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The Chanute times. (Chanute, Kan.) 1897-1913, September 17, 1897, Image 7

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iS W1LK1E. COLLINS.
CHAPTER II.-(Continued.)
"Nonsense, child! When you are
married you will know that the eaplest
of all secrets to keep Is a secret from
your husband. I give you my prom
ise. Now begin!"
Clara hesitated painfully. "I don't
know how to begin!" she exclaimed
with a burst of despair. "The words
won't come to me."
"Then I must help you. Do you feel
ill tonight? Do you feel as you felt
that day when you were with my sister
and me in the garden?"
"Oh, no."
"You are not 111, you are not really
affected by the heat and yet you turn
as pale as ashes, and you are obliged
to leave the quadrille! There must be
some reason for this."
"There Is a reason. Captain Held
Ing "
"Captain Helding What iu tho name
Df wonder has the Captain to do with
it?"
"Ho told you something about the
Atalanta. He said the 'Atalanta' was
expected back from Africa Immediate
ly." "Well, what of that? Is there any
body In whom you are interested com
ing home in the ship?"
"Somebody whom I am afraid of 13
toming home In the ship." ,
Mrs. Crayford's magnificent black
eyes opened wide in amazement.
"My dear Clara! do you mean what
you say?"
"Wait a little, Lucy, and you shall
Judge for yourself. .We must go back
If I am to make you understand me
to the year before we knew each otlv
Br; to the" last year of my fathcr'3 life.
Did I ever tell you that my father
moved southward, for the sake of his
health, to a house in Kent that was
lent to him by a friend?"
"No, my dear. I don't remember ever
hearing of the house in Kent. Tell
Die about It."
"There Is nothing to tell except this
The new house was near a flno country
eat standing in its own park. The
owner of the place was a gentleman
named Wardour: He, too, was one of
my father's Kentish friends. He had
an only son."
She paused, and played nervously
with her fan. Mrs. Crayford looked at
her attentively. Clara's eyes icmalned
fixed on her fan Clara said no more,
i "What was the son's name?" asked
Mrs. Crayford, qu'.etly.
I "Richard."
1 "Am I right, Clara, in suspecting
that Mr. Richard Wardour admired
you?"
t The question produced its Intended
effect. The question helped Clara to
go on. "I hardly knew at flr3t," she
paid, "whether he admired me or not,
He was very strange in his ways-
headstrong, terribly headstrong and
passionate; but generous and affection
ate In spite of his faults of temper.
Can you understand such a character?"
"Such characters exist by thousands.
I have my faults of temper. I begin
to like Richard already. Go on."
f "The days went by, Lucy, and the
weeks went by. We were thrown very
much together. I began, little by little,
to have some suspicion of the truth.
"And Richard helped to confirm your
suspicions, of course?"
, "No. He was not unhappily for mo
he was not that sort of man. He
never spoke of the feeling with which
he regarded me. It was I who saw
it. I couldn't help seeing It. I did all
t could to show that I was willing to
be a sister to him, and that I could
never be anything else. He did not un
derstand me, or he would not I can't
say which.
Would not' is the most likely, my
ovar. Go on.
"It might have been as you say.
There was a strange rough bashfulness
about him. NHe confused and puzzled
me. He never spoke out. He seemed
to treat me as If our future lives had
been provided for while we we.-e chil
dren. What could I do,. Lucy?"
-do i iou coum nave asked your
Ifather to end the difficulty for you."
"Impossible! You forget what I have
jjust told you. My father was suffer
ing at the time under the illness which
jafterward caused his death. He was
iuite unfit to interfere."
"Was there no one else who could
ielp you?"
"No one."
, "No lady In whom you could con
Mde?" "I had no acquaintances among the
ladles In the neighborhood. I had no
friends."
"What did you do, then?"
"Nothing. I hesitated; I put off
coming to an explanation with him
nfortunately until it was too late."
"What do you mean by too late?"
"You shall hear. I ought to have
(told you that Richard Wardour Is In
the navy "
"Indeed? I am more Interested In
him than ever. Well?"
