The Cedarville Herald, Volume 13, Numbers 1-21

mm \ The CedarriUeHerald. w ELELATE, yUMihir, CEDAfiVILL* I I oxia BETWEEN THE LINES. Whst canshe ssyt Tho pen U polaed la sir, And ink grows dr* white thoughts reruts to bland; A longdalsr-aml than, Inallddespstr, The pan Isurged to trsca the words: “Dear Friend” And Is ha not her triendr The Ulso bough That bant Us flowersto listen, ni he ssld - The lew but esroestwords-no lorar’s vow— That seemed s benediction onher head Still holds those blossoms, bright, unfading ■ye*. ■ That sand their perfume tosltsyher fears, And fill her heart with mem’rles that beget Thehope of happiness in coming years. HU letter, too, tall brief, tostill s friend'd Tho’ couched in terms- which sadly she de­ fines Not lovcr-iUto. Ontyouthful fanoy lends The hey, and swift—she roads between tha lines. The pen oncemore she urges onits way “ mil To write the news, the very last In nd. His note received tho morning of that day; He wrote so soon; ho wss so rery hind. AU wofl at.homoand send their best regards, And wish him look In ills newenterprise. Tho thought of lUao's perfume she dtooords; - To be too bold, Indeed would be unwise. How commonplaoo the language seems to her, In glancing o'er It wham the task todohel dt shows a lack that makesher long demur In sending phat looks scarselyhalf begun. And yet she trusts these words to himmaybe More than they segm. They ora but shadowy . signs To helpa lover’sseoroUngeyes tosee The gentle hope that- throbs—between the - lines . ■ " . A typo of nil her simple, sweet young life, Is this girl's letter with It* sweet designs; It tells no word otlove or passion’* strife— The power ofit lies between thelines. ■ —Margaret Price, InOnce a Week. v PnurrSfaea Surndwotaac ■rla»»SW'|Www' . CHAPTER X —COiratfliSD. A fortnight crept slowly by, and Michael neither wrote nor came. Olivo Aegan to fear that ho was ill, and would Stave written a line o f inquiry if they thadparted loss coldly. The suspense wasalraost intolerable; but she did not -want to look like a victim, andshe wept and camo as usual, dressed as prettily -as ever, and wore her masko f cheerful­ ness with unitinching bravery. Her sweetness and courage went straight to tthe hearts of the Wakes. Mrs. Wake iwas so stirred that she was lifted quite •out of her melancholy little self, and astonished her husband by displaying -unwonted tact and wisdom. ’ Sunday afternoon camo-round again, vand tho three were sitting in their par­ lor upstairs,with doors, and windows wide open, trying to pretend that they -were not expecting anyone: Olive had got a large volume propped up on tho table before her, and turned its pages although she ooutdnot read aline. Sud­ denly the house bell rang loudly, as if it had been pulled by an impatient hand; and tho sound drove all the color -out of Olive's face, Mrs. Wake was off -the sofa with a bound. “ I will go and see who it is," she said, and was gone in an instant. Samuel and Olivo sat in silence; they could hear each other breathe. Heavy steps were coming quickly upstairs, and drowning Mrs. Wake’s light tread. A man’s figure appeared in the door- ■ as mews. way, and the girl started up, tremblibg, and went towards him; but It was not Michael Chase. It was Aaron who stood before her, looking sopale and wild that she gave a cry of fear. "Yon have brought bad new#!’* she panted out. "Is Michael ill or dead? What has happened to hinrt "He is neither 111 nor dead." Aaron answered. And then aha sank back into her scat with a long, sobbing sigh, and covered lier face with her hands, Samuel Wake went up to his niece, middrew her head gently down upon his brood shoulder. "Speak out, Fenlakc,” he ssld, hold­ ing the trembling girl closely. "Olive will be well cared for, no matter what may come. Don't be afraid, -matt: she has a brave heart, and it will be best to know the worst at onoe." "Tho worst Is thatMichael hasproved himself to be a scoundrel; a black Scoim- diet," said Aaron, fiercely. " I brought the tidings myself, because I knew that Oliva wouldsooner best them from me Mum item • ataeager. Michael Chas* has offered kioaeli to Miss Bsttorsby, and she has accepted him." Olive’shead did not atlrirom its reat­ ing place, nor did she speak one word. I t was Samuel who asked sternly if Aanpn conld prove that he had spoken troth? “ I f there had. been the least doubt,” Aaron answered, " I should not