberately—critically, she thought “You will do well,” he said at last. •What is it to-night, Amber?” " ’Faust.’ I am going with the Kendalls. Lawrence— —” He took up his pen with a slight gesture of impatience that effectually silenced her. Half the joy died out of her face. She stood a moment watching him as he wrote; then she went round and laid her hand timidly on his shoulder. “John ” wistfully. She hesitated, hoping that he would look up. or say something more; but he did neither. "I—l am going now. Good-by.” - “Good-by.” It was the tone, not the words, that brought a sudden dimness into her •yes. She lingered still with her hand on his shoulder. Then she slowly removed it and stole out of the room. As the curtain ceased swaying behind her the pen dropped and John Sarles covered his face with his hands. He heard a carriage stop at the curbing, and the front door close with a bang. He heard a man’s voice and a man’s gay laugh—both Lawrence Kendall's; then there was a rumble of wheels and he lifted his head with a Jerk. Something like a sob escaped him. "Lawrence,” she had said. It had come to that, then! Lawrence! John Sarles knew him well—knew how his handsome face and winning smile endeared him to the hearts of women—how he was sought after, petted, admired. Ah, well, it was something, after all, to be bom with a handsome face and straight, strong limbs. John Sarles looked bitterly at the crutch leaning against the chair and thought because of it life had withheld much of its sweetness from him. Wealth and even a powerful intellect which put him in touch with the brightest thinkers of the day failed to make up to him for thatHe had been on the point of sinking into the self-imposed isolation of a proud, morose nature when Amber •ame — Amber, the little daughter of his only intimate friend, who, dying, had intrusted her to his care. Soon the music of her laughter had chased away the ghostly echoes from the lonely old house and the light of her happy eyes brightened every room. Her books strewed the tables, her flowers filled the long unused vases, her gowns made bits of color against the dark walls as she flitted up-stairs and down. -

Gradually all became changed because of her. New furniture replaced the old, new carpets covered the floors, the conservatory blossomed with rare plants and a grand piano lit up a dark recess of the library with its polished ivory and rosewood. By and by the little girl became a maiden to whom every door was epen and whose smile was a favor which men considered as well-nigh precious, and all the time that Amber was growing winsome and sweet and graceful John Sarles was growing old and wrinkled and gray. But his was as young as ever, and he loved Amber with all the pent-up force of his nature and he suffered agonies because of that love, feeling that she could never, never be his. One day a handsome boy of good family came to ask him for Amber’s hand. Poor John! He gave his concent and his blessings as well. What else could he do, not knowing but that Amber loved him? And while the boy was pleading his cause John sat in Ms study with as bitter a heartache as ever man had. Presently the door opered. but be

didn’t look up. And then came a sweet, sobbing voice and the pressure of two soft and warm arms about his neck from behind. "Oh, guardy, guardy, are you tired of me that you try to get rid of me so!” He was suffocated with surprise, and joy and terror, but he managed to draw her around where he could see her face, which was rosy with blushes and persistently averted. "Amber!” he cried. “Tired of you! Want to get rid of you. Amber!” And then, reassured by his tone, §he burst out, passionately"Yes, you must be, else ybu’d never have sent him to me, when you know I hate him- hate them all but you!” He drew her down on his knee at that and held her close in his trembling arms. His face was near hers, but he did not kiss her. He could only look at the sweet, wet (fyes and childlike mouth, the round, soft cheek and gold-brown hair, wondering, doubting, hoping all at once —he could not have told which the most of the three. That was two "years ago—two blessed years of such happiness that they seemed to him like a long, beautiful dream. Amber loved him and Amber was his wife. But of late a shadow had fallen between them —the. shadow of Lawrence Kendall. The fear that had numbered John's heart when he first beheld the young man’s admiring gaze upon his wife had ripened into fierce jealousy. He had grown cold and austere in his manner, causing Amber many tears and much worriment. Once he had been positively harsh toward her. What else had he been to-night? And all the time his proud, sensitive nature was suffering to Its utmost capacity. Dear little Amber! He could feel the tears in her eyes and the quiver of her mouth, though he could not see them. The wistful pleading in her voice had touched him to the quick. How he longed to snatch her in his arms—crumpling the dull yellow silk, if he must, and ruffling the shiny hair, for she used never to complain—and kiss her over and over and tell her

“ARE YOU TIRED OF ME?”

