The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on June 22, 1898 · Page 3
Get access to this page with a Free Trial

The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Publication:
Location:
Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, June 22, 1898
Page:
Page 3
Start Free Trial
Cancel

trpPEK DBS MO1NE8: ALGONA IOWA, WEDNESDAY v JUNE 22 INTERNATIONAL MESS ASSOCIATION CHAPTER XIII. IX months had gone by—six glorious and blissfully happy months, during which Mr. and Mrs. Harris kept their secret well, and Dick was all the world to his wife Dorothy. During two of these months they remained abroad, living in the smaller towns on the Riviera, seeking no interests beyond themselves, but leading a quiet, peaceful life of love, of which neither had become the least weary when Dick's leave was up and It was time for him to go back to his duty. Now, as the 43d were still Quartered at Colchester, it became a question of you be so foolish? Supposing that the 'old savage' did turn round on you and stopped your allowance, where would you be then? If you are in the army you have always the chance of going to India, and I don't know that 1 would not rather be In India as Mrs. Aimer than have these dreadful partings here." "(No, no!" he cried hastily, "I couldn't take you out there. I've always had a sort of horror of the east, and I would do anything to avoid running any such risk." So he went away with a lump In his throat which made him glad that he was safe In a cab, leaving Dorothy to face the next week by heself—that is to say, except for Barbara, who was jubilant at having got her long holiday over and delighted to be at work eome importance for them to decide where Dorothy should take up her abode after this. Colchester or its immediate neighborhood was, of course, an impossibility, as her whereabouts might at any moment be discovered, and also Dick's real name. Dick suggested that she might go to Chelmsford and take rooms there for the time; but Dorothy had stayed more than once In that sleepy little town, and it was therefore almost as impossible as Colchester itself. So finally they agreed that there was no place in the world like London in which to hide oneself and have a good time all the same, and therefore they came back to town during the last week of Dick's leave, and they took a little flat In Kensington, just where Dorothy and Barbara could get on very comfortably, without any servant, and yet could be near to good shops and a tolerably lively street. "I'm afraid you'll be awfully dull, darling," he said to her when they had taken possession, and his last evening had come, "because, of course, you won't know any one, and you are not at all likely to get to know people." "I shall have Barbara," said Dorothy, smiling bravely. "Yes, you'll have Barbara, but Barbara won't be much company for you," he answered. "I do hate all this concealment. I hate leaving you at all, and I hate having to live, as it were, on the sly, and I'm afraid always that some one you know or one of the fellows will be seeing you, and that they may get hold of a wrong idea altogether, and—and—I sometimes feel as if I should like to kill that old savage at Aylmer's Field." "But, Dick dear, nobody will see me, and if they do they will think I am Dorothy Strode still. Remember, I don't know many people in all the world, and none of your officers know me at all, and if they happened to see me with you they wouldn't think anything of it. Really, I wouldn't worry about that if I were you, dearest, and as for my being dull—why, I am never dull. I never have been used to having more than one person at a time— •Auntie all my life, and now you. I Shall get on splendidly with Barbara, and I shall always be able to look forward to the days when you will be coming home." "And I shall come like a bird whenever I get the ghost of a chance," he cried, tendnrly. "And I," or-led Dorothy, "am going to make a study of gowns. I have always been used to making my ordinary gowns, and I shall have lots of time, and I am going to begin as soon as you are gone. I am going to make myself some beautiful tea-gowns; they will make me look married and dignified—they will make you respect me, sir," "But you don't want to look married and dignified," he cried, half alarmed. "Suppose you meet some one you know, and—" "I shall not be wearing a tea-gown, Dick," cried Dorothy, with a gay laugh. "Ah! no, no, of course not," he answered, relieved. "All the same, though, did you not tell me the other day that you had a cousin somewhere or other?" "Oh, Esther! Yes, but she," carelessly, "she is in Egypt." "But, my dear child, she won't be in Egypt always," he rejoined; "and if she comes back to London, which she is sure to do " "By no means, Dick," Interrupted Dorothy, quietly. "Esther is just as likely to go off for the summer to New Zealand or Finland as to come to London. And she would not specially hunt me up if she did come here. She is beautiful and rich and very independent in her mind, but she is six years older than I am and