The Cedarville Herald, Volume 13, Numbers 1-21

The CedarvilleHerald. W, H. ^BLAIB, Fublifbar. CEDARVILLE. : ; t OHIO. SHORTEN! ANO HERBERT. fflio’ Utm Shy plays round my knee Wbilo I jcaw} Herbert Spencer, But atilt tbo tnoro 1 road and n a d My ignorance grows densor; F o r Shortem Shy decries my taste And teltd meovory m inute: "Bay; papa, I don’t like th at book. There ain’t no lions in it." Now Herbert Spencer is a great, A world-compelling thinker; No heavy plummet lino of tru th Goes deeper than his sinker. But one man reads his work way through F o r thousands tb a t begin it, • They-leave ono-hnlf tbo loaves uncut—' “There ain’t no lions In It.” The age-old errors in th eir den Does Herbert Spencer throttle, And ranks-with Nowton, Bacon, Kant, And ancient Aristotle, The mighty homage of the few— These towering giants win it, The millions shumtholr hunting-ground, “There ain’t no lions in it.” I leave this mo*»pnyslc swamp, Thick grown w ith sturdy Bctong, And roam tbo meadows of romance, With Shortcut, and his lions. He brings his gaudy Noah’s Ark- book And begs mo to begin it; - “Bettor than Hubbut Penoer book, That ain’t no lions in it. “ Now wend about the efalunt » So big ho scares the people; An’ wead about tho kangerwoo Who jumps upon tlio ’toeplo." So I talto up the Noah’s Ark book, And sturdily negin It, - And read about tbo “ efalunts” And lions th a t are in It. Shortem will grow in soberness H is Hfe becomo Intenser. j Some day he’ll drop his “efalunts” 1 And take up H erbert Spencer. But life can have no happier years Than glad yoars th a t begin it, And life sometimes grows dull and tarn* “That has no lions In it.” —S. W. Foss, in Yankee Blade. ujT.phtatrjrLlrrv '*» PmufTfiduaUlCft SasffliEffitigaKBX CHAPTER nt-COKrTNCED. “Don’t talk so, dear Jane.” Olivo put her arm round the girl’s shoulders, and . spoke with quick sympathy'. “Men have their dark moods, and come out of them.” “Aaron never was quite as other men are,” said Jane, sorrowfully. “Ho was always more desponding than others— . always believing himself an ill-starred creature. No one over had such a strong influence over him os Michael had. Michael could make him hopeful and cheerful; he looked up to Michael as a hero—you know it, Olive, ahd now—” Jane was a quiet woman, and she took her trouble in a .quiet fashion. Tears stole down her cheeks, 4>ut there was no sob, no passionate cry of dis­ tress. Olive, weeping too, drew closer, and comforted her as .a sister. “1 don’t want to say anything hard about Michael,” said Jane, drying her oyes, and returning Olivo’s kiss. “But I wish, oh, how I wish that lie would he as friendly with Aaron ns.lie used to be! Ju st a cheering word now and then, or a few minutes’ talk about old times, would set Aural up and lift him out of Kimself. You know he has almost wor­ shiped Michael all his life, and he thought that v/hen his old friend came to Battcrsby’s works ho would be lone­ ly and home-siclc no more.” What could Olive say? She still kept her arm round Jane, and puzzled her brain to find comforting words. “Dear Jane, Michael is always preoc­ cupied,” she said a t last. “I wish It were not so, but 1 cannot change him. Perhaps, by and bv, when lie has won all th a t he is striving for, he will have thoughts to spare for old friends, and will be his old self again.” “But if he ever docs become his old self again ho will look round in vain for old friends,” Jane answered. “They can't wait, yon ecc , till he lias time to spate. But, Olive, I am afraid th a t Michael dislikes having Aaron near him. Only Aaron knows anything of Michael’s early days, and men who want to rise very high sometimes hate those who remind them of their low be­ ginning." Olivo flushed deeply. “Aaron should not encourage such fancies,” she said, “and 1 have often heard our old vicar say tha t people are hard on the man who rises. They always inspect him of looking down on old as­ sociates; they take his pride for grant- . ed, and nover give him the benefit of a doubt,” “I ofily hope th a t Aaron is mistaken,” Jane replied, meekly, “I have always admired Michael very much, and I wont to believe fa.hlm for your sake.” “Then do believe in him, dear,” en­ treated Olive, “and tty to bring Aaron into a brighter mood. Ah, if we had him hero we would soon dispel his doubts and feats! What a gloomy crea­ ture a man is when he is away from a Woman’s influence,” Jafle smiled, somewhat comforted, and the sweet evening wind kissed the two faces, as it came blowing freshly across the downs, The air seemed full of the breath of wild flowers; there Were hope and petted and