' "One spring day Richard camo to the
house to take leave of us before he
joined his ship. I thought he was gone,
iand I went Into the next room. It was
'my own sitting-room, and It opened
n to the garden."
"Yes?"
"Richard must have been watching
me. He suddenly appeared In the gar
(0a. Ynthgut waiting for me to In-
NOY&L BY'
INTERNATIONAL PRESS ASSOCIATION.
vlte him, he walked into the room. I
was a little ' startled as well as sur
prised, but I managed to hide it. I
said, 'What is it, Mr. Wardour?' Ho
stepped close up to me; he said, in his
quick rough way: 'Clara, I am going
to the African coast. If I live, I shall
come back promoted; and we both
know what will happen then.' He
kissed me. I half frightened, half
angry. Before I could compose myself
to say a word, he was out in the gar
den again he was gone! I ought to
have spoken, I know. It was not hon
orable, not kind toward him. You
can't reproach me for my want ot cour
age and frankness more bitterly than
I reproach myself!"
"My dear child, I don't reproach you.
I only think you might have written
to him."
"I did write."
"Plainly?"
"Yes. I told hlti in so many words
that he was deceiving himself, and that
I could never marry him."
"Plain enough, in all conscience!
Having said that, surely you arc not to
blame? What are you fretting about
now?"
"Suppose my letter has never reached
him?"
"Why should you suppose anything
of the sort?"
"What I wrote required an answer,
Lucy asked for an answer. The an
swer has never come. What is the
plain conclusion? My letter has never
reached him. And the Atalanta is ex
pected back! Richard Wardour is re
turning to England Richard Wardour
will claim me as hi3 wife! You won
dered just now if I really meant what
I said. Do you doubt it still?"
Mrs. Crayford leaned back absently
in her chair. For the first time since
the conversation had begun, she let a
question pass without making a reply.
The truth is, Mrs. Crayford was think
ing.
She saw Clara's position plainly; she
understood the disturbing effect of it
on the mind of a young girl. Still,
making all allowances, she felt quite
at a loss, so far, to account for Clara's
excessive agitation. Her quick observ
ing faculty had just detected that
Clara's face showed no signs of relief,
now that she had unburdened herself
of her secret. There was something
clearly under the surface here some
thing of importance, that ctill re
mained to be discovered. A shrewd
doubt crossed Mrs. Crayford's mind,
and inspired the next words which she
addressed to her young friend.
"My dear," she said abruptly, "have
you told me all?"
Clara started as if the question ter
rified her. Feeling sure that she had
the clue in her hand, Mrs. Crayford
deliberately repeated her question hi
another form of words. Instead of an
swering, Clara suddenly looked up. At
the same moment a faint flush of color
appeared in her face for the first time.
Looking up instinctively on her side,
Mrs. Crayford became aware c the
presence in the conservatory of a young
gentleman who was claiming Clara as
his partner in the coming waltz. Mrs.
Crayford fell Into thinking once more.
Had this young gentleman (she asked
herself) anything to do with the un
told end of the story? Was this the
true secret of Clara Burnham's terror
at the impending return of Richard
Wardour? Mrs. Clayford dscided on
putting her doubts to the test.
"A friend of yours, my dear?" she
asked innocently "Suppose you in
troduce us to each other?"
Clara confusedly introduced the
young gentleman.
"Mr. Francis Aldersley, Lucy. Mr.
Aldersley belongs to the Arctic Ex
pedition."
"Attached to the Expedition," Mrs,
Crayford repeated. "I am attached to
the Expedition too In my way. I had
better introduce myself, Mr. Aldiirsley,
as Clara seems to have forgotten to do
It for me. I am Mrs. Crayford. My
husband is Lieutenant Crayford of the
Wanderer. Do you. belong to that
ship?"
"I have not the honor, Mrs. Crayfor.
I belong to the Sea-Mew."
Mrs. Crayford's superb eyes looked
shrewdly backward and forward be
tween Clara and Francis Aldersley, and
saw the untold sequel to Clara's story.
