Greenfield Republican, Greenfield, Hancock County, 2 August 1894 — Page 2

7?m

The doctors in Petershof always •said that the caretakers of the invalids were a much greater anxiety than the invalids themselves. The invalids would either get better or die: one of two things probably. But not so with the caretakers! there was nothing they were not capable of doing except taking reasonable care of their invalids! They either fussed about too much, or else they did not fuss about at all. They all began by doing the right thing, they all ended by doing the wrong. The fussy ones had fits •of apaihy, when the poor irritable patients seemed to get a Ittle better the negligent ones had paroxysms of attentiveness, when their invalids, accustomed to loneliness and neglect, seemed to become rather worse by being*worried.

To remonstrate with the caretakers would have been folly: for they were well satisfied with their own methods.

they liked being in Petershof, though they never owned that to the invalids*. On the contrary, it was the custom for the caretakers to depreciate the place, and to deplore the necessity which obliged them to continue there month after month.

They were fond, too, of talking about

deficiencies. Thev might neglect "their own invalids, but they would look after other people's invalids,and plav the nurse most soothingly and prettily where there was no call and no occasion. Then they would come and relate to their neglected dear ones what they had been doing for others, and the dear ones would smile quietly, and watch the buttons being stitched on for strangers, and the cornflour which they could not get nicely made for themselves, being carfullv prepared for some other people's neglected dear ones.

Some of the dear ones were rather fitter. But there were many of the higher order of intelligence who seemed to realize that they had no right to be ill, and that being ill,and therefore a burden on their friends, thev must make the best everything, and be grateful for what was given them, and patient when anything .was withheld. Others of a still higher order of understanding attributed the eccentricities of the caretakers to one cause alone: the Petershof air. They knew it had the invariable efiFect of getting into the head, and upsetting the balance of those who drank deep of it. Therefore, no one was to blame, and no one need be bitter. But these were the philosophers of the colony: a select and dainty few in an3r colony. But there were several rebels amongst the invalids, and they found consolation in confiding to each other their separate grievances. They generally held their conferences in the rooms known as the newspaper-rooms, where thev were not likely to be interrupted by any caretakers who might have staved at home because they were tired out.

To-day there were onty a few rebels gathered together, but they 'IC were more than usually excited, because the doctors had told several of |i".them that their respective caretakjjgy'ers must be sent home. 4 |p' "What must I do?'' said little

Mdlle* Gerardy. wringing her hands. "The Doctor says that I must tell .5 my sister to go home that she only worries me and makes me worse.

He calls her a

SHIPS THAT PASS I THE EI.

BY BEATRICE HABBADEX,

CONCERNING THE CARETAKERS.

To contrive their departure would for thev

have been an impossibility: iur int-y

PART 1.— CHAPTER XIV.

the sacrifices which they made, and ^.^o^ins"

the pleasures which they willingly

gave up in order to stay with their

invalids. Ihey said this the

presence of their invalids. the latter had told them by all means to pack up and go back to the pleasures which they had renounced, they would have been astonished at the ingratitude which could suggest the idea.

They were amusing characters, those caretakers. Thev were so

,, home? Well, my husband will not thoroughly unconscious of ^heir own

whirl wind.' If I

won't tell li'er, then he will tell *v her, and we shall have some more k- scenes. Mon Dicu! and I am so

tired of them. They terrify me. I taould suffer anything ra'iher than have a fresh scene. And I can't get her to do anything for me. She has no time for me. And yet she thinks she takes the greatest possible care of me, and devotes the whole day to

me. Why sometimes I never see her for hours together." "Well at least she does not quarrel with every one, as my mother does,,' said a Polish gentleman, M. Lichinsky, "Nearly every day she has a quarrel with some one or other and then she comes to me and savs -v she has been insulted. And other come to me mad with rage, and complain that they have been insulted

By her. As though I were to blame! I tell them that now. I tell them that my mother's quarrels are not my quarrels. But one longs for peace. And the doctor says I must have it, and that my mother must fro home at once. If I tell her that.

