The Cedarville Herald, Volume 12, Numbers 27-52

The Cedarvme Herald, > W. H. BLAIR, Publltbw. CEDABVILLE. : : i ‘ oja ra HEARTSEASE. Thou w UO bo place on eartli Is lowly, Seckest tliou for true “ heart's eusot” Alms unselOsb, love most holy— Ask for these. Hope grows weary of aspiring; tVhen tbe glow of youth is gone, We may lose our fond desiring, And livo on. JoyBwherein our hearts delighted May he gained at bitter cost; Treasures raro, unduly slighted, . iHave been lost. Then we ery with sad complaining ‘ For the Joys that youth can give, Let us loarn, ere life Is waning, How to live— Bow to use the gifts God sendeth Well, and worthy of His trust, Keeping talents that He lendeth Free from rust. Hoping all things, and believing Troths we fall to understand, Good and 111alike receiving From God's hand. ' „ —Once a Week. “ It would coat «o much, Mrs4Potter '■ •bo sighed. “ And the risk would be so great.” “ As for the. expense of getting there," the impetuous young matron declared;' VI will see to that.. You see, dear, my cousin .Taekis auditor of a rail­ road, and he shall get you all passes, oi­ l'll know the reason wlir," “ But I have so little in hand to start with," the widow pleaded. “All the .better for you; you will have, jthe less to lose." “ But,.if I failed." “ Failed! Fiddlededeel You shan’t fail. Come with me- to Glastonbury. What, never heard of Glastonbury? Well, the ignorance -of you Knicker­ bockers is something shameful." “ Is it a village in Michigan?" “ A .village! Bless your innocence, Glastonbury is a big, thriving lumber city on the banks of the loveliest river you ever saw. We haven’t many brown- stone fronts there, I confess, but we're new and rich, and Our women know a stylish dress when •they see it, as I hope some day you will learn to .your profit." “ But the store?" “ Oh, we’ll fix that. My husband isn't half a bad fellow when you-know- him, and he’ll pull you through. You can get a few things on credit if you are too proud to borrow. It-is all as easy as preaching—say, may 1 speak to him this very afternoon?” ' "If you w.ill, but — . “ But me no huts, my dear. I'm wild to carry out mv projects.." (Copyright, 1891 , by A. N. Kellogg Newspaper Co.] CHAPTER III.—CONTINUED, They went upstairs and found all se­ cure.- It was an hour, late in the even­ ing, when, the house was unusually de-: sorted. All the doors of the chambers were fastened; even that of number six was securely locked,' and when the room was entered not a thing was out of place. Even the policeman was fain to con­ fess that he thought It one -of the nu­ merous scares lie knew too well hyster­ ical women were apt to indulge in, -and went his way with a grin. Isaac Evesham was properly exasper­ ated. “ You will find’ yourself in . a lunatic asylum if you go on in this way much longer, Esther,” he said, grimly. “ I have, indeed, my share of trouble," the widow pleaded, wearily. “ Yon mean-you make your share of trouble and other people’s shares, too.” The widow’s eyes flashed indignantly. “ Isaac,” she said, “ in God's name, go and leave me to myself. I do not want your help. I never asked it. Forget that your brother ever had a- wife and thiliren." “ I wish to heaven I could,? was the blunt reply. i CHAPTER IV. UBVEUSKS. If it is true that whom God lovetu. He cliastcneth, Mrs, Evesham must have been particularly favored by Provi­ dence, for the ill tide of adversity swept ■inupon her with resistless force, over­ whelming her with snch a flood of re­ verses that even her brave spirit nearly sank in the waters of despair. ' That croaking brother-in-law of hers bad foretold her Speedy downfall, and his ominous prophesies seemed in a fair Way o f fulfillment. True, the world in general hadforgotten the mystery of her unhappy lodger's untimely death; but to her little world—the few upon whom she yvas dependent—the event hod brought A sad reaction. One after another of Jberlodgers left her, and none came