quiet, glad­ ness in this remote world of low iiills and green meadows and violets. The girls lingered a t the gate a few mo­ ments longer, and then went indoors to their household work. Next day Olive contrived to have a ta lk with her mother, and ask her questions about Uncle Wake and his business. But Mrs. Challock had not much to tell. “Ho was always a kind-hearted man,” she sold, “and a good husband to my poor sister. Your aunt Ruth diedyoung. Ho loved her very much; I almost won- ■ der tha t he married again, and yet I oughtn’t to wonder, seeing that I mar­ ried a second time, although I loved your father dearly! • Wo widows and widowers allow ourselves to be talked over, even when our hearts are buried in thewravo of our first love. Yes, Mr. WakflTs a good man, CWive.” “Has ho any children?” Olive asked. “Tho second wife had one daughter. Ho wroto and told me of the birth. I never heard of any other children,” Mrs. Challock. replied; “And do you really think, mother, that he would let me live, in his house if I earned my own bread?” Olivo said, earnestly. “May I write to .him?” “You may write,” Mrs. Challock an­ swered, after a pause. “But I'd id not wont tq, part with you till you were married, tell him that. And oh! Olive, don’t say much about your stepfather! He might be a worse man than ho is, you know; but it troubles mo sorely that he doesn't take to you. - I’ve been an .unfortunate woman, Olive—very uu- fortunate." ' “Yes, mother; you were very unfor­ tunate in losing my father," Olive said,, quietly. Mrs. Challock began to cry in a noise­ less fashion. Now and then she paid this tribute of silent tears- to the de­ parted, and blamed Providence, in her spiritless w iy, for having removed him. She always spoke of herself As a wom­ an who had been 'badly used by the powers above, and went so far as to say tha t an angelic guard ought to have been specially provided for a defense­ less widow. When her mother was in this mood Olive was apt to betray a litr, tie impatience. As Mrs. Challock dried her tears she began to bewail her fate in the. usual’strain, and the girl spoke out at last; ’ “There is Mrs. Hooper; mother,” she ■aid, “she was.left a widow, and she bns never married again, and yet she was no better defended' than you were." “Ohl Olive," moaned Mrs. Challock, shaking her head, “she was far better defended than I was. Not by angel guards, perhaps, but by a plain face; and a woman can have no safer protec­ tion than that.” ■ Olive looked, half pityingly, a t the sweet, faded face by her side, and*»fclt tha t tliero was some truth in those words. She knew that she herself had more beauty than her mother had ever possessed; Mrs. Challock had often told her so, but she thought, with a girl’s' happy confidence, that her defense was sure and strong. Michael’s love for her and her love for him—this would bo her shield and buckler. She. put her arm round her . mother’s shoulders, and spoke in a caressing tone: . “Then you will let me write to Uncle Wake?” she said. “Don’t fret, little mother; Lucy says it will be best for me to know something of London be­ fore 1go to live there as Michael’s wife. I t would be trying for him to have to teach me everything." “Your father never thought it a trial to teach me,” sighed Mrs. Challock, her head still running on the post; “but bird-notes and irtiiapero of many leave* came to her like familiar voices. And Lucy, too, lay listening to the music of tho dying summer with a great peace la her heart. They talked to eac’aother in these last hours more freely than they had ever spoken before. All tho shadows of the past had been swept away from Lucy’s soul. She looked bock on the path that she had trodden with such weary feet, and saw i t . illumined with a divine light. I t was just the same path that she had known always; there was the place where she had stumbled over the ■harp stones, and risen .bruised and bleeding; there was the spot where one had turned his face from hers, and left her to toil onward all alone. Nothing was changed, no t-a single way-mark was gone. Bqt the eyes that looked back on the past hod gained a new and clearer sight; they could see where good had triumphed and evil had been stricken down; and they could discern the footprints of angels where the way had been darkest and saddest. ' From, beginning to end it was a way that had been watched over and guarded by love. CHAPTER IV. nEMEMBEIl ME WHEN * AM CONK AWAV." Lucy had little to regret in the world that she was leaving, for -Heaven had opened -to her. She did not tell Olive what kind of Heaven it was that had. been revealed to