,.• fff^ 'Vf^

He had been getting gradually worse since he came to Petershof, but his brother, a bright, sturdy young fellow, seemed quite unconscious of the seriousness of his condition. "And what am I to do?" he asked pathetically. "My brother does not even think I am ili. He says I am to rouse myself and come skating and tobogganing with him. Then I tell him that the doctor says I must lie quietly in the sun. I have no one to take care of me, so I try to take care of myself, and then I am laughed at. It is bad enough to be ill but it is worse, when, those who might help you a little won't even believe in your illness. I wrote home once and told them but they go by what he says and they too tell me to rouse myself."

His cheeks were sunken, his eyes were leaden. There was no power in his voice, no vigor in his frame. He was just slipping quickly down the hill for want of proper care and understanding. "I don't know whether I am much

0fj t^an

were firmly convinced that their|1O/UR -T presence was necessary to the wellfare of their charges. And then, too, judging from the way in which thev managed to amuse themselves,

you,'' said an English

lady, Mrs. Bridgetower. "I cor tainly have a trained nurse to look after me, but she is altogether too much for me, and she does just as she pleases. She is always ailing or else, pretends to be and she is always depressed. She grumbles from eight in the morning till nine at night I hear that she is cheerful with other people, but she never gives me the benefit of her bright-

ii* ness. Poor thing! She does feel the

ver^r muc^

but

not very

Sgp

Qwn

her crouching near

th(J stoy with armg a,most clas in

it, when she is not talkin„ of her

j00j-S)

un she sayg

had only not come to Petershof or 'Why did I ever leave that hospital in Manchester?' or 'The cold is eating into the very marrow of my bones.' At first she used to read to me but it was such a dismal performance that I could not bear to hear her. Whv don't send her

hear of me alone? and he

thinks I might do worse than keep

Nurse Frances. And perhaps I might."

would give a good deal to have a sister like Fraulein Muiler has," said little Fraulein Oberhof. "She came to look after me the other day when I was alone. She has the kindest way about her. But when my sister came in, she was not please t.n ?cc Fraulein Sophie Muiler with me. She does not do any thing for me herself, and she does not like any one else to do anything either. Still she is very good to other people. She comes up from the theater sometimes at haif-past nine —that is the hour when I am just sleep j'- ^ud she stamps about the room makes cornflour for the old Polish lady. Then off she goes, taking with her the cornflour together with my sleep. Once I complaint, but she said I was irritable. You say to yourself 'Will that cornflour uever be made? It seems to take centuries.'" "One could be more patient if it were being made for oneself," said M. Lichinsky. "But at least, Fraulein, your sister does not quarrel with every one. You must be grateful for that mercy."

Even as he spoke, a stout lady thrust herself into the reading-room. She looked very hot and excited. She was M. Lichinsky's mother. She spoke with a whirlwind of Polish words. It is sometimes difficult to know when these people are angry and when they are pleased. But there was no mistake about Mme. Lichinsky. She was always angry. Her son rose from the sofa, and followed her to the door, 'then he turned round to his confederates, and shrugged his shoulders. "Another quarrel!" he said hopelessly. .f:

CHAPTER XV.

WHICH CONTAINS NOTHING. "You may have talent for other things," Robert Allitsen said one day to Bernardine, "but you certainly have no talent for photography. You have not made the slightest progress." "I don't at all agree with you," Bernardine answered rather peevishly. "I think I am getting on very well.", "You are no judge," he said. "To begin with you cannot focus prop eriy. You have a crooked eye. I have told you that several times." "You certainly have," she put in. "You don't let me forget that." "Your photograph of that horrid little danseuse whom you like so much, is simply abominable. She looks like a fury. Well, she may be one for all I know, but in real life she has not the appearance of one." "I think that is the best photograph I have done," Bernardine said, highly indignant. She could tolerate his uppishness about subjects of which she knew far more than he did but his masterfulness about a subject of which she really knew nothing, was more than she could bear with patience. He had not the tact to see that she was irritated. "I don't know about it being the best," he said, "unless it is the best

6he will have a tremendous quarrel specimen of your inexperi nee. /with the doctor. As it is he will Looked at from that point of view, scarcely speak to her. So you see, it does stand first.'' •Mademoiselle Gerardy, that I, too, She flushed crimson with temper. AID in a bad plight. What am to1 "Nothing is easier than to make fun of others," she said fiercely. "It

Then a young American spoke, is the resource of the ignorant.",.