to fill their places. There was a gloom iover the house she found it impossible to dispeL It was the old stoiy—money borrowed at a ruinous interest on her furniture, a foreclosed mortgage, and She found herself adrift and homeless, With four children dependent on her for their daily bread. Not for one moment did she pause to consider that one of these little ones had no claim on her ef­ forts. Wanda Arlington was as dear to Jieras one o f her own loved ones, and •he would have scorned the thought of Shifting from her shoulders the respon­ sibility of hejr care. Nor was she one to sit down with folded hands and bewail hermisfortune. - For ten weary years she toiled as a dressmaker, working by the day for rich ladies, who, charmed by her gentle manners and exquisite taste, paid her higher wages than usually fall to the lo t of women so unhappily circum­ stanced. Thus with heroic effort she was enabled to clothe, feed and educate her children till they in turn grew in stature and became breadwinners. Then a glimpse of sunshine glowed fhrouga the darkened clouds, It was at tbe close of the terrible war o f the rebellion. Society was revolu­ tionized. Thousands had sunk in pov­ erty; hundreds had grown suddenly rich. Prominent among the latter was a young married woman named Alice Potter, of Michigan, who chanced to be visiting NewYork, and, lmvingciigaged Mrs, Evesham’s services, had in her own generous, impulsive way formed a deep affection for the gentle seamstress. “ My dear creature,” she said one day to the widow, when they had succeeded Jn designing a costume more than usu­ ally attractive, “ why don’t you make a •trike for something better? Come to Michigan and start a store. fOU." ".the suggestion took the breath. Michigan! Even in ___ Michigan seemed an Ultima Thule to a itfeir Yorks*. I'll help widow’s the CO’s l c h a p t e r v. ONLY A SISTER'S LOVE. ' One summer’s day, fifteen years after Ambrose Arlington’s sudden' death .in the lodging-house, a couple of young people’, fair to look upon, sat on a rustic i seat under a tall elm on the bank of. a |lordly river-—a .young man and a girl just blossoming iuty the maturity of womanhood. ] The 'maiden was fair as the creation i of a poet's dream; the man stalwart, i strong and nobly featured, but though . you never would have guessed it. luok- ! ing at his big, brown eyes, blind from i his childhood. j The river which flows at their feet is ! the St. Clair, the deepest, broadest. *clearest stream in Michigan-I had nearly said in the.world, j Yonder thriving town is the new city of Glastonbury, and the dusky ehiud, Which blurs the landscape ton miles 1away, is the smoko from the chimneys >of the village of lfilvann. The young folks sit in-quiet, converse. ; evidently enjoying the delicious breeze, : which' comes from the broad-river to ‘ fan their cheeks. j' There approaches and passes them a backboard wagon, drawn by a’ pair of ; ponies which, poor beasts, -though they <tug with beads bent low, hardly acc’om- ! plish the barest' apology for motion., ! Not that the load is heavy—simply two j inen, who sit upon the. Ion seat- of the I vehicle with knees high up, on which i they rest their elbows; as they gaze i wearily ut 'the. efforts of the horses, I sinking at every step deeper into the I yielding sand. . - These men have no appreciation of the beauty of the landscape, no cur for tlie melody of blackbird or oriole, no delight in tbe flower-hulcn wind which wafts its grateful incense over them. One of them is about fifty yours of age, dressed in the garb of a western farmer, with u face so hard and ex­ pressionless that it might have been carved out of a block of wood; the oth­ er, a young man more sprucely attired, with hair as .black ns jet, glossy and curly; eyes large and eloquent, com­ plexion swarthy—altogether a figure characteristic of his race, which came a century ago from the sunny south of France -to settle in this region, lie