how much he loved her, and how sorry he was to hurt her by word or by look. But no—his pride, his indomitable pride, restrained him, and he had let her go with her whole evening spoiled because of it. Ah, just wait till she came in, tired and cold and sleepy! Then he would make all right. She would forgive him—of course she would, the darling. And they would be happy again as they had not been for weeks, sitting by the Are together, she in the big crimson chair and he on an ottoman at her side, just where he could touch her hand or cheek and kiss her when he chose. The firelight would dance on her hair and bring out the soft color in her face and she would laugh and smile In the old joyous way. What a fool he had been —how cowardly and unreasonable, to doubt his innocent darling even for one moment. It was 2 o’clock and Amber ought to have been home an hour ago. What was it made John start and tremble and pale as he glanced at the clock? Were his fears confirmed? Had his doubts truths? Hark! Was not that the sound of a carriage pausing at the curbing? What occasioned this unusual con-, fusion in the hall below? John Sarles seized his crutch and limped a few paces toward the door, but stopped as it was flung open and the figure of an old sertdng man appeared on the threshold. “Sir ” he began. 1 __ John Sarles’ lips moved, but no sound passed them. "Sir, I have come with sad news for you. There has been an accident — the horses ran away—and Miss Amber ’’ He caught John as he reeled and fell and, answering the mute, awfhl appeal of those agonizing eyes, he concluded— “ls hurt seriously, but not fatally. They have just brought her home.” Three months afterward, when bursting buds and freshly-sprouting grass proclaimed that spring was at hand, Amber was carried into her husband's study and propped up by pillows and cushions on the soft there. Her face had lost its roundness and its dainty color and the beautiful browngold hair was cut close te her head. There was a great bunch of yellow roses .on the table at her side, and she touched them lovingly, knowing John was watching her, and that he had placed them there. Presently he came and sat down on the edge of the sofa—all their differences had long since been made up—and took her hands la his and held

thbia tenderly against his mouth. There were tears in his eyes, though Amber’s were clear enough. "You dear old John,” she said smiling, "I believe you feel worse about it than I do.” “Well, you needn’t, you silly boy.” She was silent a moment, and then she said, musingly. **Dq. you know, I believe I’m half glad ” “Oh, my darling, to be lame all your life!" "Yes; for, don’t you see, we shall sympathize with one another more than we ever have? And, oh, John——” "Yes, Amber.” “I never realized before how patient and dear you until I was hurt I think I love you better than ever, if that can be, and I am sure—quite sure—sure, quite sure, that this has been a blessed lesson for both of us, aren’t you?” And John, in his newer and cleares wisdom, dared not deny it—Grit.

ODD NAMES FOR NEW COLORS.

Shades of Popular Fabrica Deal?, nated aa Willow and Seaweed. This season green is assertively in the lead for fabrics to be used for daytime wear and particularly in tailored costumes. Every shade known hereto--fpre and a* 1 few additionalones - are shown and called by names that appropriately designate the exact shade. The newest, says Vogue, are hemlock, willow, chartreuse, seaweed, Verte-de-. Mer, bronze and ivy. Venetian rouge is a deep and rare shade of red with just a tinge of brown, and terracotta has a dusty tone not seen in this color before. It greatly improves it, as does the ashy tone given to the reddish plum color, which is known by the name rhododendron. Chataine is a deep red brown, very becoming to any type, and brun foncee corresponds to seal brown. Moyen gris is a smoke gray. The paler tints for evening wear show a pale chartreuse, a pale sesastri and a pale smyrne. Crepuscul, lilac, bois de rose lichen, a light gray green and tanagra, a light cedar shade are the unusual hues, besides which all the colors known as evening shades are to be found. In these last cravette, which is a hue suggesting shrimp, Is very captivating, and for dinner gowns or theater dresses there is a group, quite distinctive, of colors that remind one of old favorites, but differ by showing a grayer tone or a greener cast, or a note of purple, a difference decided though subtle. Of these tints rose crulee comes in two shades, one very pale, the other medium deep. The Color is on the old rose order and has a soft glow, though toned on gray. Sauterne is a new and exquisite shade of amber, and champignon has a bronze cast, looking like seaweed dripping wet on the beach in the sun. Aeroplane is a smoky blue green, and acier bruni is purplish gray, coming In two shades, and caca is a deep fawn brown. Etna is a smoky brown, ana the new stone grays that are so scart are dingy, green gray. Taupe is the leading shade in plain mesh veils, and those made of a thread in the large, hexagonal style are unusually becoming to the complexion. Another mesh veil, of finer weave, is covered with flat velvety pastilles, square in shape, scattered over the surface at close intervals. It is remarkable how satisfactory one may furnish one’s entire wardrobe ready-made when only a few years ago anything out of certain standard colors had to be furnished by the dressmaker. The completness of the stock of colored separate waists evidences this, it being possible to match any suiting in a variety of fabrics and models. Thus one may keep up to tha modish fad for blouses of the same color as the skirt with little or no trouble. Prominent in the showing of a leading shop are embroidered net waists, the pattern in silk soutache braid. To show this off contrast is given by a white mousseline lining, over which the work stands out clearly."

Honesty.

I was sitting at my desk when black Sam, who sometimes waits on me at my restaurant, entered my office. “What can I do for you, Sam?” I asked. “Ah got a chance to change mah situation, Misseh Clahk,” he said. "Yo’ kin seh a good wu’d fo’ me, cain’t yo’? Tell ’em Ah’m hones’, ’n slch?” “Of course,” I hesitated, “you’re a good waiter, Sam, but I don’t know anything specially about your hoiT esty.” “Well, tell ’em dat, an’ say yo’ thinks Ah’m hones’. Datil be enough.” So I promised I would. “Thank yo’, thank yo’, Misseh Clahk,” he said, with a deep bow. “When yo’ come over to-morrow, sit at mah table ’n Ahl! give yo’ a sho’t check.” —Success Magazine.

