Pages 3 and 4
Oh, white
Her soul
By the
And the
To the
"'A dinner!" exclaimed Mrs. Law
rence in dismay; 'Til never dare get
up a dinner till I know more than
I do now. I should be worried sick
for a week bofore, and as for ration
al conversation while we were at
the table, it would simply be out of
the question. I should be wonder
ing if everything would go off all
right."
"Well," suggested her friend, "if
you would like (to entertain, why
don't you give a luncheon to some
of your girl friends? Luncheons are
so much more informal than dinners,
and if your luncheon goes off well,
it will give you courage to attempt
a dinner."
The bride dropped her embroidery
suddenly.
' I have it," she cried'; "I'll get up
an Easter luncheon, and invite my
brkiesmaid: Now you know," she
continued, confidentially, as she re
sumed her work, "I'm a greenhorn,
and I wish you'd just advise me how
to do it. Between you and me, I'm
just aching for a chance to show off
my pretty cut glass and silver."
Mrs. Kirke smiled. "Vanity," sho
remonstrated, "but if you would like
to invite your bridesmaids, I think 1
can help you get up a very pretty
Affair."
"You're ever so good," replied the
-other gratefully, "for I'm so stupid
about such things. Now, if it were
ca case of doing some Greek prose, or
translating a bit of Horace, I'd feel
more at home. And I do wish I'd
had a chance to learn housekeeping
-at college."
"Well," responded her companion,
"Til be only too glad to give you the
benefit of any experience, such as it
is. In the first place, as long as it is
4 be an Easter luncheon, your dec
' orations must be lilies, of course, and
the color scheme green and white.'
"That would be pretty," comment
d Mrs. Lawrence, "and I have
handsome cut glass vase that would
do for the lilies."
Mrs. Kirke shook her head.
"No, I have a newer idea than that.
Get one of these pretty green mats
from he ftcj-ist's (with fringed
edges), and double it over corner
wise, fastening with a big bow of
green ribbon. Then you can lay the
lilies in that, so that some come out
each end. It gives kind of a basket
effect. The silver candelabra that
your aunt gave you will be just the
thing for the table, with green shaded
candles."
"But don't you think green gives
a ghastly light?" objected the bride.
"Not if you get the right shade,"
responded her friend, "and anyway
you want it to harmonize with the
rest of the luncheon.
"Now for your menu. I think it is
a good idea to let the various courso3
, carry out the color scheme, and you
-can have grov variation in gresn
and white. First of all, have little
neck clams served with water cress:
here's your green for that course.
Then for your sdup. Let me see. If
1 were you, I'd have cream of cu
cumber. It's dainty and it isn't a
very common kind either."
"Is it hard to make? I have a
' good cook, you know."
"Oh, not at all. If you can make
one kind of cream soup, ytu can
make them all. Now for your fish.
Suppose you have boiled halibut with
parsley sauce, for that's a good green
and white combination. For your
meat, breaded spring lamb chops with
tpeas, and if you want to do things up
nicely, follow this up with a mint
sherbet.
, J'Io you think your husband's
ocketbook could stand swWtbreads?
Creamed, they would
t entree, and you can make up for it
ou your s-aiaa. just have pfcain let
THE
I L l V&Tft A TB D Y Squm-M
The Child is the Future incarnate
A Spirit un fall en and free
The spotless forerunner of manhood
The type of a race that shall be.
is the soul new-created,
By the prayer of a mortal beguiled.
And the holiest thing under heaven
Is the innocent heart of a Child!
And yet to no eye save the Mother's
Life's difficult secret is plain;
She has sounded the deeps of Creation
She has passed through the furnace
of Pain;
is the soul of. a Virgin,
passions of, earth un defiled,
angels in heaven do homage
Mother adoring her Child !
tuce with French dressing, and crack
ers and cheese."
Mrs. Lawrence held up her hand3
in dismay. "Oh, I never could man
age all that! I don't mean the ex
pense, but getting the luncheon up,"
Her friend laughed.
'Oh, don't get frightened. I'll
COME UNTO MK.
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BEjH4 a SByyklb(9M
BBK' T KlflHUVmyKWr
help you out. Now for your last
course. If you want something real
pretty, have your ice-cream in the
form of lilies. They will be just the
thing for a lily luncheon."
"I want some candy, don't I?" sug
gested Mrs. Lawrence.
Oh, bless me!" exclaimed her
'friend. "What am I thinking of?
Of course you want candy. Green
and white, let me see. Suppose you
get mint straws and vanilla bonbons,
and finish up with black coffee. Salt
ed pecans would be nice fo pass be
tween the courses as a change from
almonds or peanuts."
