The Cedarville Herald, Volume 13, Numbers 1-21

* The Cedarville Herald. ' W. H. BLAIS, JPuWl*h«r« Cy,DAEVIIiLE. J : > OHIO, BACK ON THE FARM AGAIN 1 ,Baclt on.the farm againt A gludreloaso ■;From noise and stir, to thisdomain of pews. The city streets, walled Inon either b M o W ith brick andmortar, hold u reatlcttSTido Ol human llfo, withno kindimpulse free That lanat toapfiiJdby humanmisery. Wealth jostles want, uqd sin und virtue meet, Or walk together, through the crowded street. On the farm I only see , Nature In her purity. .Flowers blooom andgrasses erow , From the seeds I plant or sow! * Grass or grain I choose, and find Nature to ray wants inclined: And tho winds, unvexed, are free In their blessed ministry— . ■ . Full of health and odors sweet, Found not in the crowded street. . This Is rest—a joy to ho . From the city’s turmoil free. Seat undisturbedby the dlscordant'dln Of midnight revels from tho haunts of sin; 'And toil unvexed by tho unholy strife . That in tho city frets and fevers life. jEiaokon the farmagain! Xbear no more ' Thedta of trade, with Its tumultuous roar, ■Orwalkor ride through streets defiledandmade, At’brightost noonday, hut a noisome shajlo Through which the odors of a foul decay Arc wafted freely, If hy night or day; Wlioro night or day the tread, of Weary feet Goes echoing down the long and,tiresome street On tho farm tho clover grows, Breath us sweetas any roso; And the wings of busy bees Flying o’er these crimson sons, Honeyladen, tcll that they Duty's call with cheer oboy: While the merry-making birds, * Knowing not tho form of words, In a language all theirown * 'PraisethoLordformerciesshown; Clty.ehoirsand organ notes Eq.ua! not thoir tuneful throats. In,grand cathedrals city folks may try To worship God: but undorneath the sky, In nature's temple. GodHitnsolf is there, Bis car attent to every song or prayer. Hack on tho farm again!. Tho years I spent < luetty life were more thanbanishment; They fltlod my soul with anxious cares—unrest .F o r those, roychlldron, lovedand cherishedbest’, Shutout from nature, with no healthful play On grassy lawns as day succeeded day, No fruits or flowers in easy reach fresli grown, No trees or plants, or playground..all their own. y . On tho farm the children know Where tho sweetest berries grow; When the nuts are ripe to fall, Whero tho apple, largo or small, That i» mellow, tart cr sweet— GOod enough for'kiugs to eat: And to see them in the spring, Opon-eyed undwondering, As the buds,to blossoms grow And thoirwealth of color show— . » Then I know how great the chnnn Childhood flnds upon the farm. AhI then It is tho city seems to mo * Thohano of childhood—like a mockery. In colters damp, in garrets dark and chill, For childhood these breed only human 111.* Back on the farm again) I look around, •All sights but please, and to my cars ho sound, Harsh.or discordant.' Earth, and air, and sky, Unite and blend in perfect harmony. Tho landscape glows with color, and tlio trees Wave “paints of joy" in every passing hrwee: And sun and cloud alike their blessings bring— A realmmy own and I tho happy king. ■ On tho farmall days ure blest, Soiflo with toil and some with test: Always near to nature’s heart, Hhocan rarest grace impart. ' With tho dawnthemorning light, Always shows some new delight, And tho noon with radiant race .Is aminister of grace, And .tho day's declining light ■,, Welcomes the return of night. Birds or boast, or great or small. Lovetho farm—God cares for all. Earth has uo Heaven; hut on the farm I see So much of Uort, Inboundless mercy free, So little know of greed and want and sltt, Myhomo Js here, a castlo well wuUodln, « —I. E. Sherman, in Country Gentleman. LOVE AT LAST. The Story o f a Noble Woman’s Solf-Saoriflco. A long white chalky road, winding like tt broad ribbon through tho fertile valley, and luminous now with the light of the July sun. On either hand Bprcad broad, cultivated lands; on either hand, in the distance, rise the ragged hills. A silent road, though now and then a former’s light buggy spins past and leaves a cloud of white dust. 