thinks very little of family ties. In any case, supposing that I met her in London tomorrow, she would certainly not try to pry into my affairs, and even If I had your leave to tell her part of the truth she Is perfectly safe. I assure you that you need never worry yourself for a single moment about my cousin Esther." So Dick was pacified, and the following day went to Colchester—not in e, very happy frame of mind, all the same. "I hate leaving you, Dolly," be said vexedly. "I hate it. I've a good Kind to throw up my commission and trust to Fate and the old savage." "JMcfc, Pic*!" she cried, "feow can again. To Dorothy Barbara at this time was a wonderful study of which she was never tired. For Barbara had been born and bred in the country, and had lived more years at Graveleigh Hall than Dorothy could remember, and her comments on town people and town ways were something more than amusing. "Ah! they did things In a'queer sort of fashion at Halloway. My cousin Joe lives at Halloway—you know, Miss Dorothy—he's a plumber in quite a large way of business and has money in the bank and two children at boarding school learning French and music and Heaven knows what besides. Mrs. Joe used to go out every Saturday night to get her stores In for the week, as she always said—for Sunday, I used to think. Never did I see such mar- ketings! A quarter of a pound of butter and four fresh eggs. She regular prided herself on those fresh eggs. 'My dear,' said I one night to her, 'them eggs have been laid at least a week, and I doubt if I should be far out If I went as far as ten days.' " 'You see, Barbara,' says she, 'you've been used to a country life, with new- laid eggs, and gallons of milk and butter by the stone, and I dare say you feel a bit plnched-like here. But if I'd let myself go in butter and live on new-laid eggs at twopence-ha'penny each—well all I can say is, I should have had to rest content without any boarding schools or anything put by In the bank.' "I don't say, Miss Dorothy—Mrs. Harris, ma'am, I should say," Bar- I DRAW THE LINE. bara went on, in her wisest tones — "that I should wish to go against my cousin Joe's wife in that respect — a thrifty wife is a crown of gold to a man that has to work for a living; but at eggs that have never seen a hen for nearly a fortnight I do draw the line — to call 'em fresh, that is." Bui although on most evenings Dorothy used to tell the old servant to bring her sewing and come and sit with her in the pretty little drawing room, it must be confessed that at this time she found her life dreadfully dull, and as each day went by she seemed to miss Dick In her daily life more and more. For though she had been used to a quiet country home and a quiet country existence, there had always been plenty to interest her. Mi;sd Dlmsdale, if somewhat old fashioned, in her ideas and strict in her notions, had been both tender and indulgent to her little orphan niece, and had, moreover, always been a clever and capable woman with whom to associate. Then, about a country house there are always so many different points of interest. Either the moles have worked at last from the meadow unde* the hedge and below the very best bit of the velvet lawn which is the very pride and delight of your eyes, or the rais have suddenly acquired a pert measure of audacity and have scraped and bitten a new hole in th'j corn-bin or the newly filled potato bugs, or have gon« further and found their way into the principal pantry and created a regular stampede among your servants. Or perhaps you catch one of the sinners in a new trap which cost five and sixpence, and when you go to see its wicked, hoary old occupant you feel that if it never catches another, this one is well worth the money. Or if traps and other means, consisting of horribly smelling poisons suggestive of the infernal regions, fail you, perhaps you have the professional rat-catcher up from the village with his box of sinuous, red-eyed ferrets, and then you HERE is no end tc the Interest which hourly crops up out of the unexpected in a country life. Perhaps the speckled hen starts laying, or she shows unmistakable signs of a stronger instinct of maternity than usual. Or one of the cobs casts a shoe, or a wind gets up in the night and tears a large branch off the great weeping willow which shelters the most easterly corner of your garden, where the wind sweeps up the keenest, straight from the great North Sea. Or maybe the corner of the shrubbery, where the mushrooms have always grown, nobody ever knew why, has suddenly bloomed out with broad, pinkish fungi, and you feel as if you had found a fortune, although you know perfectly well that the market value of what you have discovered is not, at t'he outside, more than threepence. Still, that does not lessen your pleasure In Uie least, and you carry them Indoors and present them to every member of your household, your visitors if you have any, your family, and, finally, to your cook, as If—well, as If you were a second Columbus and had discovered a new America. Then In the country