Greenfield Republican, Greenfield, Hancock County, 26 July 1894 — Page 2

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He looked remarkably pleased at himself. and Bernardine could not help smiling. He looked just as a child looks when he has given up a toy to another child, and is conscious that he has behaved himself rather well. "I am very much oblige] to you." she said frankly. "I have had a great wish to learn photography." "I might have lent my camera to you before, mightn't t?" he said thoughtfully. "No," she answered, "there was not anv reason."

Then a kinder mood took possession of him. Well, at least it will keep her ?from fussing and fretting and think-

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BY BEATRICE IIARKADEN.

PART 1.— CHAPTER XII— CONTINUED.

-But he took the hint all the same. "You soon get tired of things, and shortened his explanations, and Winifred," he said. as Bernardine was genuinely inter '"Yes, I do." was the answer. "I ested, he was well satisfied. From am so easily bored. I am quite tired time to time he looked at his old of this place." camera and at his companion, and "You will have to stay here a little from the expression of unease on his

longer,"

face, it was evident that some con- be free to go where you choose. I test was going on in his mind. Twice wish I could die quicker for you he stood near his old camera, and turned round to Bernardine intending to make some remark. Then he changed his mind, and walked ab-

ruptly to the other end of the room said. "You are 3tter as though to seek advice, from his chemical bottles. Bernardine mean •while had risen from her chair, and was looking out of the window. "You have a lovely view," she said. "It must be nice to look at that when you are tired of dissecting cheesemit.es. All the same I think the whits scenery gives one a great sense of sadness and loneliness." "Why do you speak always of loneliness?" he asked. "I have been thinking a good deal about it," she said. "When I was strong and vigorous the idea of loneliness never entered my mind. Now I see how lonely most people are. If I believed in God as a Personal God. I should be inclined to think that loneliness were part of his scheme of her. so that the soul of man might turn I before." to him and him alone." He turned wearily on his side, and

The Disagreeable Man was stand-

ing by his camera again his decision was made. "Don't think about those questions," he said, kindly. "Don't worry

and fret too much about the philoso- he said quietly, "but you area selfish phv of life. Leave philosophy alone, and take to photography instead. Here, I will lend you my old camera." "Do you mean that?" she asked, glancing at him in astonishment. "Of course I mean it," he said.

•"No'," he said, with a kind of re- your hands. Well, you were not lief, "there wa- not any reason. That is quite true." "When will you give me my first .•lesson*!''' she aslod. "Perhaps, though, you would like to wait a few days, in case you change .your mind."

"It takes ine some time to make derstand you. You have never spokup ray mind." he replied "but I do en like this before." not change it. So I will give you "No," he said, "butl have thought your fiivTt lesson tomorrow. Only like this before. All the hours that you must not be impatient. You you have left me lonely, I have been must consent to be taught you can thinking like this, with my heart full not possibly know everything!" of bitterness against you, until that

Thev fixed a time for the morrow, little girl, that Little Brick came and Bernardine went off with the. along." camera and meeting vrie on th'* After that, it was some time be8taircase, confided to her the piece fore he spoke. He was thinking of of good fortune which had befallen Little Brick, and of all the pleasant her.. hours he had spent with her, and of "See what Herr Allitsen has lent the kind, wise words she had spoken me, Marie!" she said. [to him, an ignorant fellow. She was

Marie raised her hands in aston- something like a companion, ishment. So he went on thinking, and Mrs, "Who would have thought such a Relfold went on embroidering. She •thing of Herr Allitsen?" said Marie. was now feeling herself to be almost "Why, he does not like lending me a

And the Disagreeable Man meanwhile was cutting a new scientific

book which had just come from Eng-

ner where the old camera had stood before Bernardine took it away in triumph. "I hope she won't hurt that camera," he said, a little uneasily. "I am half sorry that

Still I hope she won't hurt it." ang.

CHAPTER XIII. A DOMESTIC SCENE.

One afternoon when Mrs. Reffold came to sav good-bye to her husband before going out for the usual sledge drive, he surprised her bv tys unwonted manner.

match." imatter to make oneself into a Bernardine laughed and passed on heroine or martyr. Selfish, neglectto her room.