'The chipmunks dart across its broad tpaces, and the sparrows hold carnival to their hearts’ content, Here and there in the infrequent clusters of trees on its border one hears the song o f On oriole or n thrush. Hero and therd one comes to a grass-grown lane leading to a farmhouse, Proto one of these emerges, on this hot afternoon in July, a funeral pro­ cession. The shabby village hearse leads the wajr, and is followed by a long string of still shabbier vehicles—family chaises and buggies carrying rugged hdmespnn folks in Sunday garb—with faces dolorously composed for keeping funereal-holiday. In the country a funeral is an event second in interest and festal possibili­ ties only to a Wedding. The women leave their milk pans and knitting, the men their plows or horso trading and imlitober themselves in social con- versfe. After the decent ceremony they sit in the "front room" and inquire of old Neighbors, sons "gone West," daugh­ ters married away, and, if the deceased is on old person, look retrospectively to the time when they were all young together, and Wonder where "Ilatinali" to now, and how ‘ ‘Sam" did, and if “ til" ever* quit drinking, and so on. * But We are getting along a little too ftktt our funeral procession is now winding along the bit o f the road called fNwall’ s gap. How well Lucy Barker tususmbsts the wide etirve, with the *i#ee WOUbordariag Vatiaer fa t a o n ’* apple orchard, with the old stone well, the-patch of green grass and the tall trees giving kindly shelter to nli Too well, alasl Mho shudders and draws back into her corner pf the carriage’ as they come tp the "gap," and so fails to see a stranger horseman watering hfB steed at the old well, The tears she sheds—tears that hurt, rather than heal —are not for the old man,-going to his last bed. They lore not for hprsolf. Self has had little part in Lucy Bark­ er's life for the past eighteen years. They are rather for the memory of .her dead self—for a slim young girl who, stands by the old well, a girl with faithful eyes o f gray, and hair like chestnuts^in the sunshine. Beside her is a stalwart youth, her little white hand is on his shoulder, and her sweet face looks up to his with a blush born o f earnestness. "Not yet, Will!" she is saying, "it cannot be y e t Father*-” lint Will frowns gloomily, and puts her hand ■away?#- ' "Look, here, Lucy!-’ ho says. "We can’t go on like this. ■Ho 1 count for nothing with you—or are you playing with me?” ^ . "Oh, Will, dear, you know that I love yon. Be patient. They need me so much at home. Father has been so unfortunate, and —” “ Yotu' father is shiftless, Lucy!” said" Will, hotly. "You shouldn’ t say that to me, Will,” she1 says, • tremulously. “Life is very hard for some people, Will, and father gets discouraged; you don’t know liow hard mother has worked, and now if something is not done they must leave the old place, and what will become of. her?” .. • 9 "We can take care of your motlfr,. Lucy.” "And father? Ah, Will, you, don’t know my mother, and you don’t know me,” she said, sadly. " I begin to think that I don’t. I’ve' been mistaken, I find—thought' too much of myself, maybe. Well; at any rate, Lucy, yon must, say you will mar­ ry me now, or it must he all over be­ tween us!” The girl grew white to the very lips, she trembled, for his tone was hard and bitter. ■ “ I must do my duty, Will. 1•must 'Stay by my father and mother in their need,” she answered, quietly enough, ,so quietly that lyill, who did not look in her face for very anger, was de­ ceived by-her tone. "Good-by forever,” he said;-“ I’m not so sure that this self-saerifieo of. yours isn't a mask for coquetry—If so, you've mistaken your naan!” .he turned on his heel and walked quickly up the road, in a white heat of rage, out of Lucy’s life. Lucy wiped