her .spiritual gaze; - “the kingdom of God was within her,” and these last days of her earthly pil­ grimage were unfolded in an atmos­ phere of sweetness and light; ' One evening, when she had been lying silently, with -eyes closed, Olivo had gone to a seat by the open window, and was looking out upon the sun-touched hills. She thought that Lucy was asleep, and started a t the sound of her friend’s faint voice. “There is something that I want to s:iy, dear,” said Lucy, tenderly. “Do you know that one of the sweetest feel­ ings in life is the sense of being able to forgive? No,, you do not know it; as yet you have suffered.no great wrong. But if ever there comes a time when you are'greatly injured—if ever you are wounded deeply by a hand you have loved—then you may remember these words of mine; Forgive, if you would find pence. Forgive, if you-would have your wounds liealed andfdel the -soft' touch of Christ’s finger on your sore heart,” ' Olivo was silent; but she drew-near and • took . Lucy’s hand. The leaf whispers filled'up the pause, tho room was full of the rich scent of jessamine, a flower that Lucy loved; and long af­ terwards its perfume brought back to Olivo a memory of her friend’s last words and looks.' Some sprays were scattered over the coverlet; some of the white, star-like blossoms had drifted down on the floor. Lucy lvad never told why this flower was so dear to her, but Olive’s quick womanly instinct divined that it was one of tlio links that bound her to the past. Such links arc often flower-links, fragile and sweet, yet strong as a chain of steel, and last­ ing unbroken through all tho chances and changes of time. “You must never think sorrowfully of me, Olive,” Lucy went on. “ 1 have read somewhere of one who gleaned in haste and snatched all the richest grain. Here, in this quiet village, I have gathered all the blessings that I misse.l when I lived in the world. In these last days I have reaped all, and I, too, shall bo gathered into tho garner. Do you not sec tlint mine is a happy fate? I have done nothing to deserve these royal compassions, these outpour­ ings of a Father's loving, kindness, and yet they arc mine.” Thus Lucy talked, and Olive listened; and in tho growing amber light the woods and meadows stretched softly awaj\ showing dimly through a glo­ rious mist that slowly faded into dusk. They heard the lust good-night of the birds and felt the first cool sigh of night before tho lattice was closed. It was then that Lucy said a silent fare­ well to earthly things. The quiet night passed away in peace; the sun rose and the village awoke to its daily labor, but the jessamiue blossoms lay upon a pulseless heart, and on the still faco there was an ideal beauty, a faint smile of unutterable peace., 1 Long afterwards Olive was glad that welcome. And the florist wrote, to say tha t he was willing to let her come and try her skill, adding that he had never hod an employe so clever asMiss Cromer; So the way was made clear for Olivo’s feet; but before sho ventured out into the new path it was well for her to pause and rest. It was a stormy autumn; the last red tatters of the Virgiha creeper were torn • from the cottage walls, and no gold and russet leaves were left for Olive to weave’into garlands; but there was al­ ways plenty of ivy for her quick fingers to practice upon. And then, too, thero was other work to be done; in the lpng evenings Mrs. Hooper and Olivo sat and sewed together, and grew fond of each Other in their, loneliness. Tho wind moaned and. whistled round their little dwelling; by and by the snow fell, and they felt themselves cut off altogether from the great world, But these dreary “ YES, OT.IVE, YOU MAY WHITE.” | ! she lind watched by the side of her dead I friend; glad that she had woven a chap- then he had wonderful patience. I only wish I had learned more. Yes, Olive, you may write, and see what comes of it.” * But some time passed by before tha t letter was written. Poor Jane’s love troubles pressed so heavily on her mitul that sho fell ill, and Olive had to help in nursing; and then Mrs, Challock herself grew sick and claimed her child's care, These illnesses were not alarming, but thc$r changed Olive’s plans for awhile, and the summer seemed to slip away una­ wares. And just after tho harvest liad been gathered in, and the sun shone calmly over fields that were shorn of all their wealth of gold, Lucy Cromer’s life story came to an end. “Stay with mo as much nc you can, Olive,” she said, when sho had given up her place on the little couch downstairs. “I have had friends and lovers, but never one sister till