"Take your cloak off," he said, and love written on his face, "Winisharply. "You can not go for your i'red, I am sorry if I have been sharp drive this afternoon. You don't •often give up your time to me you must do so today."

She was so astonished that she at (Once laid aside her cloak and hat, and touched the bell. "Why are you ringing?" Mr. Reffold asked testily "To send a message of excuse," she answered, with provoking cheerfulness.

he said, "and then you will

Winfred." Mrs. Reffold looked up from her embroidery. "You will get better soon," she

Yes, you've helped a good deal to make me better," he said bitterly. "You have been a most unselfish person, haven't you? You have given me every care and attention, haven't you?" "You seem tome in a very strange mood tMav," she said, looking puzed. *. don't under, ind .\ou."

Mr. Reffold laughed. "Poor Winfred," he said. *'If it is ever your lot to fall ill and be neglected, perhaps then you will think of me." "Neglected?" she said, in surprise. "Wnat do you mjan? I thought you had everything you wanted. The nurse brought- excellent testimonials. I was careful in the choice

You have never complained

made no answer. And for some time there was silence between them. Then he watch *d her as she bent over her embroidery. "You are very beautiful,Winifred,

woman. Has it ever struck you that you are selfish?" Mrs. Reffold gave no replv, but she made a resolution to write to her particular friend at Cannes and confid to her how very trying her husband had become. "I suppose it is a part of his illness," she thought meekly. "But it is hard to have to bear it."

And Mrs. Reffold pitied herself profoundly. She stitched sincere pity for herself into that piece of embroidery. "I remember you telling me." continued Mr. Reffold, "that sick people repelled you. That was when I was strong and vigorous. But since I have been ill I have recalled your words. Poor Winfred! You did not think then that you would have an invalid husband on

intended for sick room nursing, an 1 you have not tried to be what you were not intended for. Perhaps you were right, after all." "I don't know why you should be so unkind today," Mrs. Reflfold said with pathetic patience. "I can't un-

heroine. It is a very easy

ful? What did he mean? Oh, it was just part of his illness. She must go on bearing her burden as

siie

land. He spent a good deal of money Her rightful position was in a Lonon himself. He was soon absorbed don ball-room. Instead of which in this book, and much interested in :she had to be shut up in an Alpine the diagrams. village a hard lot. It was little

Suddenly he looked up to the cor- enough pleasure she could gft. and

j)at| borne it these many months,

apparently her husband grudged her that. His manner to her this afternoon was not such as to encourage her to stay in from her drive on another occasion. To-morrow she would go sledging.

That flash of light which reveals ourselves had not yet come to Mrs. Relfold.

She looked at her husband, and thought from his restfulness that he had gone to sleep, and she was just beginning to write to that particular friend at Cannes, to tell her what a trial she was undergoing, when Mr. Relfold called her to his side. "Winifred," he said gently, and there was tenderness in his voice,

to you. Little Brick savs we musn't come down like sledge-hammers on each other and that is what I have been doing this afternoon. Perhaps I have been hard I am such an illness to myself, that I must be an illness to others too Anil you weren't meant for this sort of thing —were you? You are a bright, beautiful creature, and I am an unfortunate dog not to have been able

She scribbled something on a to make you happier. I know I am card, and gave it to the servant who irritable. I can't help myself, inanswered the bell. deed I can't. "Now," she said, with great This great long fellow was so sweetness of manner,' And she sat yearning for love and sympathy down beside him,drew out her fancy-, What would it not have been to work, and worked at it contentedly, him if she had gathered him into her She would have made a charming arms, and soothed all his irritability study of a devoted wife soothing a and suffering with her love? much ved husband in his hours of sickness and weariness. "Do you mind giving up your •drive?" he asked. "Not in the least," she replied. •I am rather tired of sledging."