be here now. It was Mr. Edward Bstteraby himselfwho told me of theengagement, Michael has got me turned away from the works, and yesterday I was loafing about, trying to find something to do, when Mr.tEdward met me. He stopped and said a few civil words, and prom­ ised to do what he could for me.' And then ho said that there would be a wed­ ding soon, and that I must come to the dinner that he should provide for th* SHE PVT THA LETTER BAOX. workmen. l eaked if it was his wed­ ding that was coming off. And he said: No, Fenlake, it will be ray sister's wedding, and she will marry Michael Chase. Yon knowwhat a clever fellow ho has proved himself to be, and we all think a great deal of him.’ ” There was dead silence for a moment. Then Olive lifted her colorless face and looked mournfully at Penlako. " I know it is all true," she said, in a blear, sad voice; "he spoke o f Miss Bat- tersby. Sometimes I have felt .that this was coming. You were right about him, Aaron; ho lias used us both badly —badly. But we will let him go his way;" She looked from Aaron toUncle Wake and tried to smile, then put her hand up to her forehead andwent quickly away. There was not much more said by the three who remained in the room. Only Samuel asked Fenlakewhether lie could tell them anything about Miss Batters- by, "Nothing," Aaron replied, "except that she must bo a good deal older than the rascal she is, going tq marry. I have heard that Mr. Edward is several years younger than his sister.” When Aaron was gone Mrs. Wake cried quietly for a few seconds, and then went to listen at Olive’s door. No sound was heard and she returned to her husband in so*-** distress. But he soothed her, and .,aid that they must wait patiently until the girl come of her own accord and sought their comfort, And she did come, sooner than they had thought to see her, and sat down in her old place by Uncle Wake’s side. "Uncle," she said, softly, “ if yon see a letter addressed to me in Michael's handwriting, will you promise to open it? Xwant you to road it before I do, and stand by me when I read It. I feel too weak to suffer any more alone," Not many days-afterwards a tetter did come, and SamUel tore it open with a muttered word of disgust. It was not a long letter, nor did Michael appear to think that Olive would suffer much through his faithlessness. He told her that ho had felt that there was a want of union between them, and added that he could not live happily with a woman who did not fully appreciate tho efforts he had made, and the success that he had won, And then he finished with the usual wishes for her future happi­ ness, and that was all. . Olive read the letter, standing by Uncle Wake’s side, held fast by his kind arm, She put it back into his hand and said that she did not wish to see It again. "And now I must faoe my life,” said the girl to herself. But this facing a life that wai so ut­ terly changed was no easy task. I f you who read these pages have ever tried to go on living after the uprooting o f a great hope, youwill knowhowhard it was. CHAPTER XI. “aoniroova ntsTucsswsss, bis rsst .” Day after day went by, and Olive fought With all her might against that indifference to all outward things which is the bane of a sick souL Day after day a voice within was always re­ peating the dirge-lik# words: "You do not care for anything, and you never w ill care any more." Uncle Wake proposed a holiday in the country; his wife had some rela­ tions living in a Surrey village, and Olive was sent to stay with them fora few days. They were kind, the air was sweet, and woods and fields were beautiful as of old, hut comfort did not oomoto the sorely-tried heart. The voice of peace did not speak to her here; she conld hear only the echoes of the past, and think only of "the touch, of the banished hand.”