The young officer was a bright, hand
some, gentleman-like lad just the per
son to seriously complicate the diffi
culty with Richard Wardour! There
was no time for making any further in
quiries. The band had begun the pre
lude to the waltz, and Francis Alder
sley was waiting for his partner. With
a word of apology to the young man,
Mrs. Crayford drew Clara aside for a
moment and spoke to her in a whisper.
"One word, my dear, before you re
turn to the ball-room. It may sound
conceited after the little you have told
me but I think I understand your po
sition now better than you do your
self. Do you want to hear my opin
ion?" 'I am longing to hear it, Lucy! I
want your opinion; I want your ad
vice."
'You shall have both, in the plainest
and the fewest words. First, my opin
ion: You have no choice but to come
to an explanation with Mr. Wardour
as soon as he returns. Second, my ad
vice: If you wish to make the ex
planation easy to both sides, take care
that you make it in the character of
free woman."
She laid a strong emphasis on tho
last three words, and looked pointedly
at Francis Aldersley as rhe pro
nounced them. "I won't keep you from
your partner any longer, Clara," sl-
resumed, and led the way back 10 thb
ball-room.
CHAPTER III.
HE bunion of
Clara's mind weighs
on It mora heavily
that ever after what
Mrs. Crayford has
said to her. She Is
too unhappy to feel
the Inspiriting in
fluence of the
dance. After a turn
round the room vhe
complains of fa
tigue. Mr. Francis Aldersley locks at
the conservatory (still as invitingly
cool and empty as ever), leads her back
to It, and places her on a seat among
the shrubs. She tries very feebly
to dismiss him.
"Don't let me keep you from danc
ing, Mr. Aldersley."
lie seats himself by her side, and
feasts his eyes on the lovely downcasl
face that dares not turn toward him.
He whispers to her: "Call me Frank."
She longs to call him Frank she
loves him with all her heart. But Mrs.
Crayford's warning words are still In
her mind. She never opens her lips.
Her lover moves a little closer, and
asks another favor. Men are oil aiike
on these occasions. Silence invariably
encourages them to try again.
"Clara! have you forgotten what I
said at the concert yesterday? May
say it again?"
"No!"
"We shall sail tomorrow for the Arc
tic Seas. I may not return for years.
Don't send me away without hop-j!
Think of the long, lonely time in the
dark North! Make it a happy time for
me.
Though he speaks with the fervor of
a man, he is little more than a lad; he
is only twenty years old and he is go
ing to risk his young life on the frozen
deep! Clara pities him as she never
pitied any human creature before. He
gently takes her hand. She tries' to
release it.
"What! Not even that little favor
on the last night?"
Her faithful heart takes his part, in
spite of her. Her hand remains in his
and feels its soft, persuasive pressure
She is a lost woman. It is only a ques
tion of time now!
"Clara! do you love me?"
There is a pause. She shrinks from
looking at him she trembles with
strange contradictory sensations of
pleasure and pain. His arm steals
round her; he repeats his question in
a whisper; his lips almost touch her
little rosy ear and he says it again,
"Do you love me?"
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
FIFTY-SIX A DANGER POINT.
llrnrare How You Live to This Age It
You Have Uenlm!
Fifty-six years seems to be a fatal
age for people of genius, says the New
York Times. Among those who have
died at that age may be mentioned
Dante, the Italian poet; Hugh Capet,
king of France; Henry VIII., king of
England; Henry IV., emperor of Ger
many; Paganini, Italian violinist;
Alexander Pope, English poet; George
Sala, English orientalist; Marcus
Afirelius, emperor of Rome; Frederick
I., king of Prussia; John Hancock,
American statesman; Marie Louisa,
empress of France; Philip Massenger,
English dramatist; Saladin, the great
sultan of Egypt; Robert Stephenson,
English engineer; Scipio Africanus,
Roman general; Helvitius, French
philosopher and author; Henry II., tho
first of the Plantagenet line; the older
Pliny, Roman naturalist and author;
Julius Caesar, Charles Kingsley, Eng
lish author; Juan Prim, Spanish gen
eral and statesman; Henry Knox,
American revolutionary general;
Thomas Mifflin, American patroit; Von
Tromp, Butch admiral; Abraham Lin
coln, Marryat, the novelist; Georgo
Whitefleld, English founder of the Cal
vinistic methodism; Robert Dudley,
earl of Leicester, favorite of Queen
Elizabeth; Johann Gaspar Spurzheim,
German physician and phrenologist,
and Frederick II., emperor of Germany.