But she pressed his hand, and kissed him lightly on the cheek, and told him that he had been a little sharp, but that sho quite understood, and that she was not hurt. Her charm of manner gave him some sat

isfaction and when Bernardine came in a few minutes later, she found Mr. Reffold looking happier and more contented than she had ever seen him, Mrs. Relfold, who was relieved at the interruption, received Bernardine warmly, though there was a certain amount of shyness which she had never been able to conquer in Bernardine's presence. There was something in the younger woman which quelled Mrs. Reffold it may have been some mental quality. or it may have been her boots! "Little Brick," said Mr. Reffold, "isn't it nice to have Winifred here? And I have been so disagreeable and snapoish." "Oh, we won't say an thing about that now," said Mrs. Reffold. smiling sweetly. "But I've said I am sorry," he continued. "And one can't do more." "No," said Bernardine, who was amused at the notion of Mr. Reffold anologizing to Mrs. Reffold, and of Mrs. Reffold posing as the gracious forgiver, "one can't do more." But she could not control her feelings, and she laughed. "You seem rather merry this afternoon," Mr. Reffold said, in a reproachful tone of voice. "Yes," she said. And she laughed again. Mrs. Reffold's forgiving graciousness had altogether upset her gravity. "You might at least tell us the joke," Mrs. Reffold said.

Bernardine looked at her hopelessly, and laughed again. "1 have been developing, photographs all the afternoon," she said, "and I suppose the closeness of the air and the badness of my negatives have been too much for me. Anyway, I know I must seem very rude."

She recovered herself after that, and trie! hard not to think of Mrs. Reffold as the dispenser of forgiveness, although it was some time before she could look at her hostess without wishing to laugh. The corners of her mouth twitched, and her brown eyes twinkled mischievously, and she spoke very rapidly, making fun of her first attempts at photography, and criticising herself so comically, that both Mr. and Mrs. Reffold were much amused.

All the same, Bernardine was relieved when Mrs. Reffold went to fetch some silks, and left her with Mr. Reffold. "I am very happy this afternoon, Little Brick," lie said to her. "Mv I wife has been sitting with me. But! instead of enjoying the pleasure as I ought to have done, I began toj find fault with her. I don't know 1 ow long I should not have gone on grumbling, but that I suddenly recollected what you taught me, that we were not to come down like sledge-hammers on each other's failings. When I remembered that, it was quite easy to forgive all the neglect and thoughtfulness. Since you have talked to me, Little Brick, everything has become easier to me." "It is something in your own mind which has worked this," she said "your own kind generous mind, and you put it down to my words."

But he shook his head. "If I knew of any unfortunate devil that wanted to be eased and comforted," he said, "I should tell him about you, Little Brick. You have been very good to me. You may be clever, but you have never worried my stupid brain with too much scholarship. I'm just an ignorant chap, and you've never let me feel it."

He took' her hand aud raised it reverently to his lips. "I say," he continued, "tell my wife it'made me happy to have her with me this afternoon then perhaps she will stay in another time. I should like her to know. And she was sweet in her manner, wasn't she? And, by Jove, she is beautiful I am glad you have seen her here today. It must be dull for her with an invalid like me. And I know I am irritable. Go and tell her that she made me happy—will you?"

The little bit of happiness at which the poor fellow snatched seemed to make him more pathetic than before. Bernardine promised to tell his wife, and went off to find her, making as an excuse a book which Mrs. Reffold had offered to lend her. Mrs. Reffold was in her bedroom. She asked Bernardine to sit down whilst she searched for the book. She had a very gracious manner when she chos?. "You are looking much better. Miss Holme," she said kindly. "I cannot help noticing your face. It looks younger and brighter. The bracing air has done you good." "Yes, I am better," Bernardine said, rather astonished that Mrs. Reffold should have noticed her at all "Mr. Allitsen informs me that, I shall live, but never be strong. He settles every question of that sort to his own satisfaction, but not always to the satisfaction of other people." "He is a curious person," Mrs. Reffold said, smiling, "though I must say he is not as gruff as he used to be. You seem to be good friends with him."

She would have liked to say more oh this subject, but experience had taught her that Bernardine was not to be trifled with. "I don't know about being good friends," Bernardine said, "but I have a great, sympathy for him. I know myself what it is to be cut off from work and active life. I have been through a misery. But mine is nothing to his."

She rose to go, but Mrs. Reffold detained her. "Don't go yet," she said. "It is pleasant to have you."

She was leaning back in an arm chair, playing with the fringe of an antimacassar. "Oh, how tired I am of this horrid placet" she said suddenly. "And

fi,

I have had a most wearying afternoon. Mr, Reffold seems to be more irritable every day. It is very hard that I should have to bear it."