- It did not gladden her now to stand looking over the stiles down the long meadows; there was no hope in the sunbeams, no promise In the whimper o f the g Michael, the traitor, did not dwell te her mind, be was banishedby the mem­ ory of Michael th% young lover. She thought of him, in spite of all reason, a# the hero .she had first believed him to be, andmourned for the ideal that she had loved so long. I t wss a relief to go bock to the life in London end take up her work just where she had laid it down. At homo she was very quiet, grateful for All the kindness that strove to deaden tho con­ stant heartache; hntthosewho watched her could see plainly that her soul re­ fused comfort, and knew tb it the heal­ ing hoar had not yet come, October was gliding away; but it was a gentle, sunny October, and autumn faded slowly. And at last there came a Sunday morning, so balmy and soft that it seemed to nave wandered bock from the bygone summer. Olive went out alone that morning, sad as ever but with a vague desire for the sight of something green to rest the eyes;.and she walked on, scarcely caring whither. The steeple of St.Mary le Strand rose up into the blue haze of the beautiful day, and the great, thoroughfare was bright with tranquil sunshine. AU at onoe it occurred to.Olivo that she would go to the Thames embankment and look at the river; it would be pleasanter walking there than in these busy ways. And, with this thought in her weary head, she turned suddenly into a street on her right hand—a narrow, stony lit: tie street which she had never entered before. She was still so much of a rustic that most of the nooks and byways of the Strand were unknown to her; and it was with a senBo of surprise that she found herself at the open gates of a sunshiny churchyard. Within, there were gray tombstones shaded by plane- trees; the dark gray tower of the an­ cient church was touched with the quiet light of tho autumn morning; yellow leaves fell here and there; a ground-ash drooped its long branches over the soft turf; What a resting place was this for tired eyes, weary o f watching the ceaseless come and go of London crowds! Olive stood spell­ bound at the gate until her sight grow dim with tears. She was not thinking of herself only as she stood there. She thought of the many homeless wanderers who had paused on this very spot, hardly able to bear the throng of image* that,started op around that peaceful sanctuary Gray .walls .and fresh gross and trees, they make the background o f memory’s holiest pictures. The phantoms of old happy days went trooping along those quiet paths and vanished within the gloom o f the lowbrowed door; fathers and mothers who had gone to rest long ago in God’s acre; little children who bad grown up to bo careworn men and women; boys and girls who-had loved each other once with tho fresh, un­ worldly love o f youth—these were.the shadows that passed slowly through tlic green old churchyard every day. Tho sorrows o f one human heart arc the sorrows o f all; the longings of one human soul after its lost paradise are the longings o f all, and it is through these common sorrows and common longings that the lost sheep are brought back to the faldsnd the wandering spir­ its are drawn softly home to God. Ideas came to her very sloivly that day, and she had lingered for somo minutes by the gate before she realized that this little gray church with the quaint low belfry was the Savoy Chapel ItoyaL In that old churchyard, and on the ground' now occupied by all the neighboring buildings, the famous' Savoy palace hod stood once; bat Olive was In no mood just then to recall his­ torical associations. It was enough for her to feel that she had suddenly lighted on a nook that was. completely out of the world, and ."not one man in five hundred who jostle along the noisy Strand ever dreams o f its exist, ence.” The restful influence of the place drew her within the open gate and along the tree-shadowed path to the Chapel door. She went timidly down the flight of stone steps that led to the entrance, hearing the sweet thunder of the organ, and wondering whether she might gain admission; bat when Hie threshold was crossed her last doubt died away. No disconsolate widow with a white cap and a short temper conducted the worshipers to their seats—a pleasant-faced young verger In a black gown foundplaces for all who wanted them. And this was no easy task, for the little chapel, even at this unfashionable time of year, was full to overflowing. When Olivo ventured to raise her ©yes, she received a vivid Impression of rich yet delicate colors; the red rose of Lancaster burned in the emblazoned panes of the chancel window; all the lights that found their way into the place were tinted with rainbow dyes. But this chapel was not in the least lilte any of the groat churches that she had seen in London—it was, in fact, "a single rectangular chamber," lull of glowing shadows and warm living sun­ lights; no mighty arches rose