you came to me.” SoOlive spent hour after liour In the, small bedroom under the thatch, and sunbeams and wnndering breezes made their way through the open lattice. There was a thick wreath of Ivy and roses round the window; the swallows had not yet taken tlielr departure, and let of feathery ferns and jessamine for [ Lucy’s last resting-place. There are }times when to each one of us comes tho (thought of those who have taught its ! by their words and deeds: and we find | their traces in other lives, and light i upon their footprints in strange paths I which we never expected to tread, f They laid Lucy in the broc 2 y old churchyard under tho high hill, among the graves which Olive hod known from childhood; but it was not here, in tills quiet nook, that the clear .echoes of Lucy's voice would come to her from thepast. After her niece’s death Mrs. Hooper pined for companionship, and dreaded the long winter spent in the little co t-. tage alone. She begged Olivo to stay with her till tho spring came again; and, in truth, tho girl was too tired nnd worn to begin a new life a t once. But .she wrote to Mr. Waite, nnd wroto also to the florist in Regent street who had employed Lucy, inclosing a letter of recommendation which had been writ­ ten by Lucy herst.If. Tlio answers to these letters were more satisfactory than sho had expected them to bo, Samuel Waite was a man who never did I things by halves; he was ready toot only to raccive Olive, but to give her Ahearty OUVK 6 T 00 D BY EUCY’S OKAVE. days passed away, and Olive ^oke one morning to find that tlio wintry earth was full of promise, of spring. Michael was looking forward eagerly to her coming. His letters spoke of (-he glorious future that was opening out be­ fore them both. As usual, ho had a great deal to say about himself, and not one word of' Aaron, although poor Jane was hungering for news. “ Aaron lias not written to me for a long time,” said Jane, with tears in her ey,es; “Oh, Olive, 1 shall be glad now when you are gope to London. You will sod him, and ask him why he neglects old friends." I ■ “You shall know everything, Jane,” Olive answered. “Only keep a brave heart, dear. I don’t think Aaron will be'reserved with me. The sight of an Eastmeon faco will thaw the ice that has gathered round his heart.” “God grant it may be so!" Jano sighed. “But I ’ have thought lately tha t my old dream would never come true. I have thought that perhaps I was not meant for Aaron, nor Aaron for me. Maybe I sfiould not make him happy if we weeo married; Lam easily depressed, andlahould feel just' as he felt; all*his moods would be mine,” Olive was silent for a moment. Through all her anxiety to.insurc Jane’s happiness, there had sometimes flashed such thoughts as these. A stronger, more self-confident woman might have led Aaron out of his gloom by the force of her will. But Jane, gentle and tim­ orous, could only sit beside him in the shadow of his'own fears.’ And yet how well she loved him! How impossible it. seemed for her to go on living without him! “Wo must have patience Jane," she said a t last, in- her sweet voice. “1 suppose,” she .Added, with a sudden smile,“ that you never give a thought to your first lover? You have quite forgotten Robert Steele?" “Robert Steele!” Jane’s tone was al­ most scornful. "Ho was only a boy, Olive." “ lie was a boy when he went away, four years ago. But If you could see him now, Jane, you might have more respect for him. There was the mak­ ing of a fine man in Robert." “ lie was a bright lad enough," Jano said, indifferently. “But who would think twice of a lad's fancy? It comes and goes like a butterfly. Aaron is the only man I have ever talcen into my heart, Olive, and 1 thought—aye, I to Ua-fd —that he loved me,” . “Believe it still,” Gliw replied, “At any rate, believe it till 1 have seen him and talked with him.” All Olivo's simple arrangements were completed before April came to an end, and it was decided tha t sho was to go up to town on tho first of May. Mi­ chael had fixed on a train that would get to London a t six in the evening; at that hour he could meet her convenient­ ly and take her to Uncle Wake’s house. The first of May came on a Saturday, which was the best day lor Michael, and so it was all settled, nnd everybody seemed to be satisfied. On Friday evening, after tlio last stitch was set and the last thing packed, Otive kissed Mrs. Hooper and whispered that she would go alone to the church­ yard and «ay good-by to Lucy's grave. | to nr. CONTINUED. 