you are a neighbor of everybody! If you live as Dorothy Strode had been used to live all your life, you know why Janet Wenham was not at church on Sunday, and why Elizabeth Middleham's girl left that nice place at Whittington, anil how Elizabeth Mlddleham cried for days over it, and her girl's intention to take service In London and see life. And you know all about It when Mrs. Jones has her mauve dinner gown dyed chestnut brown, and how it is that the rectory curtains keep clean year after year, although white silk with a delicately tinted stripe would be ruined in three months in somo houses. Yes, you know everything about everybody In the country, almost without knowing why you know it. But in town, in London town, it is all so different. It is true when you get known in London, the gossiping is nearly as bad as if you were the center of a small village set; but to a girl situated as Dorothy ,was, London Is a social blank. She knew nobody, and nobody knew her. She did not want to know any one, and apparently the inhabitants of the metropolis returned the compliment. Yet, nevertheless, it was terribly dull. Her pretty little flat was on the ground floor of the block of buildings which was dignified with the name of Palace Mansions, so she had people above and people below her. But Dorothy kupw them not. There was a sweet-faced lady on the first floor Immediately above her, a lady who dressed well and had a sweet-faced little child with her sometimes, and Dorothy fairly yearned over her and longed to say "Good morning" when they met in the common hall of the Mansion. But tho sweet-faced lady did not know the exact standing of Mrs. Harris, w'no lived, at No. 4, and in her dread of even rubbing elbows with "a person" she resolutely made her eyes shone and her lips steel whenever she saw the slight, girlish figure approaching her. Then there was a lady at No, 2— that was the basement, a sort of Weibeck Abbey In minature. She, being a stout and buxom widow, whose grandchildren came running in at all times from a house on the other side of the High street, might have ventured a kindly word even to "a person," but she never did. No, on the contrary, whenever she came across poor Dorothy she invariably sniffed, which was rude, to say the least of it. (To be continued.) TALMAGES SERMON, PLEASURES OF LIFE* DAY'S SUBJECT. SUN- From the Text Jndget XVI: 95, nft Follows: "And It Came to Pass When Tholf Hearts Were Merry That They Snlcl, 'Cnll for Samson.'" There were three thousand people assembled In the Temple of Dagon. They had come to make sport of eyeless Samson. They were all ready for the entertainment. They began to clap and pound, impatient for the amusement to begin, nnd they cried, "Fetch him out! Fetch him out!" Yonder I see the blind old giant coming, led by the hand of a child into the very midst of the temple. At his first appearance there goes up a shout of laughter and derision. The blind old giant pretends he Is tired and wants to rest himself against the pillars of the house, so he says to the lad who leads him, "Bring me where the main pillars are." The lad does so. Then the strong man puts his hands on one o£ the pillars, and, with the mightiest push that mortal over made, throws himself forward until the whole house cnme down In thunderous crash, grinding the audience like grapes In a wine-press. "And so It came to puss, when their hearts were merry, that they said, Call for Samson, that he may make us sport. And they called for Samson out of the prison- house; and he made them sport." In other words there are amusements that are destructive and bring down disaster and death upon the heads of those who practice them. While they laugh and cheer, they die. The throe thousand who perished that day In Gaza are nothing compared with the tens of thousands who have been destroyed, body, mind and soul by bad amusements and by good amusements carried to excess. In my sermons you must have noticed that I have no sympathy with ecclesiastical strait-jackets, or with that wholesale denunciation of amusements to which many are pledged. I believe the church of God has made a tremendous mistake in trying to suppress the sportfulness of youth and drive out from men their love of amusement. If God ever implanted anything in us, he implanted this desire. But instead of providing for this demand of our nature, the church of God has for the WON'T FOLLOW HIS ORDERS. Anaemic and Dyspeptic GlrU Make the Physicians Augry. "When anaemic girls, sleepless women and dyspeptic-children are brought to me, I feel like going out of business," declared a bluff, brusque, well- known physician, in a burst of indignation over a case that he had just been called to attend, says the New York Commercial Advertiser. "I have one patient, a girl of 18, w-ho might ns well go to a fortune teller for advice for all the benefit she will ever get from a doctor. I give her a scolding and draw up a set of rules for her to live by, prescribing certain things to eat, certain times to sleep, certain hours for exercise, give her a