overhead and wore lost In mist, no massive pillars stood out solemnly from the gloom. Here was a cheerful sanctuary, magnificentwithoutpomp,reverent, but not mysterious—a House Beautiful where every -tired pilgrim might find "some softening gleam o f love and prayer." The young girl, worn with perpetual heartache, seemed at last to breathe an atmosphere Of repose. The old familiar words of the Liturgy, uttered in a calm voice, fell upon her soul Uke drops ol deer,andlh* masted tha bjwtm, JED o f solemn appeal and subRm* content, lifted her ont o f the iron cage o f her Borrow. When she looked up to tho clergy­ man who stood in the pulpit, Bad heard that calm voice speaking the text, she did not know that hehad been minis­ tering hero for more than a quarter o f a century. She did not know that the words spoken in this little chapel had gone out into the world and were treas­ ured up in the mindso f thonghifal men and women; she only knew that the preacher seemed to her “ unknown and yet well known;" already she had fallen under the magnetic spell of his strong personal influence; the voice, so distinct and intensely penetrating in its quietness, found its way through all the clouds and shadows that had gath ered around her Inner life. PERSONAL ANO IMPERSONAL. ALLOW K m IM * *~A Walla Walla, Wash., man about * year ago started a man out with a band of sheep on the range. A few: lays ago he received the following from him: " I f you want me to remain here any longer, you’ll haye to get an- Jther hand of sheep; them’s all gone." —The kaiser’s six little sons are sub. jeeted to a severe regimen by their father, They sleep in a plain,- bare room, upon* iron cots, with hard mat­ tresses and scant bed-clothes. At seven avwy morning "they take a cold bath sod are then pat through-vigorous gym­ nastic exercises. A friend fa te******1 la J "Ye shall leave me alone; and yet I amnot atones because tb* Father is with me,"~st, John xvi. S3. The loneliness of Jesns. Christ in His life, in His sufferings and in His death, is a patternand a prophecy of the soli­ tude which is touchingly characteristic of all true life. Eugene Bersier, the eloquent preacher in Paris, rightly says that there are two kinds of solitude, an outward and an. Inward, a visible and aninvisible. When we are not seen, nor heard, nor touched by anyone, we say that WO)ore alone. But it is not always a complete isolation.. The fisherman does not' feel alone on the ocean, though he sees only the silent stars in the firmament and hears only the soundof the moaning wind and the roll­ ing waves. He is thinking o f his wife and children, who-are on shore await­ ing his safe return. For them he is working;.their love fills his heart; he never feels alone. The watching soldier on his lonely picket does not feel quite solitaiy, for he knows that the honor of his coun­ try’s flag is in his core. The work* woman , in her garret, handling her diligent needle during the long hoars o f a winter's evening, does not feel lonely, for she knows that before daybreak she will have earned for herself and her children the next day’s bread. The lighthouse keeper in the middle o f the ocean does not feel alone, for he knows that by his vigilance the light will b* kept brilliant which will warn off thou­ sands of ships from dangerand minister to the security o f myriads of lives. Those who love and are loved are never alone. These are all visible solitudes.' There are also inward solitudes. A crowd is not company. There oremany whose'contact makes no sympathetic chord to vibrate in onr hearts. Their handsmay press ours, but that indif­ ferent clasp touches nothing within our spirits. There are voices and faces which, da not charm us even though they vouchsafe ns conventional words and smiles o f courtesy. Faces may only be as a gallery of pictures, and voices only the bum of many sounds. There is an important sense which makes this, inward - solitude to be specially felt in the. crowded life of a great city. When William Wordsworth came to London he was astounded that people lived, close to each other and AT THE CHAHO. DOOB. soareely knew the names of their neighbors. Charles Dickens said that loneliness was as possible-in the streets of a great city as in the desert of Arabia. The Latins have a proverb, "Magna clvitas, magna solitudo" (a great city, a great solitude), Hence, even we who live in a busy hive of