Making- the Mont of Life.
' To make every day count, one must H
have faith in the every-day possibili
ties of life. One of the reasons for th
long torpid seasons which afflict so
many lives is the prevalence of the Idea
that the supply of active life dealt out
to each man is too small to cover the
allotted period, and that, therefore, one
must be content merely to breathe a
good part of the time. To many a
man life Is faithfully represented by
the old-fashioned corn-mill on the lit
tle mountain stream, with a wheel so
large and a water supply so small
that, after grinding a few hours, It
must be shut down for an indefinite
period to wait for more power. Noth- '
lng could be farther from the Scriptural
Idea. If we would do our beet every
day, it Is not necessary for us to believe
that one day may be as fruitful as an
other; but we ought to believe that In
the days which have been allotted to us
there are no blanks. Sunday School
Times.
The millers arVgreaTK annoyed
by worms which appear lrr the flour
from time to time and then mysteri
ously disappear, without Impairing tht
value of the flour
TALMAGE'S ' SERMON.
"A MOMENTOUS QUESTION,"
LAST SUNDAY'S SUBJECT.
From tlie Following Text, James IV. 14:
What Ii Your Mr? Yen. Lire la
Worth Living If I'eoplo Will Only
Live fur liod.
F we leavo to t?io
evolutionists to
guess where we
came from and to
the theologians to
prophesy where we
are going to, we
still have left for
consideration the
important fact that
we are here. There
may be some doubt
about where the river rises, and some
doubt about where the river empties,
but there can be no doubt about the
fact that we are sailing on It. So I am
not surprised that everybody asks the
question, "Is life worth living?"
Solomon in his unhappy moments,
says It is not. "Vanity," "vexation of
spirit," "no good," are his estimate.
The fact is that Solomon was at one
time a polygamist, and that soured his
disposition. One wife makes a man
happy; more than one makes him
wretched. But Solomon was converted
from polygamy to monogamy, and the
last words he ever wrote, as far as we
can read them, were the words "moun
tains of spices." But Jeremiah says
life is worth living. In a book sup
posed to be doleful, and lugubrious, and
sepulchral, and entitled "Lamenta
tions," he plainly intimates that the
blessing of merely living is so great
and grand a blessing that though a
man have piled on him all misfortunes
and disasters he has no right to com
plain. The ancient prophet cries out
in startling intonation to all lands and
to all centuries, "Wherefore doth a
living man complain?"
A diversity of opinion in our time as
well as in olden time. Here is a
young man of light hair and blue eyes
and sound digestion, and generous sal
ary, and happily affianced, and on the
way to become a partner In a commer
cial firm of which he is an important
clerk. Ask him whether life is worth
living. He will laugh in your face
and say, "Yes, yes, yes!" Here is a
man who has come to the forties. He
is at the tip-top of the hill of life. Ev
ery step has been a stumble and ;
bruise. The people he trusted have
turned out deserters, and money he has
honestly made he has been cheated out
of. His nerves are out of tune. He
has poor appetite, and the food he
does eat does not assimilate. Forty
miles climbing up the hill of life have
been to him like climbing the Matter
horn, and there are forty miles yet to
go down, and descent is always more
dangerous than ascent. Ask him
whether life is worth living, and he
will drawl out in shivering and lugu
brious and appalling negative, "No, no.
no!"