the, tears furtively away* ns.the carriages turned in at the gate! of tile little cemetery. This death, re­ leasing her father from the bondage of pain and silence, was not so sad us his ■ death in life had been. For him she could only give thanks that lie hnd won liis release. i When the simple ofllces had been "per­ formed, and the grave was being filled in, the cornp:\ny dispersed about tho little inelosure. for luosto.flheiii had graves to visit. Ipiey put some of the flowers she hud brought on her moth­ er's grave, by which her father had been placed, and then she sat aud pa­ tiently waited till all was done. - The stranger by tiie well watched the little procession wind slowly out of sight, then he mounted his horse and took the road to the village hotel. "You are,very- quiet here,’- he said to the man in the bar, "Yes, most everybody's gone to old Mr. Barker's funeral." , "Mr. llarlter! Yon don't mean old Toni Barker, do you?” "Yes, that’s tho man; been paralyzed these two years back.” "Hid he keep on the old place? I used to live here nearly^twenty years ago,” he explained. “ That so! Well, you might say Miss Lucy kept it on. She'd just left the seminary when I come here, and Lord, how that girl siid work! Jest took holt an’ managed everythin' herself, put her brains into it an’ made it pay. 1 guess the Barkers is well fixed to­ day." “ Is the old lady alive?" "No, she died five years ago," “ Ami Miss Barker* you shy, man­ aged the farm ns a girl?” "I don't know ‘ bout managed. ' She run it. She and the old raun did the. plowin’ and every mortal thing ’at was done, an* saved an* sevimped, nu‘ paid off the morgidge 'bout six years ago; an’ after that it was a leetie mito easier for Lucy till’ the old man was took down. And to-day they’re bury* in’ him," he added, with a sense of the fitness of the climax. “ I’ m going >to look about a bit I shall be back to supper and stay here to-night. Have my horse put up, will you?" said the stranger. The guests were gone and Lucy was ltfft in her solitude. The roses which grew in profusion around the sides of the low gray stone house exhaled a de­ lightful fragrance. The air hud been sultry all day, but now a soft breeze had sprung up, stirring the foliage of the trees with ar gentle rustic. The cows were being milked in the yard. Old John, tlm hired man, was slow* and Lucy waited to strain tho milk. At last it was all done, The shallow pans Of foamy sweetness were deposited on the white-scoured table in the dairy house and Lucy took up her broad hat, “ Yotk’H be on the porch, John, I sup­ pose; I'm going to Carry these spoons up to Mr*. Smith’*," "Ay, I ’ll bide here and smoke,” said the pld map. How delightful it was to be walking on the velvety border o f the road, free to breathe, as she had not been for months, the pure air o f the evening; The frogs were croaking in the brOolr, the crickets chirping in the grass, and ■ the air was dllod with the sound of in­ sect life, and with sweet odors from the far-lying fields. She walked slowly on. -Tier path to­ night was an unusual one to her, for it lay past Scwall’s gap, and she. had not passed it before, till this afternoon, for several years. , Eighteen years of silence, of savage­ ly hard work, of constant self-repres­ sion, had changed Lucy Barker; she was not a slim, sweet girl of eighteen, quivering at a word of praise or blame —a gruceful, pretty girl, with a wild- rose fuco and 'SmAirwlnte ’ hand's; she was a quiet, self-reliant woman o f .thirty-six, with hands made bony and gaunt by the hardest of labor, and a form prematurely bent .and aged Her sparso gray hair was ^trained back "from a face that was sweet' in expres­ sion and-outline, though sallow, and attenuated. -.She had dived deep into the crucible of sorrow, so .deep—for hers vyas a steadfast nature—that she had neither hopes nor fears, she never could—come what might—suffer as she had suffered; it seemed as though, she had