Milton's Reply.

Milton, besides being an excellent poet, could, if the occasion offered and circumstances demanded, make a sharp retort. In a letter to the London Spectator the writer quotes an anecdote which he found among some family papers. It was originally related by his great-great-grandfather in 1762. King Charles 11. had the curiosity to see Milton, and in the course of conversation said to him: , “God hath punished you for your mallee, and bo forth, to my father by taking away your sight” “Aye,” Milton is said to have replied, “but before I lost my eyes, he ln»t big head."

The Ingenue.

He —A philosopher says: "The only thing worth while inJUfeJbL trying to do something you can't—and doing it." She (sweetly>—is that why you play bridge?—Ufa

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A TREE.

A venerable yellow pine had been cut down, says Enoq A. Mills, in "Wil’d Life on the Rockies." It came to the earth with tremendous force, and struck so hard that it shattered the trunk thoroughly. The sawmill man said it would not pay to saw it into lumber, and that it could rot on the spot. Receiving permission to do as he pleased with the remains, Mr. Mills a at once began to cut and split both the trunk and the limbs, and to transcribe their strange records. Day after day he worked. He dug the roots and dissected them, and with the aid of a -magnifier studied the life of the old tree. I found in the base of the stump ten hundred and fqrty-seven rings of growth. As the tree was cut down in 1903, its birth probably occurred in the year 856. Some of the rings were thicker than the others; in places, also, two or three of them were together. This was thp result of unfavorable weather—of drought or cold. Burns, bites, bruises, torn bark and broken aj’ma all showed, and from them I was able to make out the old tree’s history. For nearly three centuries little had happened to it but the ordinary accidents from the crowding and pushing, and even the falling of other trees. In the summer of 1301, as I made it out, a stroke of lightning tore a limb out of its round top and shattered a shoulder. During 1348 it lost two of its largest arms. Perhaps the aecumular tions of heavy snow did this. In the lower section of Old Pine’s trunk I was sawing off a portion, when the tool, with a buzz-z-z! suddenly jumped, and cutting away the wood carefully, I discovered a flint arrowhead, and then another. The outer ring which these arrows had pierced was the six hundred and thirtieth, so that the year must have been 1486. The year that Columbus discovered America Old Pine was a handsome giant, with a round head held more than a hundred feet above the earth. The year 1540 was a memorable one,, for during that year a camping-party built a fire against the instep of the tree, and some one hacked it with an axe. In 1762 the season was not regular. After the ring was well started, something, perhaps a cold wave, for a time checked its growth, and so the wood for that year resembled two years’ growth; but the difference between this double or false ring and a regular one was easily detected. I discovered what seemed to be indications of earthquake shocks from time to time. In the year 1811, or early in 1812, the tree must have experienced a violent one, for the wood was checked and shattered, and at one point, some distance from the ground, was a bad break. That quarter of the tree which faced the cliff had suffered a rock bombardment. - One of the stones of about five pounds' weight, had remained embedded in the side of the tree. In the year 1859 some one made an axe-mark on the old pine that may have been intended for a trail-blaze, and in the same year another fire had badly burned 'and scarred its ankle. I wonder if some prospectors came this way in 1859 and made camp by the tree. While I was working over the old pine a Douglas squirrel which lived near by used to stop every day in its busy harvesting of pine-cones to look on and scold me. As I watched him placing his cones in a hole in the ground under the pine-needles, I wondered if one of his buried cones would remain there uneaten, to germinate and expand ever green into the air, and become a noble giant to live as long and as useful a life as Old Pine. I found myself trying to picture the scenes in which this tree would stand when the birds came singing back from the southland in the spring-time of the year 3000.

The Woman and the Dog.

A crowd gathered at 10th and Barton strees to watch a handsome fox terrier that was running about, nose in air. White froth was running from the dog’s mouth. “He’s mad!” yelled a fat man. The fox terrier stood in the center of the group, with wide-open eyes, either too mad or too frightened to move. At this juncture, the policeman arrived. A dozen voices began to tell him that the dog was mad; that it must be killed; that it had been snapping at the children; that it began to froth when it passed a pool of water, and how best to shoot. A tall, quiet-looking woman pushed through the crowd and started toward the dog. A dozen men yelled at her, two or three men grabbed at her. She picked the dog up and started out of the crowd. The policeman stepped her with: “Madam, that dog is mad. He must be shot. Look at the foam coming out of his mouth.” “Foam,” she said contemptuously. “That’s a cream puff he was eating.”St. Ldtiia Post-Dispatch.

Small Boys, Take Comfort.

In disclosing to acquaintances what he believed to be some of the causes of long life, the late Sir Isaac Holden, after dilating on the advantages of bananas as a food, used to conclude, “And. above all, not too many baths; they are weakening."— London Post.

Financial Note.

The easiest money to spend and the hardest money to save is that which you haven't earned. A girl isn’t necessarily a Jewel be* eause she la Mt In her way*.

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