possessed some education, too, liuving graduated nt the new college whose Spires you can see peeping over the pines. For two hourti these inon had sat in silence, but as they descended the hill, after passing the elm tree, with n jerk of his whip towards the two young peo­ ple, the elder spoke: "One of IVidder Evesham's angels' that blind feller as stays at Gorham's, eh, T’honsc?" ">*>, Jim, she isn’t one of the widow's daughters, that one; her name is Arling­ ton." "Arlington!" “ Aye. Mrs. Evesham found her. a little baby, on her doorstep one morn­ ing when she was living in New York and adopted her." “ I want ter know! Well, her is ut. uncommon pretty gel. Wish I'd taken a good look at her, for Squire Robinson, moderator of our school, tolc me that he‘d engaged a luss o' tin t name ter teach nex* term, an* I'll bet a doughnut lier's tbe identical one. Might board to our house, too—should'n' wonder.” “ Ha!" the young man ejaculated with some energy. “ Do you really mean It? Say, Jim Dolman, you couldn’t accom­ modate me too, in case she did, could yon?” , Mr. Dolman’s wooden countenance almost screwed itself into an expression as he replied with a chuckle: “ Oh* thet’s the way the, wind blows, is it? But, ’Phonse lad, I should a thought you'd a looked higher nor a fondling—a orpldn, reared on the chari­ ty of a dressmaker—you with a good business in Glastonbury an’ a half section o’ farniin’ land in Havana." “ Well,” was the satisfied response, “ that is just why I can afford to make a fool of myself." “ An’ what’s her first name?” the old man continued. “ I dlsrcmerabcr what the squire told me.” “ IVnmln-—Wanda Arlington." “ Wanda! Suitesalive,wliat a’stroarnry name to give a Christian female! Hut folks do go now to the dime novel rather than the Bible to name their children, But, about W.idder Evesham—ain’t Bhe got two darters o’ her own?” “ That she luis'—one of them is mar­ ried to a cousin of Bill Potter’s in De­ troit; then there’s Kate, who teaches in the Glastonbury schools, und is the prettiest girl in the county next to Wanda Arlington." “ Then there’s a son, too—leastways I caught sight of a tall, straight young feller one day at her house.” “ Aye, lie's in New York making his fortune.” “ Then who be the blind young chap, as is often with the Ariingtons?" “ His name is George Arundel,” Al­ phonse Danneirs said with a savage scowl; “ Ho came from the east about a year ago—for tlie good of his health, they say—but, if he fools around that young woman much more, it would have been better for his health to have stopped away.” , , . Sir. Dolman turned his fishy eyes on the'speaker and asked: “ How so. 'I’ honsc?" “Never .von mind,” was the sullen response, as the wagon took them round the bend of the Voud. Let us' now 'turn to the two young people sitting under the trees. It is George Arundel whois speaking:, "Noiv, Wanda, tell me what the fish­ ermen are doing? ‘I long to hear t.hc sweep of tlieir oars, as they pay off the linos of tlieir -net, and hear them sing tho merry French chanson to the time of their rowing. And, have the Indian squaws reached the island in, tlieir dug-out. or has the stream carried them too far below?" ■ Soft and musical was the voice that replied: • . , “ The fishermen are nearly ready Jo start. The squaws are just beaching their eanue, jind some little lad- are running along tlie shore to meet .them, witli a dog barking at their heels. But, oh, George, such a lovely sailboat Inis just come round the ’bend of tho river; you can almost see her keel as she flies like a bird over the water.” "How you love the river, Wanda!" "Yes. to me it is n tliing of perpetual beauty, cliangihg tbe expression of its loveliness with every cloud that floats over it.” / .