Then, after the fashion of angry women, having said her say, she stalked away. If there had been a door to bang, she would certainly have banged it. However, she did what she could under the circumstances she pushed a curtain roughly aside, and passed into the concert room, where every night of the season's six months, a scratchy string orchestra entertained the Kurhaus guests. She left the Disagreeable Man in the passage. "Dear me," he said thoughtfully. And he stroked his chin. Then he trudged slowly up to his room. "Dear me," he said once more.

Arrived in his bedroom, he began to read. But after a few minutes he shut his book, took the lamp to the looking glass and brushed his hair. Then he put on a black coat and a white silk tie. There was a speck of dust on the coat. He carefully removed that, and then extinguished the lamp.

On his way down stairs he met Marie, who gazed at him in astonishment. It was quite unusual for him to be seen again when he had once come up from table-d'hote. She noticed the black coat and the white silk tie, too, and reported on these eccentricities to her colleague Anna.

The Disagreeable Man meanwhile had reached the Concert Hall. He glanced around, and saw where Bernardine wa.° sitting, and then chose a place in the opposite direction, quite by himself. He looked somewhat like a dog who had been well beaten. Now and again he looked up to see whether she still kept her seat. The bad music was a great irritation to him. But he stayed on heroically. There was no reason why he should stay. Gradually, too, the audience began to thin. Still he lingered, always looking like a dog in punishment.

At last Bernardine rose, and the Disagreeable Man,rose too. He followed her humbly to the door. She turned and saw him. "I am sorry I put you in a bad temper," he said. "It was stupid of me." "I am sorry I got into a bad temper," she answered, laughing. "It was stupid of me." "I think I have said enough to apologize," he said. "It is a process I dislike very much."

And with that he wished her goodnight and went to his room. But that was not the end of the matter, for the next day when he was taking his breakfast with her, he of his own accord returned to the subject. •'It was partly your own fault' that I vexed you last night," he said. "You have never before been touchy, and so I have been accustomed to saying what I choose And it is not in my nature to be flattering." "That is a very truthful statement of yours," she said, as she# poured out her coffee. *'But I own I was touchy. And so I shall be again if you make such cutting remarks about my photographs." "You have a crooked eye," he said grimly. "Look there, fori instance! You have poured your coffee outside your cup. Of course you can do as you like, but the usual. custom is to pour it inside the cup."

They both laughed, and the good understanding between them was cemented again. "You are certainly getting better," he said suddenly. "I should not be surprised if you were able to write a book after all. Not that a new book is wanted. There are too many books as it is and not enough people to dust them. Still, it is not probable that you would be considerate enough to remember that. You will write your book."

Bernardine shook her head. "I don't seem to care, now," she said. "I think I could now be content with a quieter and more useful part." "You will write your book," he said, "Now listen to me. Whatever else you may do, don't make your characters hold long conversations with each other. In real life people do not talk four pages at a time without stopping. Also, if you bring together two clever men, don't make them talk cleverly. Clever people do not. It is only the stupid ones who think they must talk cleverly all the time. And don't detain your reader too long if you must have a sunset let it be a short one. I could give you many more hints which would be useful to you." "But why not use your own hints for yourself?" she suggested. "That would be selfish of me," he said solemnly. "I want you to profit by them." "You are learning to be unselfish at a very rapid rate," Bernardine said.

At that moment Mrs. 'Reffold came into the breakfast-room, and, seeing Bernardine, gave her a stiff bow. "I thought you and Mrs. Reffold were such friends," Robert Allitsen said.

