Greenfield Evening Republican, Greenfield, Hancock County, 13 May 1895 — Page 4

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OUR

Mtfwio

iScorcher, 21 lbs., fSo.

And Still Another Invoice.

This week, with the promise of more next week.

And we have made arr.in factories to send us

TRADE DEMANDS THEM

••ements with the best

LATEST STYLES

EACH WEEK.

So that we can guarantee our customers the yery latest styles in footwear the

Ours Is The Only Shoe Store in the County.

Straw Hats and

Summer Underwear

GOOD and CHEAP.

•WHITE & SERVICE,

20 W. Main St, Randall's old stand.

MONUMENTS!

GSSASSSSQQS

I wish to announce to the people of Hancock and adjoining counties, that 1

NEW MARBLE AND GRANITE

J. B. PTJSEY.

411. Main St. Grreenfield, Irid.

Good Agents wnntcd in •(•very town. INDIANA BICYCLE CO,, 111ft Indianapolis, Ind

I A N S

ONE GIVES RELIEF

have opened

where I would be pleased to see all who are in need of any kind of cemetery work. jSly stock will be found to be first-class, and prices as low as consistent with good work. All orders entrusted to me will receive prompt attention,and satisfaction guaranteed. See my stock and prices before placing your orders.

SHOP,

ICYGLES.

ARE THE

HIGHEST OF ALL HIGH

GRADES.

W.it runted Superior to iny Kirycle built in tlio World, re inlli?sK of prico. Built and ^uiir inte ri liy the Iiii laiiii Hicyclu (Jo., a Million Iol!ar cor IKiial on. whose liond is as good as J'onot buy a whct.'l until you have seen the WAVERl.Y.

Ca tnlO^i te Free.

I shall never forget the time upon which my eyes first fell upon Abernthney Hall. The stage had put me down by a nook in the highway. I felt weary and excited and seated myself upon the trunks which the driver had but a moment before unstrapped from the boot. But the weariness all left me, and the excitement changed to a quiet calmness as I gazed on the scene before me

Some HO yards to my right, embowered among its little world of trees, stood the manse. It was a beautiful building there was no definiteuess about the style of architecture—it simply seemed to be the creation of an exquisite taste. There was nothing about it suggestive of fortification and defense, like those of the Tudor or Elizabethan styles it was neither of the open Italian order nor yet of the modern pointed gothic. It was a sort of compromise between the latter, probably what might be called the An-glo-Italian, and a manse peculiarly adapted to the artificial landscape gardening in the front and the naturalness of the dusky woods and the frowning hills in the background. There was no accumulation of buttresses and gables and turrets and such other conceits that lower the dignity of a house true, there were terraces, but they were ornamental accompaniments—they imparted an imposing breadth to the whole group of buildings.

The approach to the house was through a broad, extensive avenue, lined on either

side with a variety of trees planted with the most delicate attention to effect. I detected the silvery green of the white poplar mingling with the dark green of the native oak. blended here and there with the abnormal tints of the sycamore and the purple beech. The gardens glowed witli the same inspiration of beauty and taste. From where I stood my eye could not criticise their regularity, but I saw the outlined hedges of blossoming hawt horn, the flowerbeds encircled with their ribbons of boxwood, and the gay petunia Haunting beside the humble violet and the bee haunted thyme.

I felt that the spirit which presided over that exquisite blending of nature and art was thoroughly an artist, not simply of the appreciative but of the creative school. He was more of an artist than thj painter on canvas. The latter commences with a tabula rasa his pencil is subject to his will he puts down a rock here and a brooklet there and works in his buildings and trees as taste may suggest or the laws of perspective demand. Then he can remove with the same facility with which he creates. The landscape gardener must accept localities as he finds them he must conceal deformities and create beauties. The greater and more numerous the difficulties he has to surmount, the more superior to the landscape painter is his taste and genius.

Beware of the man, says some one, who loves neither flowers nor children. There is not simply a speciousness about that remark. It is1 the embodiment of truth. We are conscious of the weight and importance of the caution, no matter how limited our experience. As I gazed upon the scene before me I felt convinced that the proprietor of Abernthney Hall loved both flowers and children: that he was a gentleman of refined sensibilities, a Christian and a scholar. I had come to act as governess to his children. I had misgivings in reference to my new home. My conjectures of harshness and a want of appreciation at times made me almost shrink away from duty. But I is satisfied and wholly at ease as I sat there upon the baggage which made up the sum of my earthly possessions.