“ Toll me what you see now—pist where you nre sitting, withont moving your head,” lie asked eagerly, turning his sightless- eyes upon her—dark eyes *• u> . e » “ I SEE," SAID THE GIRL. fringed with long lashes. You could not tell that' lu* was blind, if you did not notice tho changeless fixity of his gaze. “ I ■see," said tlie girl, obediently, “ the broad river stretching like a lake of liquid silver for miles and miles, green as emerald where tho shadow of the island fulls on it. There are white caps, on the waves, which glitter like snow tossed in sunshine. A low wood­ land lies on the other shore, dotted with white cottages; a woman is hang­ ing out clothes in front of one of the little houses, while her children arc paddling in the. water.” "And the man in the boat?" "lie is there yet, fishing. He has just hooked a pickerel nearly, a yard long. Now he 1ms got it into the boat." "I see it all!" tlie young man cried, enthusisiftienlly. “ 1 see it all, Wanda, with your eyes!" "1 mu .glad to be so useful to you. George," the girl replied, with a look of im stable tenderness. "And, when you are gone, ail will be dark again. How selfishly happy 1 have been in your: ociety." "Hush!-' -lie said. "You must not speal: like tills, You will have ICatc and - " "But Kate is not Wanda!" There wus u world of meaning in his words, and the girl's eyes filled with tears she could not repress. “ It seems but the other day." he. con­ tinued, fretfully, “ that good old Blodon brought me to Glastonbury. The physi­ cian had said- that change of scene would do me good—fancy change of scene for ft blind man, Wanda—und I cared not where I went, for all places were the same to me. But the smell of tho pines was pleasant, and I felt the presence of the river. Little did I think that there was in store for me such ft year o f happiness ns 1 linvo enjoyed. What a. lucky day it was for me when Harry EveshnnV found me blundering along in my poor, helpless way right in front of a runaway horse and took me to his home. Then how generously Mrs. Evesham received me into her family circle, and— I met you, Wanda!" “ Yes, yes!" the girl said, hurriedly; but he could not see the quivering of her lip nor the deep crimson of her blush. “ Alone us yon ivere in the world, it must have been a pleasant ex­ perience for you.” , - . “ Ah, you may well say so. I •neves knew how sweet a one till now. But let us not waste words, Wanda, for this may be the last chance I may enjoy for months of speaking with you alone. You and I are similarly situated—waifs and strays in the world." Then he added with a sad smile: “ You have g?ven me the priceless blessing of a sister’s love—alas, with my affection, I dnre not ask for more .”' ' ■ - “ A sister’s, love I give* you freely.” Then her face lit up with a smile as she said: “ You promised to toil Ino about yourself, George. Now, be a good boy and gratify my curiosity.” “ Well, sister mine,” he said;■ “ I will give you my autobiography. J cannot say in the orthodox manner of story­ tellers that I w as‘horn of poor hilt re­ spectable parents,’ for 1 am afraid mine were unromantically well to do. . The early past is veiled in much obscurity. I have a dim recollection of a. happy homcacross the seas — of a time when I could sec all tlie beautiful'things on earth—of a long illness which left me in total darkness—of a frantic father hur­ rying me away from the place of my birj.li—of long years of restless travel— and—that is alj, Wanda.” “ But, your father?” “ Ah. he was the clearest, kindest man who ever breathed the breathof life.”' “ Did lie never speak to you of your childhood?’’ “ Never —on tbe contrary be forbade any allusion to it. For-years lie hur­ ried me.from place to place with rest­ less persistency, always aceempanied by old William Bladofi', who seemed t» be more, a trusted friend than servant to him.” ‘ “ What object could he have in lead­ ing such a nomad life?" ■"That is more than I can tell,yon. As j I got older 1 fancied lie was Hying from some terrible trouble — he. seemed in such constant dread of recognition or pursuit." "Flow .strange!” "Was it not? Well, the climax came at last. Just a year age. we reached Chi­ cago from the far. we.:t. I .was tired with travel, and"; m.y dear father was anxious about my health, for no woman could have been tenderer in’ her solici­ tude than he was of me. Olio day we were walking down'Htate state, lie, in gaver mood than usual, describing to me the. stores and the sights. Suddenly I felt his grasp tighten on my arm and n thrill of emotion shake his frame—yon sec we blind are very sensitive. Wanda —then, ’ a, groan escaped his lips, 1 knew he was suffering from'.some great shock.. ‘Father, what is it?’ I, said. Then I heard a woman’s vbico quite dose to us. ’f-o, we meet at last,/ Ar­ thur Arundel,’ it cried in a clear.' music­ al tone, which nevertheless had a ring of anger in it, but -jvlueli tny quick per-: caption ,recognized as the voice of a cultured-woman. The next instant my poor father fell.prone-on the paveineat: a crowd gathered; and ho was carried to the hotel where lie died in less than an hour." “ Without recovering consciousness?" Wanda asked, her eyes moist with tears Of sympathy. . "Not quite so bad as that. He man­ aged to say a. few words to me before lie died. 'My son,’ lie said, ‘ I am go­ ing where the wicked cease from troub­ ling: but you will be left to bo a .shaft for tlieir evil, machinations. I cannot even put yon on your guard aguinst them. Trust implicitly in Ilia* 'don. It lies in my power to give you great wealth nnd high station, but the risk of acquisition would bo ruiaous to your peace of mind, and I bequeath you sufficient for rill your need's—a hun­ dred thousand dollars is deposited to your credit in tbe First national bank to New York.’ Then lie relapsed into a state of coma, only reviving for a mo­ ment to whisper in my ear: *lf ever you meet Wanda, tell her that her se­ cret lies buried with me. It may allay her bitterness.' ” “ Wanda!" the girl cried. "How strange! Why, I am Wanda." "But not the Wanda he meant. His Wanda I fancy was some cruel enemy, perhaps the very woman whose pres­ ence caused his death. Ob, if m.y poor father could onlv have «cen my Wan­ da!” "I)o you think lie ivmml have loved me. Gcorgev" "Who could be with you nnd not love you, child?" r iiA l’ TR li VI, ri.AKON PLAYS MUNTOIl. All the residential houses of Glaston­ bury Were of the same monotonous pat­ tern. shaped us though the builders lmd placed one big dry goods box endways towards tlie Btreet, and then added ns an afterthought another, at right angles to the rear, making a T. Add to this a plain porch, in some instances a stoop, nnd crown the whole with a low, sloping sliingle-roof, paint tlie building white with green shutters, and you lmva the typical picture of a Glastonbury home­ stead; Of course, it was a wooden city, with "not a single brick edifice in it to relievo tho eye, except the courthouse, and that was, if possible, more angular and gauche than its humbler neighbors. |TO BE COKTIADED, ] An Embryonic Hnmorlxt. Teacher—Jimmie, what is tho chief product o f the Malay peninsula? Jimmie—Malayria.—Harjier's Bazar C opy (Quo i&st Full o f trouble —-tlie ordinary pill. Trouble when you take it, and trouble when you’ve gdt it down.. Plenty o f unpleasant­ ness, but mighty little good. • W ith Dr. Pierce’s Pleasant Pellets, there’s no, trouble. They’re made to prevent it. They’ re the origi- nal little Liver Pills, tiny, sugar- coated, anti-bilious granules, purely vegetable* perfectly harmless,, the smallest, easiest and best to take. They cleanse and regulate the whole system, in a natural and easy way— mildly and gently, hut thoroughly’ and effectively. One little l olled for a laxative — three for a cathar­ tic. .S ick Headache, Bilious Head­ ache, Constipation,. Indigestion, Bil­ ious Attacks, and all derangements o f the liver, stomach and bowels are prevented, relieved and cured. They’re the cheapest pill you can buy, for they’ re guaranteed to givs satisfaction, or your money is r& turned. You pay