Mrs. Lawrence drew a long breath.
"And you really think I can do all
that?" she asked skeptically.
"Of course you can," was the re
ply. "See here, Katie, you are mar
ried and settled in a pretty house,
and, as you say, you have all your
handsome wedding silver and cut
gfcss for the table. Don't set out
with the idea that entertaining is a
great bugbear, but just be 'given to
hospitality,' as the Bible tells you to
be. You'll get a good deal of com
fort out of your home that way.
Why that's the beauty of a home, to
let others share it with you.
"Now, as for the luncheon. TH
come over and help you with it, and
we can decorate together. Even if
everything doesn't go off all right,
the girls won't be critical. Oh. be
sure to teH them to wear their pretty
POLK COUNTY NEWS. COLUMBUS, N.
bridesmaid's dreaaec, those white or
gandies over green."
It was with some trepidation th
Mrs. Lawrence put the finishing
touches to her table, but as she ar
ranged the lilies in the green basket,
she surveyed with 'pleasure the artis
tic effect. The candles shed a soft
green light upon the snowy damask
of the tablecloth, and were reflected
in the glittering silver and out glass.
Doylies and centerpieces were en
broidered in green, and even the
china bore a design of maidenhair.
The guests, who arrived a few mo
ments later, had donned heir dainty
bridesmaid's gowns of white organdy
over green, and wore bunches of lilies
of the valley, the flower which they
had carried at the wedding.
"Oh,, how pretty!" was the exclam
ation as they were ushered into the
dining-room, and caught sight of the
table with its decorations.
One attractively served course suc
ceeded another, and the ice-cream in
lily molds made a fitting climax.
"Well, Katie, you are a genius!"
exclaimed the maid of honor, as she
nibbled a bonoon; "for this is cer
"fainly the prettiest luncheon I've ever
been to. I don't believe you learned
how at Vassar."
The hostess smiled.
"Girls, I'll confess," she said; "Mrs.
Kirke gave me all the ideas, menu,
decorations and everything."
MENU.
r t . . - i - rj
Bwch Trout Med With Pork
jj F(oayt Jpnhg lamb Bnovnrd fbta
ncU Mtten . Country 5at
Lemice ocaa.
.Ban Bom. Mitt Cokes
By H. Dietrich.
Lenten Levity.
A pleasantry which belongs to the
spring of the year is probably apocry
phal, but fifty years ago it was cur
rent in circles of the old time. It ts
the story of Dr. Lunt's visit on Dr.
Carpenter in Bristol a little before
Easter. It was said that Dr. Lunt
cut himself in shaving, and had to
ask Dr. Carpenter for a styptic. So
It happened that "ia Lent Lant loan
ed Lunt lint."
Bern. WiCda8ByU2aVw B& a.bv saVaVv-H
ifi&as - sa -ff wC&gSaMaaalalaaiM BBS
FRofl THE. RU551A
It is still dark. The little village
on the shore of the slow-flowing
stream lies hidden in the shadow of
the pine forest, under the starry
spring night.
A light mdst rises slowly from the
earth, which has just awakened from
its winter sleep, and it makes the
shadow of the forest sharper and
dirker, and covers the surface of the
stream with a silvery shimmer. Still
ness, a brooding quiet, reigns over
ali. Most of the inhabitants are still
sleeping. The shape of the poor little
cottages is hardly distinguishable;
only here and there is the faint glim
mer of a light. Now and then a door
opens and one hears for a moment
the bark of a watchful dog, and then
the same peaceful stillness. At in
tervals the figure of a wanderer
enberges from the dark rim of the
forest, a rider, a peasant's cart with
creaking wheels they are all people
of the village hastening to the church
there to begin worthily the coming
festival.
In the midst of the village, on a
soMtary hill, stands the church; the
windows' are bright, and the tower,
gray with age, rises high into the
mist. The moldcring stairs creak;
the; old bellringer is mounting them
wiljh feeble steps, and after a little
time a new star Appears above, his
Iteit the lantern in the bellrlnger's
hand.
It is hard work for the old man to
climb those steep steps; the aged
limbs refuse their office; his eyes are
din; old age has done its work on
him. It is time for the aged man to
go to rest; but death does not come.
He has seen children and grandchild
dre.h go; for how many, old and
young, has he tolled the bell. Death
seems to have forgotten him and life
is hard.