How are we to decide the matter
righteously and intelligently? You
will find the same man vacillating, os
dilating in his opinion from dejection
to exuberance, and if he be very mer
curial in his temperament it will de
pend very much on which way the
wind blows. (If the wind blows from
the northwest and you ask him, he
will say, "Yes," and if it blow from the
northeast and you ask him he will say,
"No." How are we then to get the
question righteously answered? Sup
pose we call all nations together In a
great convention on eastern or western
hemisphere, and let all those who are
in the affirmative say "Aye," and all
those who are in the negative say "No."
While there would be hundreds of
thousands who would answer in the af
flrmative, there would be more millions
who would answer in the negative, and
because of the greater number who
have sorrow, and misfortune, and trou
ble, tho "Noes" would have it. The
answer I shall give will be different
from either, and yet it will commend
itself to all who hear me this day as
the right answer. If you ask me, "Is
life worth living?" I answer, It all de
pends upon the kind of life you live.
In the first place, I remark that a life
of mere money getting is always a fail
ure, because you will never get as much
as you want. The poorest people in
this country are the millionaires. There
is not a scissors grinder on the streets
of New York or Brooklyn who is so
anxious to make money as these men
who have piled up fortunes year after
year in storehouses, in government se
curities, in tenement houses, In whole
city blocks. You ought to see them
Jump when they hear the fire bell ring.
You ought to see them in their excite
ment when a bank explodes. You
ought to see their agitation when there
is proposed a reformation in the tariff.
Their nerves tremble like harp strings,
but no music in the vibration. They
read the reports from Wall street In
the morning with a concernment that
threatens paralysis or apoplexy, or,
more probably, they have a telegraph
or a telephone in their own house, so
they catch every breath of change In
the money market. The disease of ac
cumulation has eaten into them eaten
Into their heart, into their lungs, Into
their spleen, into their liver, into their
bones.
Chemists have sometimes analyzed
the human body, and they say It Is so
much magnesia, so much lime, so much
chlorate of potassium. If some Chris
tian chemist would analyze one of
these financial behemoths he would
find he was made up of copper, and
gold, and silver, and zinc, and lead,
and coal, and iron. That Is not a life
worth living. There are too many
earthquakes In It, too many agonies in
it, too many perditions in It They
build their castles, and they open their
picture galleries, and they summon
prima dnnas, and they offer every In
ducement for happiness to come jnd
4
live there, but happiness will not come.
They send footmanned and postlllloned
equipage to bring her; she will not ride
to their door. They send princely es
cort; she will not take their arm. They
make their gateways triumphal arches;
she will not ride under them. They
set a golden throne before a golden
plate; she turns away from the ban
quet. They call to her from uphol
stured balcony; Bho will not listen.
Mark you, this Is the failure of those
who have had large accumulation.
And then you must take into consid
eration that the vast majority of those
who mako the dominant idea of life
money getting, fall far short of afflu
ence. It Is estimated that only about
two out of a hundred business men
have anything worthy the name of suc
cess. A man who spends his life with
the one dominant idea of financial ac
cumulation spends a life not worth liv
ing. So the idea of wordly approval. If
that be dominant In a man's life he Is
miserable. Every four years the two
most unfortunate men in this country
are the two men nominated for the
presidency. The reservoirs of abuse,
and diatribe, and malediction gradual
ly fill up, gallon above gallon, hogs
head above hogshead, and about mid
summer these two reservoirs will be
brimming full, and a hose will be at
tached to each one, and It will play
away on these nominees, and they will
have to stand It, and take the abuse.and
the falsehood, and the caricature, and
the anathema, and the caterwauling,
and the filth, and they will be rolled
in it and rolled over and over in it
until they are choked and submerged,
ar d strangulated, and at every sign of
returning consciousness they will be
barked at by the hounds of political
parties from ocean to ocean. And yet
there are a hundred men today strug
gling for that privilege, and there are
thousands of men who are helping
them in the struggle. Now, that Is not
a life worth living. You can get slan
dered and abused cheaper than that!
Take It on a smaller scale. Do not be
so ambitious to have a whole reservoir
polled over on you.