died, and, though in the- world, was yet not of it. And yet the thought of that other self so far removed—for she felt as though she was an old, old wom­ an—had moved her to tears. Ah, here was the well again. As she came up, the stranger ap­ peared at the .other side of tho “ gap,” coining .leisurely toward her. A fine- looking man of forty—athletic, well- groomed, well-clad, well-bred. Home city man. she-thought—hut what caused her heart to beat as ho .quickened his pace? The next minute lie had reached her. and wins holding out his hand, and she knew why. , ■ ■ “ Lucy!" - "Will!" i •That was a ll.' For a moment I.uc.v lived in. the past, then- she shivered slightly and drew herself up—this man with liis well-cut clothes and self-pos- sessed^iir was not the fiery dominat­ ing youth in jeans that she remem­ bered.. And Will, who felt his own differ­ ence less, felt her. difference more. "Good God!” he said to himself, “ she's an old woman!- Would she have grown old like that 'working for mo? it’s partly my fuutt, I suppose,” lie shrugged his shoulders impatiently, as lie had a way of. doing when bothered. This calm, dignified woman, with silvery hair, daunted him. “ I always hud un idea," lie -thought to himself, "that Lucy would develop into one of- these soft, round, laughing little women. Great heaven! though, what has she had to laugh at an i grow fat over?’’ “ t. saw your father’s funeral this afternoon,” he said, “ though I did not know at the time whoso it was." "You did?" said Lucy. i “ Yes. 1 was at the well -when it passed." lie looked intently at l.uey, and .she colored and her beautiful eyes filled with tears, “ Lucy," he. went on, “ something led me here to-day. something told me that I should still find you. Can you forgive me? tan you wipe out the past—make it ns though it hnd not been'/" ' "O Will,” she said, tremulously, "it seems so long ago. I am so changed * so old—I do not fool the, same. .Tilings can never bo the same again." "Not quite the same, I know,” said he, “you have done your■duty, and 1 have -not; but still we can take up the raveled threads, if you say so. und tho path down the hill may seem less bar­ ren. Lucy, I hardjly dnro ask you to believe me, but 1 have never loved any woman but you. Bow shall it be?” lie thought more of what sho had been, and of what she might hnvc been than of what she was — but when she put her toilworn-hands into his and he saw tju- light of a new .dawn in her face, as she suid: "It shall be as yon wish, Will," lie felt that the future held for them both supreme possibil­ ities.—Edith Mary Norriss, in Yankee Blade. __ __ __ Tits filial! Averts a Speech, No inconsiderable amount of amuse­ ment Is derived from the perusal of real or supposed fragments of the account written by tiie shah ot Persia of his adventures in Paris during the last universal exhibition. In one of these extracts there isra-description of the visit paid to the Museum of tiie Louvre by the Oriental potentate. When Nnzir-ed-Bin was well inside the building M. I.arronmot, of the Fine Arts department, manifested every ap­ pearance of being about to make an ofli- cial speech. "1 fixed him with my eyes," the shah is reported to have written, “ and, surveying him from head to foot, 1said: ’Marche!' ” M. Larrotimct obeyed with tlm alacrity of a soldier, and thus time was saved ns well ns unnecessary eloquence. —London Telegraph, —The Idea!—She—"1 want to get a piece of ribbon that can be nicely tied ihtoabow," Clerk—-“ Yes, madam. Per­ haps you would like to see something already made up?” Nlie—"No, indeed. You don't suppose I would allow inj Fldo to wear a ready-made necktie, do you?"