Bernardine then told him of her last interview with Mrs. Reffold. "Well, if you feel uncomfortable, it is as it should be," he said. "I don't see what business you had to point out to Mrs. Reffold her dutv. I dare sav she knows it quite well, though she may not choose to do it. I am sure I should resent it, if any one pointed out my duty to me. Everyone knows his own duty. And it is his own affair wheter or not he heeds it." "I wonder if yM are right," Bernardine said. "I never meant to presume but her indifference had exasperated me." "Why should you be exasperated about other people's affairs?" he said. "And why interfere at all?" "Being interested is not the same

as being interfering," she replied quickly. "It is difficult to be the one with out being the other," he said. "II requires a genius. There is a genius for beiug sympathetic as well as a genius for being good. And geniuses are few "But I knew one. Bernardine said. "There was a friend to whom in the first days of my trouble turned for sympathy. When others only irritated, she could soothe. She had only to come into my room and all was well with me."

There were tears in Bernardine's eyes as she spoke. "Well," said the Disagreeable Man kindly, "and where is your genius now?" "She went away, she and hers.'" Bernardine- said. "And that was the end of that chapter." "Poor little child," he said, half to himself. "Don't I, too, know something of tlie ending of such a chapter?"

But Bernardine did not hear him she was thinking of her friend. She was thinking, as we all think, tha: those to whom in our suffering wtturn for sympathy, become hallowed beings. Saints they may not be but for want of a better name, saints they are to us, gracious and lovely presences. The great time Eternity, the great space Death, could not rob them of their saintship for they were canonized by our bitterest tears.

She was aroused from her reverv by the Disagreeable Man, who got up, and pushed his chair noisily under the table. (TO BE CONTINUED.^

FROM MOUNTAIN TO PLAIN.

Modern Civilization Brings This Change in Human Habitation.

In describing the picturesque rock-bound Italian cities between Sorrento and Amalfi, in the July number of the Century, Marion Crawford says:

It sometimes seems as though modern civilization tended, broadly speaking, to transfer life from the mountains to the plains, leaving behind just what we are pleased to call romance. In other days no man, as a rule, built in plain or valley when he could possibly build on a hill. Now, no one who can dwell in the plains takes the trouble to live on the top of the mountain, unless for some very particular reason. The security that once lay in stone walls and iron bars is now sought in strategic position and in earthworks. There are no small, dai'y dangers in our time agaiust which man barricades himself in towers, and behind iron-studded doors of oak. The great perils of our age are few, far beween, and general. Military power once meant an agglomeration of desperate individuals devoted xo a com iron cause, bad or good, not one of whom could find a place in the well ordered, unreasoning, and mechanically obedient ranks of a modern conqueror's army.

The more we live in plains the less we can understand the hills the more systematically we obey laws and regulations having for their object the greatest good of the greatest number, the less able are we to understand the reasouing of such men as Aiaric, the great Count oi Sicily, Tancred, Cajsar Borgia, Gonzalvo de Cordova, or Garibaldi.

It is singular that while most intelligent people undoubtedly prefer the conditions of modern civilization for their daily life, they should by preference also like to dream of the times when civilization was still unrealized, and of lives lived in circumstances against which modern, common sense revolts. These are ma-chine-made times those were handmade and true art is manual, not mechanical.

A Modern Dath-Uoom.

Harper's Bazar.

A recent description of a bathroom in a grand American house shows how people of taste transform rooms devoted to the humblest uses into bowers of beauty.

The floor is paved with mosaic, and there is no tub, the bath beins» simply a sunken space about three feet in depth in one corner. This is walled with marble, railed with bronze, and marble steps lead to it.

The walls are covered with ten-inch-square tiles, painted by a) American artist with a design ol waves, fishes, and other objects suggestive of the sea, and above this a frieze, atreliis wreathed with vines.

In many houses the bath-room is too often regarded entirely from a utilitarian point of view and while it is true that absolute cleanliness and hygienic plumbing are the cliiel considerations, beauty should also be aimed at here as in auy other room of the house.

The plumbing should be arranged after the approved modern methods in which all the pipes are exposed, and the bath if possible should be of porcelain, which in the end is eheaper than the metal ones.