And yet there was much of regret connected with it—not 011 account of myself, but on account of another. We read that William Morton. Kane's friend and companion, stood alone when he gazed upon the unfrozen Polar sea surging and rolling beneath hiin. The soul of De Soto, when he first beheld the Mississippi. was not touched with half the grandeur and sublimity. The dream of philosophy was a reality the inductions of science a truth the open Polar sea was found!

The chilling grandeur of the snow, the palaces of ice, ideal Alhambras glittering like a thousand stars, the gigantic stairways of pearl, surmounted by the brilliant arch of the aurora—but, above all. the oppressiveness of that hour of solitude and silence—stirred his soul with a thousand kindling emotions. But he stood there alone ho had no friend to realize with him that half awakening dream of magnificence to whom he could relieve his surcharged heart by speech: to whom he could point out this or that object of attraction. The oppressiveness of his loneliness was like a despair: it was the struggle of longing and regret he would even have grasped irreverently at tlio ghostly hand of Sir John Franklin had he come out from his icy tomb to stand beside him there.

It was something of this regret that I felt in my soul. My mind went back to the close, crowded city, with its sea of heated roofs, noisy factories, dusty streets and interminable walls of masonry. I thought of my sister Alice, with her dark spiritual eyes, brighter than the hectic flush upon her cheeks. Poor invalid child! IIow I wished.that she was standing beside me, feeling the same cool breeze fanuing her brow and gazing upon the same changing vistas of scenery standing beside me so that I could talk to her! But she was not there, and the tears came into my eyes as

I was soon started out of my reverie. I heard voices in the avenue, and in a moment afterward Mr. Ashley reached out his hand to me in his kind way, while the servants shouldered my trunks.

I read my employer at a glance there was not much individuality necessary to do that. Iiis temperament was sanguine, with enough of the phlegmatic to give him calmness and dignity. He was Etill a young man, well formed and with

that intellectual expression upon his face which comes to men who read and think much. His lips and eyes betrayed his genial nature. They would have given their impressions of geniality to a very child.

He chatted gayly as we walked toward the house. He did so partly to relieve me from embarrassment and partly because it was his nature. Perhaps he noticed, too, that I had been weeping. I already felt as if I had known him for years. There was no atmosphere of mock aristocracy about him, repellent because so self evidently put on. "Carrie," said Mr. Ashley, ere we reached the hall door, "this is your new teacher."

As he spoke there came from behind a cluster of china lilacs a beautiful child of 10 summers. She had an abundance of dark hair, with eyes from the brilliancy of which nothing could detract but their shyness, while her figure was the very personification of grace. She sprang forward and caught my hand. "Oh! I shall like you very much," she cried.

My heart throbbed wildly as I stooped down and kissed her white forehead. "I am glad to hear you say that." I replied. "Carrie is both warm and impulsive in her friendships," said Mr. Ashley. There was a calm, steady look in his gray eyes. "I thought you were a great, lank woman, with such eyes as lunke one shudder and with a mole on your nose," continued the child.

I laughed at that and patted her on the Mr. Ashley led the way into the

c_hefk

sitting room. Carrie still clung to me.

Carrie still clung tn rnr.

"What is your name':'" she asked. "Jenny Gray." 'So! I like that. You won't make

call you Miss Gray, will you? But I

mustn't ask so many questions. Only I want you to see Fred." She left the room, returning in a minute or two with her brother. I was soon upon social terms with him. He closely resembled his father—had the same light, curling hair, calm gray eyes and expressive lips. He was not so talkative as Carrie he was more thoughtful and reserved, more observing and less impulsive.

I was in due time thoroughly installed in my new home. I had much to bless my heavenly father for: my lines were cast in pleasant places. The summer went by, and the winter, in the same quiet, steady, happy way. But I do not intend to speak about my duties at Abernthney Hall, my tutorship of those lovely children, and how in beautifying their lives my own grew beautiful. It is with the new awakening, the new El Dorado of my companionship, my intimacy with the rector, that I have to do.

He was standing at rme of the windows 011 the morning that Mr. Ashley introduced me to him. He turned round, nooded gravely and then gazed out of the window as abstractedly as before. I was not piqued at that—I am not proud and (so my friends tell me) put too low an estimate upon myself. Though his survey of me was not a leisurely one, I knew that he had already divined as much of my life and character as a less penetrating man would have learned in a week. It took me that long to engage him even in tlio most incidental conversation.