- Clothier and Furnisher. —"And now there’s the devil to pay," exclaimed the newspaper manager Into Saturday afternoon. Ahd ont o f the cash drawer he took fJl.5 0 —Somer­ ville Journal, PERSONAL and impersonal . I —Prof. Angola- Hcilprin, ot Philadel­ phia, who will conduct the Peary re­ lief expedition, is an accomplished scientist. Geography and palaeontology are his specialties, and he is well in­ formed about Arctic matters, lie is one of the curators of the academy of natural science. —There are two otherwise estimable women in Atchison, ICan,, who are con­ tinually quarrelling about their com­ plaints, each one 'trying to prove that she has more and more deadly diseases than the other. , Their physicians say that there is nothing much the matter with either of them, —Mrs. Blaine is a wonderfully_quiet women, with remarkable domestic tastes for a person who has been so much in public life, She has -a- fancy for old-fashioned tilings, and she de­ lights in preserving relics o f tiie days when there was loss show and blow, and more solid substantiability. about everything than there-is now. —A woman died recently in an alms­ house in Maine at the age of 100 years.. She had been an inmate of'the institu­ tion for thirty years, und during that period she had been, it is said, .laid out as dead three times, but on each occasion she came to life in time to stop the funeral arrangements. "On- • ly n few days before her death an un­ dertaker was called to. prepare her re­ mains for Burial, but when ho arrived she, was sitting up -in bed,” ■ ' -—Kate Fiold says that "woman is undoubtedly .move ‘reformablo-’ than, man. Whether it-is her better moral fiber, as muny assert, or whether it is the circumstances-of her life, which uuder . ordinary conditions is more, sheltered than a man’s, or whether it is simply her greater timidity and con- ‘sequent terror of legal or social pun­ ishment—whatever the reason Tnay he, she is far jess likely t"> become a crim­ inal than a person of the other sex.” —The last bearer of Beethoven’s mune recently'died in -Vienna, at the age of eighty-four. This was Caroline, the widow of tho great composer’s nephew Charles, who was .the source- of so much grief and anxiety to Beet­ hoven. , After the birth of three daughters, this nephew deserted his family, and came to America, where all trace of hint was lost. The widow was .supported bv her' married daugh­ ters and an annuity paid her by two musicians upon the anniversary ' of 'Beethoven’s.-.death. —Miss Marsden, who is striving to better the condition of the lepers in Si- ■ heriu. reports that she has been treated with the greatest- ldmlncss by the Rus­ sian nation. ■ She has collected £,">,001) towards a hospital for the poor crea­ ture0, whose condition she describes as frightful, in tiie course of her .work she lins ridden t’.OOO miles on horse­ back, and will•present the case of the lepers to the Czarina when sho lias fin­ ished her travels.- She intends to cross tho Caucasus mountains, and also to in­ vestigate the condition of the lepers fin Till::; and several other provinces. " A LITTLE'""NONSENSE;” —"What Ls the shortest word in the language?’’ asked Ihllins. "Broke,’ ’ replied his impecunious friend.—Wash­ ington Star. i -B row n—"Did you ever make a col­ lection of anything?" Ilobihson—“Oh, yes, 1‘ve been collecting unreceipted bills for years,"—Kate Field’s Wash­ ington, «> —lie Was in a Burry.—Patsy Mc­ Kenna (in an electric which lias broken down)—"Well, av tills car don’ t bo after moving soon, ol'll take the wan behoint.”—Harvard Lampoon. —Tiie Answer.— 1me, ilarllng. why I love yon!” Warlike! M.iiio'.. milt null low; And I answered my dear charmer: “ We’re no! married yet, you know.” —Smith, Gray & Co.’s Monthly. —Father (from the top of the stairs) —Charley, what does that youug lady mean by staying so late?" Charley (in the hall)—Say, be quiet up there, will yon? I think she’s going to propose.— Rochester Express. —Wife (one day after marriage)— “ No, dear, don’ t give mo any money; I might lose i t " Same Wife (one year after marriage)—“ I took a ten-dollar bill from your p icket-book last night, John.’’