The floor, if tiling is too expensive should be of parquetry or stained wood, with only one long rug, which may be easily taken up at the weekly cleaning, and glazed tile paper, which comes in many pretty designs should cover the walls.

It is well to have the wall below the cornice divided into two portions the upper covered with tile paper, and the lower painted with soapstone finish, which is entirely waterproof, and may, like the paper, be washed off with a sponge.

Jean Ingelow spends a great pari of the year in the south of France, whsre she has a cottage^

J-^ -t?.

rorics

eew

brief years and the wonders of that day were supplanted by the greater triumphs of an "Age of Steel." Iron was relegated to the junk heaps of a forgotten past and hardened steel came in to fill its place in all the arts and structures )f the time. While it is true that steel still holds its place as a component part of almost every triumph }f the day, yet its importance has, by familiarity, waned in the public esteem and it no longer holds or claims to hold the first place as a factor in the industrial development ?f the age. Every detail of our progress now seems to hinge upon the further development of applied jlectricitv, and the possibilities in this direction warrant us in calling Dur day and time "The Electric Age." Electric street cars have already become familiar in almost sverv large, city in the world, and 3very month brings intelligence of some new achievement of electrical engineers. Great suburban electric railway schemes are daily projected ind assurance given that they will speedily materialize and change the course of urban development, weaning and luring the tired denizens of the metropolis to scenes of beauty and dreams of peace and quiet. No more, when these schemes eventuate, need the troubled business man dwell amid the arid wastes of giant towers where he daily toils, but when the day is done can speed away to villages far from the hateful crowd. The great north shore project at Chicago will transform all that territory between Chicago and Milwaukee along the lake shore into a prolonged stretch of happy homes, and the gigantic electric system, now well under way, with a capital of $10,000,000, between Philadelphia and New York, will bring into the closest communication all the intervening territory tributary to those gigantic municipalities on the eastern seabord. Trains on all these roads will run at a rate of not less than sixty miles an hour, and with the capital at command it would seem that there can be no doubt of the speedy realization of the wildest dreams of enthusiasts on the subject of an "Electric Age."

PASSING OF THE FAIR.

The almost total destruction of the White City by fire on the 5th inst., will be regarded as a personal loss by thousands of people throughout the United States, who had still cherished a hope, that at least the Court of Honor might be restored and spared for many years to serve as a souvenir of the glories past and gone. With this conflagration has passed the last hope of such a consummation. All lovers of the beautiful can but feel that the world has sustained an irreparable loss, and will fully appreciate the following somewhat effusive description of the catastrophe, sent out by the Associated Press, which, however, much much opinions may differ as to its propriety in telegraphic dispatches, is not overdrawn or inappropriate to the ending of the famous structures described. The magnitude of the casualty, the swift destruction of the dream of beauty that still lingered by the lake side for the incendiaries torch to dissolve, the final and total disappearance of the tangible glories that are today no more, are well told and we give it place as a fine specimen of descriptive writing that we believe our readers will fully appreciate: "The World's Columbian Exposition is a billowy sea of white ashes, calcined staff and twisted steel girders. The stately Administration Building, the architectural crown of the White City, with its gilded and decorated dome, its supporting pavilions, enriched with statuary the majestic Agricultural Building, with its tinted and decorated collonades, its beautiful statues of abundance, its zodiacal circles upheld on the arms of femalefigures, representing the races of man, and its flattened dome surrounded by a decoration of turkey'cocks with spreading tails, above which once wheeled St. Gauden's beautiful figure of Diana, the chaste, the baautiful palace of mechanical arts, with its lofty fluted Corinthian collonades, its superb circular-porched entrance, and its figure-tipped spires, the light and airy electricity building, with its open roof-lanterns, its curvilinear recessed entrance, where erstwhile stood the statue of Benjamin Franklin on the south, and its graceful projecting bays on the north the attractively inornate, but substantial looking mines building,the mammoth manufacturers ^and liberal

OF THESE TIMES.