tonic and dismiss her. Do you think that girl improves? Not she. In a fortnight she trails into my office, pallid and melancholy. I haven't the heart to scold her, but I anticipate her answers to ray questions. "Has she taken the tonic? Oh, yes, she hasn't missed a dose. Has she eaten pastry or -lobsters or drank ice water or ice- cream soda? Well—er—once or twice. Has she eaten the oatmeal and raw beef and drank the hot water and beef tea? Yes. She doesn't add 'once or twice,' but her pale face adds it. And has she gone to bed early, got up early and slept after lunch? Well, not every day. And yet this girl of intelligence and apparent common sense wonders why she doesn't get well. Why does she think I give her special instructions? To amuse myself? To have them disobeyed? I am going to try once laore. If she doesn't obey me then I shall positively refuse to attend her further," and the doctor banged the big paperweight that some lair "hysteria case" had given him for Christmas and look- your tbs main part Ignored it. As In a riot the mayor plants a battery at the end of the street and has it fired off, so that everything is cut down that happens to stand in the range, the good as well as the bad, so there are men in the church who plant their batteries of condemnation and fire away Indiscriminately. Everything is condemned. They talk as If they would like to have our youth dress in blue uniform, like the children of an orphan asylum, and march down the path of life to the tune of the "Dead March In Saul." They ha,.e a blue sash, or a rosebud in the hair, or a tasseled gaiter, and think a man almost ready for the lunatic asylum who utters a conundrum. Young Men's Christian associations .of the country are doing a glorious work. They have fine reading rooms, and all the influences are of the best kind, and are now adding gymnasiums and bowling alleys, where, without any evil surroundings, our young men may get physical as well as spiritual improvement. We are dwindling away to a narrow-chested, weak-arm'ed, feeble- voiced race, when God calls us to a work in which he wants physical as well as spiritual athletes. I would to God that the time might soon come when In all our colleges and theological seminaries, as at Princeton, a gymnasium shall be established. We spend seven years of hard study in preparation for the ministry, and come out with bronchitis and dyspepsia and liver complaint, and then crawl up into the pulpit, and the people say, "Don't he look heavenly!" because he looks sickly. Let the church of God direct, rather than attempt to suppress the desire for amusement. The best men that the world ever knew have had their sports. William Wilberforce trundled hoop with his children. Martin Luther helped dress the Christmas tree. Ministers have pitched quoits, philanthropists have gone a-skating, prime ministers have played ball. Our communities are filled with men and women who have In their souls unmeasured resources for sportfulness and frolic. Show me a man who never lights up with sportfulness and has no sympathy with the recreations of others, and I will show you a man who is a stumbling block to the kingdom of God. Such men aro caricatures of religion. They lead young people to think that a man is good in proportion as he groans and frowns and looks sallow, and that the height of man's Christian stature is in proportion to the length of his face. I would trade off five hundred such men for one bright- faced, radiant Christian on whose face are the words, "Rejoice evermore!" Every morning by his cheerful face he preaches fifty sermons. I will go further and say that I have no confidence in a man who makes a religion of his gloomy looks. That kind of a man always turns out badly. I would not want him for the treasurer of an orphan asylum. The orphans would suffer. Among forty people whom I received into the church at one communion there was only one applicant of whose piety I was suspicious. He bad the longest story to tell; had seen the most visions, and gave an experience so wonderful that all the other applicants were discouraged. I was not surprlsec the year after to learn that he b&d ru,n 08 with the funds of bright, eyes bright, wings bright, taking her place In the soul. She pulls a rope that reaches to the skies and sets all the bells of heaven a-chlmlng. There are some persons who, when talking to a minister, always feel it politic to look lugubrious. Go forth, oh people, to your lawful amusement. God means you to be happy. But, when there are so many sources of innocent pleasure, why tamper with anything that Is dangerous and polluting? Why stop our ears to a heaven full of songsters to listen to the hiss of a dragon? Why turn back from the mountain-side all abloom with wild flowers and adash with the nimble torrents, and with blistered feet attempt to climb the hot sides of Cotopaxl? Now, all opera houses, theaters, bowl- Ing alleys, skating rinks and all styles of amusement, good and bad, I put on trial today and judge of them by certain cardinal principles. First, you