only for the value re­ ceived. Can yon ask more? “German ‘ W e are six in fam- A F a rm e r a t ily: W e live in. a _ . , , _ _ place where wc are E d om , i exa^ , gukject to violent S a y s : C o l d s and Lung Troubles.' I h a v e used German Syrup for six years successfully for Sore Throat, Cough, Cold, Hoarseness, Pains in the Chest and Lungs, and spitting-up o f Blood. I have tried many differ­ ent kinds o f c ou g h 'S y ru p s in my time, but let me say to anyone want­ ing such a medidne-—German Syrup is the best. That has been my ex ­ perience. I f y o u use it once, y ou w ill go back to it whenever you need it. It gives total relief and is a quick cure. My advice to every­ one suffering with Lung Troublesis •—T ry it. Y ou w ill soon be con­ vinced, In all the families where your German Syrup is Used we have no t r o u b l e w ith the Lungs at all. It is the medicine for this country. 0 G. G. GREEN, Sole Man’fr,Woodbury,NJ. John Franklin Jones. Many a life has been lost because of the taste of cod- .liver oil. If Scott’s* Emulsion did nothing more than take that taste away, it would save the lives of some at least of those that put off too long the means of recovery. It does more. It is half- digested already. It slips through the stomach as if by Stealth. It goes to make strength when cod-liver oil would be a burden. , SboiT&B ownk , Chemists, 13 aSmith 5 thAvenue* New York. • 4Yourdruggttt keep*&eotl*tEmuKionofcod-livcr •il-nll druggist*everywhere do, fi, *4 BOILING WATER OR MILK. EPPS ’ S GRATEFUL—OOMFORTINS, COCOA LABELLED 1-2 LB. TINS ONLY. IL f a nn tn r Jr. Bairs CMpi Syrup ASTHMA CURED VMiA'nr DR, baxietox ' s ASTHMA CUM *l*«* ln»t*ni tenet m >< i ime» u fill* B u it«p ,iu not» .null or « liquid,i* .Rally uteri .nil : iruteottocar*when rer«rerln(rly reed. I’ri hh .tdfUn iH t. er by mull.« liox... S4. AridKiw * C O . , M lLUniw , Ml V. (rSHafMi hMiWWIMk WE'LL How tke i Dov.ii t John, H 'i, We’ii 'J’hC‘‘OiH.i i'lumii • John, r<> We'll in JlrH just ! Hs ju-'' WO will ii For \vi'. Conte, !'*• ' Nell. j\n'l .loin; We'ii in 'J’llO Rl'iily Atuf jin Be eari: . Or it iv; Ami burn Sbujie v ' fiotihul; - While w -Perris-li. IJ RACING A Bicyclist 1 •1 ivaH ahvu und, from Uv bov,, anil Iain shaker to ti> proud posse*. cles ever mui eni'liantin'r whicb- filioftii cupied oil tin • thus putting way ahead o bated tbe sip never happy try on iriy Id doctor ill a having a hirj indeed' when commission wealtny fr.ei sail for India A {fraud ns parting ptv/u m y delight you iu f “ Mill a bicyclist. “ iron wheel" •may seem no ix.e mv snrpr; remember ti comparative person to he otherwise,. ( lieve, the 1 r< as we "od e days alter o: thought it w: some eastei n 1 could hii incidents (in< in going "« ) wie- always ■ one kind o r o oil our bievei One evcmii dre w tip and ten-mile rat"' There was a short dista . away for t -1 ll cox wi: 30i sa i »eJ VJ ■itil] .rri 'St ;o c:i 'tl -tr | lie ■-v 'ra 1 t' mi ail1 .ec on 0 ; no 1 ■si: i er« to1 at ; s oal RSj sp' uai ■iyo rm iee t oj eni Oij U ing hoard .ion plain, and tl. rear., u, l,cn ilk, l proceeded, a J c in an impel, jfontul u enarat tive -lints a measurin'' and there in comimr stria Aften a • would maki stand ote Joi ood iee oi 'Chopped ve, neat brandy ■selves til J- • .venture i an nor the evetiinif was just -la , :ak favorite i < sat me anti sa .o fi “ Have y vie?"* orljj “ No." 1,;. “ Tlie r.;,* . ii that a Sa’ r - • j i the jurqr.i . so don't : is It “ All rtf ’ tiger IVl ;: catch in ’ as him.” 1 IlUr 1.1 * live as ye* thin. oil e Atvav • th$tb forgo! ‘ > rtnof I s-tai '• ra-'iti" a . cimiti" reached - miles fries, last niff's.t Mil 9 iu.t m:if m iles. ■:m o h a ck at :i . I rode -u ion ml tt, •- .Now to- Distil, : .. tightened down oil a tlie prosjK. too! A bove m tbo’.r snc.vi the f eUiti;' a thread • down U.e in and out and rock- through a iTIN ONL A post, i ftu’.iourui- by para*.' big wiib t h ie; h BAX! ,vut1MUjr ( t llC<JMMi a VK i 0 1 i