Bernardine looked at her in aston. ishment. "Yes," she added, "I am quite worn out. He never used to be so irritable. It is all very tiresome. It is quite telling on my health."

She looked the picture of health. Bernardine gasped, and Mrs. Reffold continued: "His grumbling this afternoon has been incessant so much so that he himself was ashamed, and asked me to forgive him. You heard him, did you not?*' "Yes, I heard him," Bernardine replied. "And of course I forgave him at once," Mrs. Reffold said piously. "Naturally one would do that, but the vexation remains all the same." "Can these things be?" thought Bernardine to herself. "He spoKe in a most ridiculous way," she went on "it certainly is not encouraging for me to spend another afternoon with him. I shall go sledging tomorrow." "You generally do go sledging, don't you?" Bernardine inquired mildly.

Mrs. Reffold looked at her suspi ciously. She was never quite sure that Bernardine was not making fun of her. "It is little enough pleasure I do have," she added, as though in selfdefense. "And he seems to grudge me that, too." "I don't think he would grudge you anything," Bernardine said, with some warmth. "He loves you too much for that. You don't know how much pleasure you give him when you spare him a little of your time. He told me how happy you made him this afternoon. You could see for yourself that he was happy. Mrs. Reffold, make him happy whilst you still have him. Don't you understand that he is passing away from you— don't you understand, or is it that you won't? We all see it, all except you!"

She stopped suddenly,surprised at her boldness. Mrs. Reffold was still leaning back in the arm-chair, her hands clasped together above her beautiful head. Her face was pale. She did not speak. Bernardine waited. The silence was unbroken save by the merry cries of some children tobogganing in the Kurhaus garden. The stillness grew oppressive, and Bernardine rose. She knew from the effort which those few words cost her, how far removed she was from her old former self. "Good-bye, Mrs. Reffold," she said nervously. "Good-bye, Miss Holme," was the only answer. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

Raising Bamboo in Florida. Cincinnati Enquirer. "Successful experiments have been made in raising bamboo in Florida," said Abe Waithen at the Grand. "There are several patches near Ft, Myers, and the plants are all growing rapidly, sometimes as much as a foot in a single night. The importance of this new industry can not be overestimated. For the building of light summer houses, or for certain classes of furniture, bamboo can not be surpassed. Road vehicles can be made out of it and many other things too numerous to mention. Clothing can be made from its fiber, as can paper, and a portion of it is most excellent as food. It is the only plant known that furnishes shelter, clothing and sustenance to mankind, and its introduction here will be of great public benefit."

A Case of Christian Science. This gem was received by the publishers of the Northwestern Lancet: "Your copy of the Journal come and the letter to, askin me to send fifty cens and git it fur a year. I don't need no jurnal. When I git a tuff case I go off into sum secrit plase and tell the lord all about it and wate for him to put inter my minde what ter do. Thats bettern jurnals and syklopedes and such. If we had more lord trustin doctors and less colleges weed fare better. The lord noes moren all the doctors, and if we go to him fur noledge it ill be bettern jurnals. Fraternally in the lord. A Christian Doctor. P. S.— Ive practist medisen morn fifty veers. Yore kin puolish this letter if you want ter."

Better Lawyer than Judge. Chteaj-^ Post. If a story told by Richard Prend ergast is true he must be a better lawyer than he is judge. He took a ease on one occasion, so the tale runs, that promised well except for one thing. There was a Drecedent that was directly against him. "That other case will surely be brought up," said the client. "Never mind," replied the exjudge, "I can get around that. It's a fool decision., Wh«* rendered it?" "You did."

I did?" Yes when you were on the bench." "Well, that doesn't make any difference," returned the lawyer calmly. "I can beat it anyway."

And he did. He went into the County Court and showed that the previous decision was not according to law and could not be held to establish a precedent. He was successful in practically oveuuling his own decision and won the case.

Nearls sixteen hundred women were arrested for violation of the law in Louisville during the lasl year. Upwards of two-tbirds of the number werfe colored.

^^rTPtS^y* R- *, 'IJ1*Z*«

A LIVING

ts Human Life a Desirable Possession?