But what you see in the matter of
high political preferment you see in
every community in the struggle for
what is called social position. Tens
of thousands of people trying to get
into that realm, and they are under ter
rific tension. What is social position?
It is a difficult thing to define, but we
all know what it Is. Good morals and
intelligence are not necessary, but
wealth, or a show of wealth, Is abso
lutely indispensable. There are men
today as notorious for their libertinism
as the night is famous for its darkness
who move in what is called high social
position. There are hundreds of out-and-out
rakes in American society,
whose names are mentioned among the
distinguished guests at the great le
vees. They have annexed all the
known vices and are longing for other
worlds of diabolism to conquer. Good
morals are not necessary in many of
the exalted circles of society.
Neither is intelligence necessary.
You find in that realm men who would
not know aa adverb from an adjective
if they met it a hundred times in a
day, and who could not write a letter
of acceptance or regrets without the
aid of a secretary. They buy their li
braries by the square yard, only anx
ious to have the binding Russian. Their
ignorance is positively sublime, mak
ing English grammar almost disrepu
table. And yet the finest parlors open
before them. Good morals and Intel
ligence are not necessary, but wealth
or a show of wealth. Is positively indis
pensable. It does not make any differ
ence how you got your wealth, if you
only got It. The best way for you to
get into social position is for you to
buy a large amount on credit, then put
your property in your wife's name,
have a few preferred creditors, and
then make an assignment. Then dis
appear from the community until the
breeze is over, and come back and start
In the same business. Do you not see
how beautifully that will put out all
the people who are in competition with
you and trying to make an honest liv
ing? How quickly It will get you into
high social position? What is the use
of toiling with forty or fifty years of
hard work when you can by two or
three bright strokes make a great for
tune? Ah! my friends, when you really
lese your money how quickly they will
let you drop, and the higher you get
the harder you will drop.
Amid the hills of New Hampshire, In
olden times, there sits a mother. There
are six children in the household
four boys and two girls. Small farm.
Very rough, hard work to coax a liv
ing out of it. Mighty tug to make two
ends of the year meet. The boys go to
school in winter and work the farm In
summer. Mother is the chief presiding
spirit. With her hands she knits all
the stockings for the little feet, and
she is the mantuamaker for the boys,
and she is the milliner for the girls.
There is only one musical Instrument
In the house the spinning-wheel. The
food is very plain, but it Is always well
provided. The winters are very cold,
but are kept out by the blankets she
quilted. On Sunday, when she appears
In the village church, her children
around her, the minister looks down,
and is reminded of the Bible descrip
tion of a good housewife "Her chil
dren arise up, and call her blessed; her
husband also, and he pralseth her."
Some years go by, and the two old
est boys want a collegiate education,
and the household economies are se
verer, and the calculations are closer.
and until those two boys get their edu
cation there is a hard battle for bread.
One of these boys enters the university,
stands In a pulpit widely influential,
and preaches righteousness, judgment,
end temperance, and thousands dur
ing his ministry are blessed. The other
lad who got the collegiate education
goes Into the law, and thence Into leg
islative halls, and after a while be
commands listening Senates as he
makes a plea for the downtrodden and
the outcast. One of the younger boys
becomes a merchant, starting at the
foot of the ladder but climbing on up
until his success and his philanthropies
are recognized all over the land. The
other son stays at home because he
prefers farming life, and then he thinks
he will be able to take care of father
and mother when they get old.
Of tho two daughters: when the war
broke out one went through the hos
pitals of Pittsburg Landing and For
tress Monroe, cheering up the dying
and the homesick, and taking the last
message to kindred far away, so that
every time Christ thought of her, he
said, as of-old, "The same Is my sister
and mother." The other daughter has
a bright home of her own, and in the
afternoon the forenoon having been
devoted to her household she goes
forth to hunt up the sick and to en
courage the discouraged, leaving smiles
and benediction all along the way.