1 l i « Dill. “ Mr. Ardnp (who has just told the bill collector to call again)—! had a presentiment you were coming this morning. Do yon believe in presenti­ ments, young man? Bill Collector (putting r.lie bill tytek in bis pocket)—I do, sir. I had a presentiment before ! a*mo that I wnsto’t going to get a damr.<v cent out of yon.—Chicago Trlbnn*. COPYRIGHT IBM , A ll alonef both in the way it acts, and in the way it’s sold, is Dr. Pierce’s Favor­ ite Prescription for women. I t acts in this w a y : I f you’re weak or “ run-dowD,” it builds you u p ; if you suffer from any o f the painful disorders and derangements peculiar to your sex, it relieves and cures. It improve* digestion, enriches the blood, dis­ pels- aches ahd pains, brings refresh-' mg sleep, and restores flesh and strength. For alt functional weak­ nesses and irregularities, it’s a posi­ tive remedy. lienee, It’s sold in this way : ,, It’s guaranteed to give satisfac­ tion, in every case, or the money paid for it is refunded. They’re the smallest, the cheapest, the easiest to take. But all that would be nothing, if they weren’t also the beat to take. Dr. Pierce’s Pleasant Pellets pre­ vent and cure Sick .Headache, B il­ ious Headache, Constipation, Indi­ gestion, Bilious Attacks, and all derangements of the liver, stomach and bowels. The casting out of the devil of disease was once a sign of authority. Now we take a little more time about it and cast out devils by thousands—we do it by knowledge. Is not a' man who is taken possession o f by the germ of consumption possessed of a devil ? A little book on- ca r e fu l l iv in g and Scott’s Emulsion o f cod-liver oil will tell you how to exorcise him if it can be done, • ' Free. S cott ft R ownb , Chemists, 132 South 5 th Avenue, New York. Your druggfatkeeps Scott's Emulsionofcod-tiver oil—all druggists every where do. $tm Takes bald in this order : Bowels, Liver, K ldX L 6 3 T S i> Inside Skin, Outside Skin, Dflv;n;? everything bciorc U Hint oUgat to be util. You- know whether you need it or not. . » Boldl>y every druggist, and manufactured by D O N A L D K E N N E D Y , U O X U r i l Y , MASS. G O L D M E D A L , P A R I S , 1870 . W . BAKER & CO.’S Breakfast Cocoa fromwhich (hoojr te*t ofoil Iwfi Inti#removed. In ahnotntchj ntifl if in tmiithfv* No Chemicals tironn'i! In H* tireiiaf.-iifoft. Jt hn* mot e than ttu e titt.et t'-e. ttrenglh ft Cotta tnix.i! will) Plan'll, Arfoul.ait Of Plig.lf, and in ilienrfore far hitae tcor 1 nun.Sc,':l, fnt/ir tj he* It, nt out j ctnhuoj, lUrtt!ci't'iou*,l®nf« _ Ilulling, Mrcngllivtiiiif?, DlOrsTEU, and admirably tii!.i|>Ud for iiunlitli ai Well a* for peHonn in health. Soli! by flrorcm etcrynhere. W«BASER &CO.,BorChester,Mas».^ BOILING WATER OR MILK. EPPS'S QRATKPUL'-COMPORTING. COCOA LABELLED 1-2 LB, TINS ONLY. WINE AT An luatiin Wf! Without moral aspr sion, I sba of good' tii' ■ variety < women ivl’ 1 a part in friends thr Look,* f parties t< . o'clock ia indies in , and vcilei. ' dinfng-roo supplant t • There, du guests are each one f . . to be—yet will vent caviare, t mayonnai of the add the thirst er has rei plate stan glasses —ft Venice, S lending gi glasses fo claret, for be idemar most forn Beside glassWan goblet of there' an ■ servants ; witli-fraj having oi men Is of crisis to • digestion Ten to oi never thi as a matt the. Glial' touched; quietly d out ice; - ■ clear sub she is coi Lai ter! • recurrent uaris and tinually » Champi ■ tames to truordiuE set chain mid-day, from win ceived tb America? march, fi pected. .at races : like an c until ufti may relb of this ai there is. i on their serving c is overdo does it st semblagi in. their i yond a gi most par waters o Tea dr popular, by the u- o’clock. IS Of eessors o ' " j who coul | crage til! mg wis have nov i of drinki self to or an accon be too hr Eden, an respeeta tion of t cefitly wboti ab tile ey es could’ be drink? in not may be t America English mg thirs thing shi to whin placed, ii informer glass of referred servants room. •* lady, «*M ■Hie Atm fids ptibj in her dr majestic mg wba moment ties,. bov later a fi tray a as if it h moat, aj After thi renonne* again on What t drink at decided I Jt a, at1 erce omei run- 1 Stl iisoti ' to It e b ring cs l etioi es, i1 7 ‘ g<v< •r t( .d. .■ , the l be . thi it P fleae ipati acks live o f t nee . litt id < ads- ho j the sess on .'s I v ill him 133 Sot Einuls ;do. j a , :in ira it jJiet >f, ! nnd ru E N FAB KEI1 r\t liiel, I ..10 tt > if.iiohtl it f# C M 1 in Ut> ip than, U i t Art-fit ,1 tliucfot I, Utnlit 1 17 - Itii Hrrutf >!(' fitfi.II In J.-ralt r* acrj ,Borel ER O >c iOMFl indlvidu: olear ii? Wnc is c cfeses Wtl wisdom fclnsses luncheon Riders,- " Indies’ 1 LB, Til KU \ . it *fa u jFr*mr Or.