He was a sedate, even tempered man. He was often given to fits of absentmindedness. and from this I learned that there was some great sorrow in his soul. It was only in the pulpit that he proved himself more than an ordinary man. He was an analytical reasoner, subject to bursts of the most captivating eloquence and strong in the yearning for the salvation of his fellow men. The light seemed to go out of his eyes and the spiritual glory out o? his face so soon as he descended

from

into the aisles to grasp him by the hand, tliey simply bowed their heads with the memory of the recently spoken words of truthfulness in their souls and a sort of sympathy fur the secret sorrowfulness which raised him above the plane of their compan:./n: hip.

But there came a time when he took a deeper interest in me when his eyes would neglect his book fo follow me around the room wlu

1110

thought about it the silver abele grew indistinct, and there was a shadowiness about the blossoming lilacs.

with a nosegay, or ask me to stroll with him through the gardens. I found him a more agreeable companion than I had supposed him to be. lie would come out of that half dreamy lethargv in

which ho seemed to sit and converse as I vehemence. "You must be more. You if I10 thought and felt like other men. I must say that he even became commu- 1 nicative. He spoke less reservedly and less spasmodically. At first I conversed, and he listened, but by degrees and 1111consciously, as it were, our positions bocame reversed. Then it was that I stood upon the confines of the new El Dorado I in the world of thought. It, was something grand to sit at his feet, a quiet, impressible pupil.

I um«t say it sooner or later, and so I 1 will say it now. I loved him! Yes, I warmly, fervently, passionately. I did not- kn

whether my love was recipro-

tated, neither did I care. The knowlMgc of the deep love in my own heart vas Plough for me to dwell upon at any

ane time. To be sure, his eyes at times warmed up with a beautiful light, and he would exhibit the most earnest solicitude for a temporary ache or illness, but beyond this I observed nothing. Ho did not speak of love. What I had noticed mighfe have been merely occasioned by his strong friendship for me.

I was one day reading Goethe's "Dichtung und Walirheir" (Poetry and Truth). Mr. Jackson observed the work in my hands. "Is Goethe a favorite of 3*ours?" ho asked. "Very much so," I replied. "His works have never been faithfully translated, and least of all the one you are now reading. It is not even secondhanded. It is what Mrs. Austin called 'a bad translation of a very bad French translation.' Two elements enter into ever}- translation—the author and the translator. Thus, Hoole's 'Ariosto' is nearer to Hoole than to Ariosto. So in Pope's 'Homer.' The Greek is nothing, the Englishman everything. Translations have been called pressed flowers. If you want to enjoy Goethe in all his freshness and fragrance, you must go to the original. In no other way will you be able thoroughly to appreciate him." "Do you understand German, Mr. Jackson?" I asked. "I have been told that I am a perfect master of the language. I have Goethe's works in my library. You must study German."

Well, I mastered German. The study was a pleasure and a recreation. I caught the inspiration from the very lips, as it were, of Goethe and Heine and Schiller. I learned, too, the truthfulness of Coleridge's definition of genius— that it consists in carrying on the feelings of the child into maturer years. Men of true genius give themselves up to the first simple impressions of common things. They are content to wonder and smile and admire, just as they did when they were children. It is the opening of the heart to all sweet influences.

We are not called upon to write poetry for angels or saints, but for men—for men who work and think and suffer. He who is to photograph humanity must at least be able to stand on a common level with it and by his many sympathies enrich his special experience with all that is universal. Poetry is the music of truth, and let it come through what medium it may it is always musical while it is true.

But that literary feast also became a "Liebesmahl." To conjugate the verb "to love" in that rich, full, sonorous dialect was less easy than to give it reality. an active transitiveness. I learned to love the-German, but Mr. Jackson, the rector, more.

Well, time brought with it its changes. The invalid Alice died. She is waiting

bo! I like that. You wont make a"'- mviuiu Aiitt mui. oue I'lTIYf1 I H'

for me

beside those ever shining gates.

Mr. Jackson became more and more endeared to his people and to me his moodiness went away from him. Fred grew toward the stature of: his manhood, a kind, sterling, tractable child, while the angel Carrie grew still more beautiful to me in that childish truthfulness which will light her to the grave. To couple her name, the memory of her virtues and the consciousness cf the godliness of her life with the tomb was to rob the latter of all its shadowiness and dread!