AN ELECTRIC AGE.

Twenty-five years ago scientists boasted of the wonderful progress of the "Iron Age" with all its attendant triumphs on land and sea. A

V'» ,/- r- /-,

Ilii^P^^iiSiWS

arts building, with its towering arches of steel inclosing a forty-acre lot and its lofty and triumphal corner and central arches, together with a number of minor structures have passed into history at the wave of an incendiary's hand. From south collohade to the government building and from the lake to the golden door of the angel-guarded transportation building, the world-famous white city is no more. As the evening sun was shedding his level rays for the last time on the erstwhile scene of life, movement and color they fell upon the familiar outlines of these flowers of human handiwork almost untouched in their serene loveliness. Two hours later thei new moon bent her pale crescent above them shining on a mass of ruins, wrapped in a pall of smoke, save where the yellow-red of blazing timbers flared against the blue-black which covers the site of the white city and covers us all. Of all the great departmental structures the fire spared only the transportation building, horticultural hall, the fisheries building and the art palace. The last named is now occupied by the Field Columbian museum and the fisheries building is a mere steel skeleton, having been demolished by a wrecking company. Besides these the government building, the woman's building, the British and German and a few of the State buildings are all that remain of the hundreds of structures which once filled Jackson Park."

STATE OF UTAH.

Had Brighara Young, at the time he led the struggling hordes of his deluded followers across the arid plains to the promised land beside the Great Salt Lake, been able to foresee the ultimate consequences of his actions at that timer it is more than probable that the Latter Dav Saints would have been compelled to continue their weary march to other fields far beyond the possible jurisdiction of Uncle Sam, and beyond the possibility of interference from the influences of modern civilization and progress. Happily for this country, perhaps, he did not. His great energy and power of command over his people have served their allotted ends in the scheme of Providence, aud opened the way and conquered the obstacles of a primitive country for the onward rush of a mighty people. The Mormon influence, and, to a certain extent, Mormon practices, still remain as an incubus upon the new-fledged State, but these ere long must pass away and join the procession of obsolete customs. Utah in 1890 had a population of 207,905 and probably at this time it has not less than 250,000 people. The bill admitting the Territory reserves to Congress the right to make and enforce laws against polygamy. Another peculiarity is that the law denies the new State representation in Congress until 1896. It is expected that Statehood will give a powerful impetus to the development of the resources of Utah. Already a railroad extending southwest to the Pacific Ocean, going through Arizona, is projected. It is said that genuine anthracite coal equal to that of Pennsylvania, and more extensive, is to be found in that part of Utah now to be developed. However this may be. it is no doubt true that Utah will be opened up to general enterprise now as never before.

LITERAB1 NOTES.

Marion Crawford will have a paper in the August number of The Century on "Washington as a Spectacle." With all of his experience in the capitals of the world, he thinks that Washington has many charms and attractions that tlie.v lack. Mr. Crawford reads a letter to the. American Parisian and the British New Yorker, who continually decrv the city and its societv. The illustrations to the article are by Andre Castaigne.

There will be a controversy in the August number of the Century on a question that is just now attracting a large share of public attention. Senator George F. Hoar writes of "The Right and Expediency of Woman suffrage." and Rev. Dr. J. M. Bucklev on "The Wrongs and Perils of Woman Suffrage. According to the terms of the discussion each one was shown the other's article, and then prepared a postscript in answer to the arguments advanced by his opponent. The two writers discuss all phases of the question, from the moral as well as frbm the. economic standpoint. v,-

Washington Star.

Cvnthy," said Farmer Corntos*cl "everything's erbout ready fur takin' boarders from the city." "Fur cz I kin see," was the reply. "Wal, they's jesone matter I wanter ten' to. It's an idee I got while 1 was to the hotel. The next time I go ter town I wanter git some signs printed ter hang upin the bedrooms." "Whut'll ye say on 'em? "I'll ies hev'em read: 'Don't trj ter turn the lamp out. Blow it.*"

I IF:

f,:J

He t'tr'

Getting liven. __

1. I

isii