wdrkera and sufferers are not denied the power to find and foster Asolitude. Xdo not know a more pathetic reflee* tion than this, that we all live, even as we must surely all die, in avery real and requisite solitude. The experience of ages has never falsified the word spoken nearly three thousand years ago: "The heart knoweih its own bit* terncss, and a stranger doth not inter­ meddlewith its joy” (Proverbs xiv«, 10). A great saint once said that there is a sense in which we must serve two mas­ ters, for we all ilve two lives, an out* ward and an inward, an open and a se­ cret, a social and a solitary, a human and a divine, a temporal and an eternal. Happy and blest are those who. so live in these two worlds ss to make tha most of both. [t o BE COMTlXttKD.) A Similarity. A JokeIsvery like snut—* I state this as s feet— Sincenonecantell if ItIs Rood Until it hasbeencrocked. —Harper's Qatar. I f They Only Were. The long delayedmlliealam Would seemlees dimly tor, If men were only half as good As their sweethearts think they are. -ELt.Hetsta of Mr. Spurgeon’s once asked.him i f he’ knew, that some people thought him conceited. It is said he smiled, pointed to his book shelves, spoke of his many sermons translated into every language, also of the vast audiences he hod, and replied: “ I won­ der I ’mnot more.conceited_than l am." —Lord GeorgeCampbell, fourth sonof the duke of Argyle, has opened an office in Victoria street, London, as agent for the registration and leasing of shoot- ings, fishings, moors, and deer forests Lord George’s elder brother, Archie, is$ partner of the great banking firm at Goutts. Lord Walter, another brother, is a stock broker and a partner of the firm of Lindo, King & Co. There is but one pauper in the town of Whitneyville, 'Me., and that one is s festive widow who looks out for herself ten months in the year. It is evident that she will--soon be entirely independ­ ant, for her last request of the overseers reads as follows: “ Please send me ten yards of red ribbon afid a new dress, and;let the dress be good enough to wear as principal at a wedding.” : Helen A. Keller, who is a pupil in the school for the blind where Laura Bridgman-was taught, is, according to all accounts, a most remarkable child. She lost sight and hearing When a mere babe, and was sent to the school to be taught finger speech. Although only eleven years old, she Is.nh intellectual wonder. She learns with marvellous : rapidity, has acquired oral speech, and manifests a mental, power .and grasp that would be phenomenal in a child in full possession of her senses^ —One of the most eloquent, dignified, and famous clergymen of New York re­ cently received a letter framt, a rough* .aad-ready western man whichransome­ thing like this: "Dear Sir:: E dropped into your place last Sunday and heard yom preach. In the main C liked what you said first rate, but when you re­ marked in one place that men, of them- . selves, are unable to do any good thing yon were talking through your hat IOut my way I know plenty o f tough menwho sometimes do noble and good _ actions. Excuse my blunt way of talk­ ing, but Xam a plain man and prefer to call a spude a spade. Just give human nature a show, ahd'I am sure your ser­ mons,will be much more effective.” •A LITTLE NONSENSE." ■Pitying in Installments.—Mit Brink "What was the most expensive piece o f jewelry you ever bought?”- Mr. Be Vorce—"My wedding ring. I ’mpaying MOa week, alimony,”—Jeweler’s Week­ ly. ~“ I have met this man,” said a law­ yer, with extreme severity,, “ in a great many places where I would; be ashamed to beacen myself,” and then he paused and looked with astonishment at the smiling couft and jury.—TiirHKis. —Ringway—"What uro you- walking overfhatrugso much tbr? Aren’t you afonid you’ll wear it ont?" Feather- stone—"You don’tunderstand, old man, My trousers arc under that rag, being creased."---Clothier and Furnisher. —Hicks—" I think 1 shall bring upmy boy to follow the sea for a livelihood.” Dix—“Why have you settled on that?” Hicks—" I t seems to be tho only ind,uv try in which one is not expected to lie- gin at at the bottom."—Brooklyn Life. —She—" I f you don’t let go my hands, sir, I ’ll ring for the servants;” He— "Bat if I don’ t let go how can you ring?” She (thoughtfully)—“ That's so —and—and poor mamma’s got a head­ ache, so I dare not scream.”—X. Y. Herald, —Her Sex Prevented.