Contrasts of Character—The Liife That is Worth Liviug—Or. Talmage's Sermon.

The Rev. Dr. Talmage. who is now touring in the Australian cities, chose as the subject for last Sunday'ssermon through the press "Worth Living," the text being taken from Lamentations iii, 39. "Wherefore Doth a Living Man Complain?"

I am not surprised that everybody asks the question, "Is life worth living?" Solomon in his unhappy moments says it is not. "Vanity," "vexation of spirit." "no good." are his estimate. The fact is that Solomon was at one time a poIvgamist, and that soured his disposition, One wife makes a man happy more than one makes him wretched. But Solomon was converted from polygamy to monogamy, and the last words he ever wrote, as far as we can read them, were the words, "Mountains of spices." But Jeremiah says in my text life is worth living.

In a book supposed to be doleful and lugubrious and sepulchral and entitled "Lamentations" he plainly intimates that the blessing of merely living is so great and grand a blessing that though a man have piled on him all misfortunes and disasters he has no right to complain. The author of my text cries out in startling intonation to all lands and to all centuries. "Wherefore doth a living man complain?" A diversity of opinion in our times as well as in olden time. Here is a young man of light hair and blue eyes and sound digestion and generous salary and happily affianced, and on the way to become a partner in a commercial firm of which he is an important clerk. Ask him whether life is worth living. He will laugh in your face and say, "Yes, yes, yes!" Here is a man who has come to the forties. He is at the tiptop of the hill of life. Every step has been a stumble and a bruise. The people he trusted have turned out deserters, and the money he has honestly made he has been cheated out of. His nerves are out of tune. He has a poor appetite, and all the food he does eat does not assimilate. Forty miles climbing up the hill of life have been to him like elimbling up the Matterhorn, and there are forty miles yet to go down, and descent is always more dangerous than ascent. Ask him whether life is worth living, and he will drawl out in shivering and lugubrious and appalling negative, "No. no, no!"

How are we to decide this matter righteously and intelligently? You will find the same man vacillating, oscillating in his opinion from de jection to exuberance,and if he be very mercurial in his temperament it will depend very much upon which way the wind blows. If the wind blows from the northwest, and you ask him,he will say "Yes,"and if it blows from the northeast, and you ask him, he will say "No." How are we then, to get the question i-ighteously answered? Suppose we call all Nations together in a great convention on eastern or western hemisphere and let all those wno ai*e in the affirmative say "Aye," and all those who are in the negative say "No."

While there would be hundreds of thousands who would answer in the affirmative there would be more millions who would answer iu the negative, and because of the greater number who have sorrow and misfortune and trouble the "noes" would have it.

In the first place, I remark that a life of mere money-getting is always a failure, because you will never get as much as you want. The poorest people in this country are the richest and next to them those who are half as rich. There is not a scissors grinder on the streets of New York or Brooklyn who is so anxious to make money as these men who have piled up fortunes year after year in storehouses, in government securities, in tenement houses, in whole city blocks.

And then you must take into consideration that the vast majority of those who make the dominant idea of life money getting fall short of affluence. It is estimated that only but two out of a hundred business men have auything worthy the name of success. A man who spends his life with the one dominant idea of financial accumulation spends a life not worth living.

So the idea of worldly approval. If that be dominant iu a man's life, he is miserable. The two most unfortunate men in this country for the six months of the next Presidential campaign will be the two men nominated for the Presidency. The reservoirs of abuse and diatribe and malediction will gradually fill up, gallon above gallon, hogshead above hogshead, and about autumn these two reservoirs will be brim ming full, and a hose will be attached to each or-e, and it will play away on these nominees, and they will have to stand it and take the abuse, and the falsehood and, the caricature. and anathema, and the caterwauling, and the filth.

A life of sin, a life of pride, a life of indulgence, a life of worldliness, a life devoted to the world, the flesh and the devil is a failure, a dead failure, an infinite failure, I care not how many presents von send to that cradle or how many garlands you send to that grave, you need to put right under the name on the tombstone this inscription: "Better for that man if he never had been born."