At last it came as it was to be. Mr. Jackson spoke to me of love. It was 011 a cold, starlit night in March. We were standing by one of the broad windows, looking out upon the landscape, which, was beautiful still, though clothed in the dreariness of winter. "Jenny," he commenced half sorrowfully, "I am about to say something that may lower me very much in your estimation, but I cannot help it. It has been in my heart for many weeks. It has wrapped it, like the landscape before us. in all the chilliness of wintei*. Whether what I may say will bring sunshine and spring, or leave 1110 still standing an Ishmael in thi3 desert of my life, I cannot tell."

He paused a moment, and I thought I heard my heart beat in that stillness. 1 had a consciousness of what

}11

the pulpit. Few stepped

he would meet

.hfrrr*

VjN

I KkvMMi

lie paused a moment, and I thoiujht I he.it-rd 11111 heart, heat. "Go on, Leonard," I said. "Let me be Hagar to you." "No. 110!" he cried with considerable

must be my Rebecca—my Leah!" "1 will bo anything you wish," 1 said. I was surprised at the calmness with which I said that I was not surprised that I was thoroughly happy. He took me in his arms and kissed me passionately. "We love each other. Jennv."

[CONTIYT'FD.

Wjii Not

(io

(Mir.

PITTSBIJKU,

May lo.—The employes of

the Riverside iron works, at Benwood, W. Va., held a meeting Saturday night and decided to accept the 10 per cent raise granted by the company last week* and tlio mou will not k«- out.

DR. MflN-O WA.

-wSg?*'-.r

THE HERB SPECIALIST

CHRONIC DISEASES

Will be at his office in Gtvenlteid on Fridays and Saturdays of paclt week, pre pared to heal the .-ick.

The Doctor cute* al. curable diseases of the HEAD, THROAT, I.UNO-,

HKART,

STOMACH, BOWKL*. LIVER, KIDNEYS, BLADDER, SKIN, BLOOD and the generative organs of each sex.

GOITRE—A cure guarnritHfd ECZEMIA—A cure insurer). RHEUMATISM—N- failures. *, Address Lock Bx l'J. Greenfield, Ind.

Unless you want to buy Tinware at nard-tnm* prices art prepared to liwike any all kinds of Tiuwarn

We a inly

R)(ifi„i, Guile, irir iniii fouling

For le^s monej tiin nry other hou«e IN Greenfl-M C'HII and get our prices ami convinced that we ure the cheap'-t.

DON'T FORGET""PLACE

Melton & Pratt,

No. N M'h rv-rm St.

War Hainett^'old Man

II I 1 1

it I tlllllllllltllllllllff llilliiiiil aivisiv vf

d&W

T\r

mililllf tllliimi iitiiit(_K

ELECTRIC POWER.

DATE. I

Your News Dealer

A MAGAZINE OF POPULAR ELECTRICAL

SCIENCE.

SUBSCRIPTION, $2.00 PER YEAH.

TRIAL

ronnn

8-oz. package for 5 cts. or 6for 25 cts, Sold by retail grocers everywhere.

Benevolent 1 ,'rotect lve ()nlcr ot

20 CENTS

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SUBSCRIPTION, 6 Mos. $1.00,

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36 Cortlandt St., New York.

$500.00 GUARANTEE. ABSOLUTELY HARMLESS.

Will not injure hands or fabric. ws'.No Washboard needed, can use hard watof same as soft. Full Directions on every package.

sjfc "When the Hour Hand Points to Nin«, Have Your Washing on the Line."

-ATi.wiic ti'\, Alay i: ~1MII.I1 arrangciiienls were made yeslcnlay lor the laceimg ot tin gran.

lodge of

the

Niks

be held on ,luiy !», 10 and 11. (.raiul Exaher Ku.er l(J. H. .hay

Washing

ton, .rand Secrclary tieorg' A. Reynolds of ISaginaw, .Mich., and (irand 1 rustees ,i.a..l (v.tiiuernp of Uoston and I'. .1. Campbed ana

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Laubc ot R.cniiioiiu are noie.^jw

HORSES AND HORSEMEN.

Pennsylvania will lie full of trotting meetings this year. Four of the 1,000 stakes offered by Franklin purl:, Kaugus, Mass., filled well".

Jinnes 17 L!i will have several trotte.-s belonging to John Green, owner of Directum.