—Reader—“ S d the author of this book has refused to father it?” Publisher—"Yes." Reader —“ That is strange. It is a work to be proud of." Publisher—'“ 1 see nothing strange about it. The author is a woman.”—Town.Topics., —Fair Visitor—“So you havd really decided not to sell your house? Fair Host—"Yes. You sec, we placed tho matter in the hands of a real estate agent. After reading his lovely adver­ tisement of our property, neither John nor myself could think of parting with such a wonderful and perfect home."— Pittsburgh Bulletin. —A small Scotch boy was summoned to give evidence against his father, who was accused o f making disturbances in the streets. Said the bailie to him: "Come, my wee mon, speak the truth, and let ns know all ye ken about this affair." "Wccl, sir," said the lad, “ d'ye ken Inverness street?" " I do, laddie," replied his worship. "Wcel, ye gang along it and turn into tho square and cross the square—" “ Yes, y s ,” said the bailie, encouragingly. "An* when ye gang across the square ye. turn to the right, and np into (Ugh street, and keep on np High street till yc come to a pump." "Quite, right, my lad; proceed." said liis worship, “ I know the old patep well." Well," Said the boy, ruth t»<! most infantile Simplicity, "ye may gajifl and pump it, for yc‘11no pumpme.’ — Christian Register. r Tim* was to suspend going on in| Chicago of be consider 1ness. lode to-d»y whiel and commen] cagoane. On the b s new store .o f the build the lower p: torn out, bu has notcci regular houi ingheld up leave just e cDrt rickety informing things look ■aw and he • buy goods I t is a qu trians atop’ , vel, for, it il enter the workmen an o f its front. But the ranged strw ■street—an high, It f ront'is out.: in a new fro] another . the lower fl structure n sidewalk isi shed over v falling brie] into the d building th supportin a cyclone c has been bl front liui intermptfoi are goingei And busi this buildini ducting the| are sellin; county,” a) typewriter eviitors ru down, and than usual dense, tlie: human bci no interim fwlta, Wash a nta on tb* n rived J! |you virant r, you’ll be ieepj them Is six little [rare reglr (sleep fu i Fn cots, wi it bed-cloti they taki it through^ Swipes stairs)—W« Dey’s aladj at me. Thuggei iat’sdo pc home. Swipos- ho parrot Tophet do blanked so| a lady wh< parrot!—Nj —1Total]: alyzed hai of him, Re| au impi yet theroi can equal pression o] flowing ci argument Rouge ej I want yo| gist’s amif Would yoj gave you sum. Bj fo’ myscb 1 paints.* -M a i: wouldn't! to do wii (Tex.) Si] f Mr, Spi '« knew, the oneeited. to his any sernM gunge, b I b lad, and raj >re couceib feCampbel gyle, lias o; et, Londo: >n and let moors, an elderbroth e great bi ’Walter, at -ker and a King & C< t one pau .le, Me., attj who looks ox the yeai soon be ent list request < ■ws: "Plea ribbon at dress be g ipal at aw Keller, w) or the bill taught, i a most ren t and heart: s sent to tl speech- old, she b lie learns w acquired o mental p e pheiiomei |onof her se ie most elo< clergymen < ed a letter estern msfti is: “ Dear 'lace last Si In the ma rat rate, b ne place th: rnable to do talking th y I know metimes do xcuse my bl ,tna plain.m a spade.. < iow , and I ai muchmoi llTTLE NC ’ in Installih fas tlie mos [you ever b ly wedding i alimony.”- T h * perl has a curif P aresis busoball ru Once a \V| B tuaxc marriagel no, they i met this xtreme sov where £v myself,” am with asto rt and jury ay—"What :gso mucli i’ll wear i! ]oq don’t un< rs are unde -Clothier an " I think I low the sea y have you t seems to 1 ich one is ii [the bottom.' If you don mg for the don’t let he (thought d poor I dare "IXEVJ good,” “ No. Hi J ak e ( i [ to be, dal 1Used ml ‘ TnAT4 "Not qull Wing,*'-I I t 1* tlj the gree much.”- “ The seemed an old fil , Wacxl bo see* l aboutai JV ktv , WordI” | tough Truth. "T ais that Is i his neifi. Journal S aii . s * qu»U, i *'iy vil GotiricJ . Anci_ himself] Garett ‘ ‘W h ( it feelsI Oieha, Sex Proven [>rof this bo Publish© [isstrange. Publish© |about It* -Town To) IVisitor—"S lot to sell fes. You s In the hand (lifter readln ;o f our pro; b if could thi J-onflcrfut an ;h Bulletin, mil Scotch [vidence aga used of mak rets. Bald toy wee mo |us know At “ Wcel, sir, Ferness stre< Ihis worrira; land turn 1 jie square— |H«, eiicour;) across the jit, and up t :np High St! ’Quite rigl .Worship, “ i Well," «ai< [fantlle simy imp It, fo r; ,Register,