'^V ... :.

sBut1shall

show you a lue ujat is

worth living. A young man savs: "I am here. I am not responsible for my temperament. God gave me that. But here I am in the afternoon of the nineteenth century at twenty years of age. I am here and I must take an account of stock. Here I have a body which is a divinely constructed engine. I must put it to the ver}' best uses and I must allow nothing to damage this rarest of machinery. Two feet, and they mean locomotion. Two eyes, and they mean capacity to pick out my own way. Two ears, and they are telephones of communication with all the outside world, and they mean capacity to catch sweetest music and the voices of friendship—the very best music. A tongue, with, almost infinity of articulation. Yes, hands with which to welcome or resist, or lift or smite, or wave or bless—hands to help myself and help others. "Here is a world which after 6,000 years of battling with tempest and accident is still grander than any architect, human or angelic, could have drafted. I have two lamps to light me—a golden lamp and a silver lamp, a golden lamp to set on the sapphire mantel of the day, a silver lamp to set on the jet mantel of the night. Yea, I have that at twenty years of age which defies all inventory of valuables—a soul with capacity to choose or reject, to rejoice or to suffer, to love or to hate. Plato says it is immortal. Seneca savs it is immortal. Confucius says it is immortal. "An old book among the family relics, a book with leather cover almost. worn out and pages almost obliterated by oft perusal, joins the other books in saying I am immortal. I have eighty years for a lifetime, sixty years yet to live. may not live an hour,but then I must iav out my plans intelligently and for along life. Sixty years added to the twenty I have already lived will bring me to eighty. I must remember that these eighty years

Lire

I would not find it hard to persuade you that the poor lad Peter Cooper, making glue for a living and then amassing great fortune until he could build aphilanthrophy which has had its echo in 10,000 philanthropies all over the country—I would not find it hard to persuade you that this life was worth living. Neither would 1 find it hard to persuade you that the life of Susannah Wesley was \vorth living. She sent out one son to organize Methodism and the other son to bring his anthems all through the ages. I would not find it hard work to persuade you that the life of Frances Leere was worth living, as she established in England a school for scientific nursing of the sick and when the war broke out between France and Germany went to the front, and with her own hands scraped the mud off the bodies of the soldiers dying in the treuches, with her weak arm, standing one night in the hospital, pushing back a German soldier to his couch as, all frenzied with his wounds, he rushed toward the door and said: "Let me go! Let me go to my liebe mutter." Major-gen rals standing back to let| pass this angel of mercy.

Neither would I have have hard work to persuade you that Grace Darling lived a lfie worth living, the heroine of the lifeboat. You are not wondering that the duchess of Northumberland came to see her, and that people of all lands asked for her lighthouse, and that the proprietor of the Adelphi theater in London offered her $100 a night just to sit in the lifeboat while some shipwreck scene was being enacted. s?

But I know the thought in the a minds of hundreds who read 1 his. You say, "While I know all these lived lives worth living, I don't think my life amounts to much." Ah, my friend, whether you live a life conspicuous or inconspicuous, it is m. worth living if you live aright. The majority of the crowns of heaven will not be given to people with ten talents, for most of them were tempted only to serve themselves. The vast majority of the crowns of heaven will be given to people who had one talent, but gave it all to God. But remember our life here is introductory to another. It is the vestibule to a palace. But who despises the door of the Madeline because there are grander glories within? Your life, if rightly lived, is the first bar of an eternal oratorio, and who despises the first note of Haydn's symphonies? And the life you live now is all the more worth living because it opens into a life that shall never end, and the last letter of the word "time" is tha first letter of the word "eternity."

Ladies' smoking carson Russian railways are well patronized*

fir

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only a brief

preface to the five hundred thousand millions of quintillions of years that will be my chief residence and existence. Now I understand mv opportunities and my responsibilites.

That young man enters life. He is buffeted: he is tried ho is perplexed. A grave opens on this side, and a grave opens on that side. He falls, but he rises again. He gets into a hard battle, but he gets the victory. He blesses everybody he comes in contact with. God forgives his mistakes and makes everlasting record of his holv endeavors, and at the close of it God says to him, "Well done, good and faithful servant enter into the joys of thy Lord." My brother, my sister, I do not care whether that man dies at thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, seventy or eighty years of age. You can chisel right under his name on the tombstone these words: ."His life was worth living."

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