may Judge of any amusement by its healthful result or by Its baneful reaction. There are people who seem made up of hard facts. They are a combination of multiplication tables and statistics. If you show them an exquisite picture they will begin to discuss the pigments Involved in tho coloring; If you show them a beautiful rose, they will submit it to a botanical analysis, which is only the post mortem examination of a flower. They never do anything more than feebly smile. There aro no great tides of feeling surging up from tho depth of their soul in billow after billow of reverberating laughter. They seem as if nature had built them by contract and made a bungling job of It. But, blessed be God, there are people in the world who have bright faces and whose life Is a song, an anthem, a paean of victory. Even their troubles are like the vines that crawl up tho side of a groat tower on tho top of which the sunlight sits and the soft airs of summer hold perpetual carnival. They are tho people you like to have come to your house; they arc the people I lilte to have come to my house. Now It is those exhilarant and sympathetic and warm-hearted people that aro most tempted to pernicious amusements. In proportion as a ship is swift It wants a strong helmsman; In proportion as a horse is gay It wants a strong driver; and these people of exuberant nature will do well to look at the reaction of all their amusements. If an amusement sends you home at night nervous so you cannot sleep, and you rise In the morning, not because you are slept out, but because your duty drags you from your slumbers, you have ed 8.0 gqod-naturedly ferocious that one could not blame the girl for beiug la- different to his wrath. been where you ought not to have been.. There are amusements that send a man lext day to his work blood-shot, yawn- ng, stupid, nauseated, and they are wrong kinds of amusements. There are entertainments that give a man disgust with the drudgery of life, with ools because they are not swords, with working aprons because they are not •obes, with cattle because they are not nfurlated bulls of the arena. If any imusement sends you home longing for a life of romance and thrilling adven- ,ure, love that takes poison and shoots tself, moonlight adventures and hairbreadth escapes, you may depend upon t that you are the sacrificed victim of unsanctified pleasure. Our recreations are intended to build us up, and if ,hey pull us'down as to our moral or as to our physical strength, you may come to the conclusion that they are obnoxious. «.--.., ;, How brightly the path of unrestrained amusement opens! The young man sayi: "Now I am off for a good time. S r ever mind economy; I'll get money somehow. What a fine road! What a beautiful day for a ride! Crack the whip, and over the turnpike! Come, boys, fill high your glasses! Drink! Long lifo, health, plenty of rides just like this!" Hard-working men hear the clatter of the hoofs and look up and say, "Why,I wonder where those fellows get their money from. We have to toll and drudge. They do nothing." To these gay men life is a thrill and an excitement. They stare at other people and in turn are stared at. The watch-chain jingles. The cup foams. The cheeks flush, the eyes flash. The midnight hears their guffaw. They swagger. They jostle decent men off the sidewalk. They take the name of God In vain. They parody the hymn they learned at their mother's knee; and to all pictures of coming disaster they cry out: "Who cares!" And to the counsel of some Christian friend: "Who are you?" Passing along the street some night you hear a shriek in a grog-shop, the rattle of the watchman's club, the rush of the police. What is the matter now? Oh, this reckless young man has been killed in a grogshop fight. Carry him home to his father's house. Let me say to all young men, your style of amusement will decide your eternal destiny. One night I saw a young man at a street corner evidently doubting as to which direction he had better take. He had his hat lifted high enough so you could see he had an intelligent forehead. He had a stout chest; he had a robust development. Splendid young man. Cultured young man. Honored young man. Why did he stop there while so many were going up and down? The fact is that every man has a good angel and a bad angel contending for the mastery of his spirit. And there was a*i;o«d angel and a bad angel struggling with that young man's soul at the corner of the street. "Come with me," said the good angel, "I will take you home. I will spread my wing over your pathway, I will lovingly escort yojj jlll through life. I will bless every —-'-— J -'--- --•• -• every couch, way you w be yotit gtmrdtan spirit. Come with me!" said the good angel, in a voice of unearthly symphony. It was music like that which drops from a lute of heaven when a seraph breathes on It. "No, ho," said the bad angel, "come with me; I have something bettefr Id offer; the wines I pour are from chalices of bewitching carousal; the dance I lead Is over floor tessellated with nii* restrained