But one day there start five telegrams
from the village for these five absent
ones, saying: "Come, mother is dan
gerously ill." But before they can be
ready to start, they receive another
telegram, saying: "Come, mother Is
dead." The old neighbors gather In
the old farmhouse to do the last offices
of respect. But as that farming son,
and the clergyman, and the senator,
and the merchant, and the two daugh
ters stand by the casket of the dead
mother taking the last look, or lifting
their little children to see once more
the face of dear old grandma, I want
to ask that group around the casket
one question: "Do you really think her
life was worth living?" A life for God,
a life for others, a life of unselfishness,
a useful ife, a Christian life is always
worth living.
I would not find it hard to persuade
you that the poor lad, Peter Cooper,
making glue for a living, and then
amassing a great fortune until he could
build a philanthropy which has had Its
echo in ten thousand philanthropies all
over the country I would not find It
hard to persuade you that his life was
worth living. Neither would I find it
hard to persuade you that the life of
Susannah Wesley was worth living.
She sent out one son to organize Meth
odism and the other son to ring his
anthems all through the ages. I would
not find it hard work to persuade you
that the life of Frances Leere was
worth living, as she established in
England a school for the scientific
nursing of the sick, and then when the
war broke out between France and Ger
many went to the front, and with her
own hands scraped the mud off the
bodies of the soldiers dying in the
trenches, and with her weak arm
standing one night in the hospital
pushing back a German soldier to his
couch, as, all frenzied with his wounds,
he rushed to the door, and said: "Let
me go, let me go to my libe mutter,"
major-generals standing back to let
pass this mgel of mercy.
But I know the thought in the minds
of hundreds of you today. You say,
i'While I know all these lived lives
worth living, I don't think my life
amounts to much." Ah! my friends,
whether you live a life conspicuous or
inconspicuous, it is worth living, if you
live aright. And I want my next sen
tence to go down into the depths of all
your souls. You are to be rewarded,
not according to the greatness of your
work, but according to the holy Indus
tries with which you employed the tal
ents you really possessed. The ma
jority of the crowns of heaven will not
be given to people with ten talents, for
most of them were tempted only to
serve themselves. Tho vast majorlt,
of the crowns of heaven will be givet
to people who had one talent, but gave
it all to God. And remember that our
life here is introductory to another.
It is the vestibule to a palace; but who
despise,? the door of a Madeleine be
cause there are grander glories within?
VICISSITUDE.
The "Original Marks," Once a Judge,
In Poverty In Chicago.
The original of "My name is Marks.
I'm a lawyer, shake," is living in poor
circumstances in Chicago at the age ot
eighty-three. His name is Abraham
Marks. He says that Mrs. Stowe wish
ed to localize "Uncle Tom's Cabin,"
and some one told her he was the only
attorney in the vicinity. Judge Marks
he was made a probate judge by
Sam Houston has had a checkered ca
reer. Graduating from Union College
in 1832, he studied law, was admitted
to the bar, and went to New Orleans.
From there he went to Monroe, La.,
where he established the Standard.
His conduct of that paper drew him in
to several duels and he was indicted
half a dozen times for libel. In 1837
lie met a fire-eater named Alexander on
"the field of honor," and escaped with
a bullet through his coat. After this
duel he started for Texas on horseback.
At Houston he met the famous Sam
Houston, then president of the Texan
Republic. Houston made him Judge ot
the Probate Court at San Antonio. He
remained In Texas a number of years
and then returned to Arkansas. All
his life Judge Marks has been an ac
tive politician. He was at first a
Whig, but afterwards became a Repub
lican, to which party he has belonged
since it was born. In 1856. He says
that when he was a very small child
his parents, who lived at Pensacola,
were intimate with Gen. Jackson's fam
ily, and that he remembers seeing Mrs.
Jackson sit in the chimney corner and
smoke a pipe. He asserts that Henry
Ward Beecher once told him confiden
tially that if he could see the manu
script of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" he would
see that he (Beecher) had written a
large part of the book.
A scientific Dane cla.r mat a sleep
ing plant exposed for some time to th?
fumes of chloroform or ether U aroused
Into activity, the effect of aa anaes
thetic on a plant being the reverse of
what It is on an animal.

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