—Once a Week, —Humorous Contributor—"Do you pay Well for your fun?" Editor (with a towel about his head)—"Well, I should say I did. I was out wit i the boys last night, and 1 mn paying pretty well for my fun to-day.’ ’—Yonkers (■Statesman, —Willingto Walk.—Cushman—1hope you can pay mo that money you o.ve me. I lutve walkedfive mileslofcct it.’ ’ Nopay—Are you willing to walk fire more before you got it? Caslmmn— Yes, if necessary, ’Nopay—Then walls home— Yankee Blade. —Well Meant, Bat—"What a sweet child!" exclaimed the neighbor. "Yes," replied tho mother. Hasn’ t he a cun­ ning little nose?” "And such funny, fat checks!” “ Andadarlingbald h«nd!*’ And such fat, pudgy hnn is!” “ Yes (to her husband), John, do yon know, I think the baby looks more like you every day!"—-N. Y. Sun. —"So yon have called in answer to my advertisement for an Atherlcnh ’ coachman?" "Yes, siirr," "Are yon an American?** "Oi am, sure.” "Whero were you born?" "la Otild Oitltmd, surr, Couniy Cork." “ And how Is it you are an American and were born in Cork?" "Falx, surr, O’m bothered about that snmamasllf, sure." —Boston Transcript ■S^rifos O N © E N J O Y S Both the method and results when Syrup o f Pigs is taken; It is.pleasant aud refreshing to the taste, and acts gently yet promptly *on the Kidneys, Liver and Bowels, cleanses the sys­ tem effectually, dispels colds, Head­ aches and fevers and cures habitual constipation. Syrup o f Pigs is the only remedy^ o f its Kind ever pro­ duced, pleasing to tho taste and ac­ ceptable to tho stomach, prompt in its action aud truly benefifcial in its effects, prepared only from tho most healthy and agreeable substances, its manj*- excellent qualities commend it to all and have made it the most popular remedy known. if , hyrup o f Figs is for sale in 50c find SI bottles by all leading^drug- ’ gists. Any reliable druggu:t who may not have it on hand will pro­ cure it promptly for any one who wishes to try i t Do not accept any substitute. CALIFORNIA F IG SYRUP CO. . SAM FRANCISCO, CAL. LOUISVILLE. KY. . HEW VOtiX. tt.V. “German Justice o f the Peace, George Wil- kinsoh, o f Lowville, Murray Co.-, ' Minn., makes a deposition concern­ ing a severe cold. Listen to it. "In the Spring o f iSS8, through ex­ posure I contracted a very severe cold that settled on my lungs. This was accompanied by excessive night sweats. One bottle o f Boschee’s German Syrup broke up the cold, night sweats,, and all and left me in a good, healthy condition. I can give German Syrup my most earnest commendation.” . ® When you buy Flags you want the best. Government Standard is the best; the largest flag dealers in the U. S. are G. W. SIMMONS & CO., Oak Hall, Boston; Mass. Dealers in Military Uniforms. Write for V Flag Catalogue. FLAGS I T h e sm a lle s t P i l l in th e W o r l d l y IT h H' s TinvPiSIsI | T o purge tlio bowels docs nnt make ” them regular ;Jt leaves them In worse ” . comiltiontlmn before. The liver Lsthe ^ A seat o f trouble and tho rcm cilr m u s t M * n e t on It. Tutt’s T iny l iv e r F ills act , > directly on that organ, causing: a free ^ ■ flow o r Id le , w ithout which the h ow -^ p els nra always constipated. I ’rlcc. “ .1c. ►USE TUTT ’S HAIR 0 V E ; * perfect Imitation o f nature) fmricss- ^ ■ ibie to detect it, Frlcc* B1 per l x n . B Office,3 0 * 4 1 FnrkF Iaco,N ew York, • • • THE-(jEDfitfi’S fiEMEQY PRiatt K f . Salvation Oil PRETTIEST ROOK I? C S C ? I ? F.VElt IMUSTEtS, F fC E a E t c c c n c»si’K®' O t t S l a’c”^ K !'' Cheof, Imre,M, 1 , 0 ( 10 . 00(1 MUM, ltanutlfnl Illnefm ed (.Vtt&lasue free* Iti lit fill I'M WAV. KnCbrerd, 111. wriaMctailmtr. ««i uae**•«'.*. Ely’s CreamBalm W I L L C U t l ! CATARRH „ Afiltlvn«1mintoe*c!>.»o*triL KhY JU t08.,»W «rren£t..N .Y- if you : . . 6 UFFERI ISirwllehAttfcmtCure relievesthemflrHm! MS I ■Moment, lmtire*.retrenhifs* eirtp end <f u e l lwhere all ether*Mil. It vHU oeivrd/raMHkrf m d l l!*rle»,tl, of dreinrlet*nr bynull, htmelewelledI ------------ ... ft. lWI«. 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