Indulgences; there Is no dod to frown on the temples of sin where I worship. The skies are Italian. The paths I tread are through meadows daisied and prlmrosed; come with me." The young man hesitated at a time when hesitation was ruin, and the bad angel smote the good angel until It departed, spreading wings through the starlight upward and away, until a door flashed open In the sky tint) forever tho wings vanished. That was the turning point in that young man's history; for,, the good angel flown, he hesitated no longer, but started on a pathway which la beautiful at the opening, but blasted' at the last. The bad angel, leading the way, opened gate after gate, and at each gate the road became rougher and the sky more lurid, and, what was peculiar, as the gate slammed shut it came to with a jar that Indicated that It would never open. Passed each portal, there was a grinding of locks and a shoving of bolts; and the scenery on' either side the road changed from gardens to deserts, and tho Juno air became a cutting December blast, and the bright wings of tho bad angel turned to sackcloth nnd tho eyes of light became, hollow with hopeless grlof, and thd fountains, that nt tho start had tossed wine, poured forth bubbling tears, and foaming blood, r;-d on tho right side of the road there was a serpent, and the man said to tho bad angel, "What la that serpent?" and the answer was, "That Is the serpent of stinging remorse." On tho left side of the roadi there was a lion, and the man asked tho bad angel, "What Is that lion?" and the answer was,. "That is tho lion of all-devouring despair." A vulture flew through tho sky, and the man aslced the bad angel, "What is that vulture?" and' tho answer was, "That Is the vulture waiting for the carcasses of the slain." And then the man began to try to pull oft of him the folds of something that had wound him round and round, and he said to tho bad angel, "What Is It that twists me in this awful convolution?" and the answer was, "That Is the worm that never dies;" and then the man said to the bad angel, "What does all this mean? I trusted In what you said at the corner of the street that night; I trusted It all, and why have which he was connected, you thus deceived me?" Then the last deception fell off the charmer, and It said: "I was sent forth from the pit to destroy your soul; I watched my chance for many a long year; when you hesitated that night on the street I gained my triumph; now you are hero. Ha! ha! You aro here. Come, now let us fill these two chalices of fire and drink together to darkness and woo and death, Hall! hail!" Oh, young man, will the good angel sent forth by Christ or the bad angel sent forth by sin, get the victory over your soul? Their wings are Interlocked this moment above you, contending for your destiny, as above the Apennines eagle and condor fight mid-sky, cldo your destiny, hesitate Is to die! This hour may de- God help you! To Queer Cuso In Montana. ' ' A queer case has just been decided in Montana which shows that the soulless rallroiid corporation does not run things in that region. A warehouse caught lire. On a side track near It stood a closed car marked "powder," The local fire department thought the car so close to the fire as to present danger of explosion, and could not move It, and so the warehouse was allowed to burn clown. Tho warehouse people sued the railroad company for the value of the goods lost in the fire, but the railroad people showed that there was no powder In the car, and no danger of any explosion. Nevertheless the court held the railroad company was liable, and it was a United States court at that. Amenities of Jourimllsin. The Tennessee editors are on the war path. Editor Vardaman, of tne Greenwood Commonwealth, nays of Editor Wright, of the Vlcksburg Dispatch: "We dislike to dignify and lend respectability to that moral pervert and cowardly liar, C. E. Wright, editor of the Dispatch, Vicksburg, by entering into a controversy with him — knowing him, as we do, to be a scurvy biped without courage, conscience or convictions — an irresponsible and unscrupulous cur, fit only for things filthy— a scoundrel without the virtue of courage —an assassin of character without remorse, who would strike you In the dark, and then hide his cancerous carcass to avoid the Just punlshinent which his damnable deeds deserve." TImt'H Why. "They say the war has practically killed the theatrical business In the east." "Yes, the people who used to go and yell every time 01C Glory was mentioned or a patriotic air was played don't want to get out where it can be seen that they are still at home, now that war has been declared." It Depend*. "Is the crying of an infant is the night," asked the newest boarder, "a call to arms?" "Sometimes," admitted the Cheerful Idiot. "And, again, it may be only a battle cry. it all de-

What members have found on this page

Get access to Newspapers.com

  • The largest online newspaper archive
  • 8,900+ newspapers from the 1700s–2000s
  • Millions of additional pages added every month

Try it free