Often has he rung the Easter peal;
he knows no longer how many times
he ibas awaited the appointed hour
up here in the tower. And now it Is
to be done again, if God wills. With
heavy step the old man reaches the
railing of the tower and leans on it
Around, in the shadows, he sees
dimy the graves in the cemetery;
their black crosses seeming like
watchers of their dead. Here and
there groups of birches, still leafless,
wave their slender silvery branches
In the wind. The reviving odor of
the young buds on the trees, and the
peace of the oemetery rise up like a
breath of spring to the lonely figure
on the tower.
What will this new year bring him?
Will he salute next Blaster with the
joyful music of the bells, or will he
be sleeping over there in that ' dis
tant corner, and will a black cross
adcrh the little mound? As God will!
Ho is ready. But now he must an
nounce the coming great day. "To
God Ije honor and thanksgiving;" his
lips murmur the words; he raises his
eyrs to the starry heavens and crosses
himseOf with simple piety.
"Wassilli!" an old, trembling voice
calls from below.
He looks down from his post,
strains his eyes, but can see noth
ing. 1
"What do you want? Here I am."
he crfes, as he bends over the rail.
"Can yon not see me?"
"No. Is it not time to ring the
bells? : What do you think?"
WasMU reflects. "No, not yet; J
know when.'
He knows well; he needs no clock;
God's istars tell him when the timeA
has come.
Heaven and earth, the white cloud
that moves slowly across the face of
the skjr, the dark forest that moves
and murmurs below, the ripple of the
invisible stream all he knows and
loves a whole life is bound up with
them. Things long forgotten arise
in his memory; how he came up here
for the; first time with his father
dear God! how long ago that was,
and yet it seems so short he seems
himself, a little blue-eyed boy with
fair, curling hair tossed by the wind.
Far, far under him he saw the many
little people and the cottages seemed
so tiny, 'and the forest so far off, and
the plain o large". And the father
laughed and said: "Yet it is so near,"
as lie pointed to the village below.
Such Is life. -As long a3 we are
young it seems endless. Now it liss
befcre as if it had just happened.
C
W of KoRm.
from, birth almost to the grave that
he has chosen for himself over yon
der. Well! thank God! it is time to
rest. He has passed uprightly through
a hard life; the damp earth is his
mother; soon, if God will, he will est
in her bosom.
But now it is time. Once more
Wassiii looks up to the stars, bares
his Bead, crosses himself and seizes
the ropes.
Now, through the air resound a
sharp stroke, a second, a third, a
fourth, one after another, rising and
falling, now sharp, now soft, in a
tuneful peal.
The bells are silent, the service
has begun. In former years Wassiii
would descend the stairs and place
himself in a corner near the door to
listen and pray; but now the weight
of years is heavy on him, and he re
mains above. Today his limbs seem
unusually heavy; he sits down on a
bench, and as the sound of the bells
dies away, he sinks into thought. Of
what? He hardly knows. The bel
fry is but scantily lighted by his lan
tern; the bells themselves are but
dimly seen in the gloom. From be
neath, in the church, one can hear
faintly the singing of the congrega
tion, while the wind plays with the
CHRIST AT
bell ropes. The old man's bead sinks
on his breast as broken vis:oo of
the past float through his in'nd.
" "They are singing," he says, and
then he sees himself in the church.
From the altar come the xoices of
singing children, and the leud voice
of the old priest,-Father Gregor, deal
long, long ago. Hundreds of peas
ants raise and bow their heads and
make the sign of the cross, all well
known faces, all dead now. There is
his stern-faced-father, and beside him
the elder brother, zealously crossing
himself and often sighing; and there
he himself stands, young, gay and
strong, full of unconscious hope, and
ambition of happiness, and joy, and
the future. .And where is this happi
ness? The old man's thoughts flame
up suddenly, like the flame of an
expiring fiie, and illumine every nook
and corner of a past life. Measure
less toil, sorrow and care where is
that expected, hoped-for happiness?
Sorrowful fate furrowed that young
face, bowed the straight, strong back,
and taught him to sigh like the eld
er brother.
And there, to the left, among the
women of the village, she stands with
head devoutly bent in prayer. She
was a faithful, loving wife to him.
God rest, her soul! And she, too, had
had many troubles to bear; care and
toil and woman's hard lot had aged
her very early. The eyes that in
youth had been so bright and clear
grew dim, and the expression of fear
and anxiety at the unexpected strokes
of fate, took the place of the earlier
pride and confidence of the young
wife. And her happiness, where was
it? A son had been left them, the
joy and nride of their age but he,
too, had been led away by the lies of
men.
And - there stands the rich village
usurer and bows himself to the earth,
and kisses it piously, and makes the
Sign of the cross, that by hypocritical
worship he may dry the tears of
wronged orphans and widows, and so
he lies to his God as to men.
Wassili's heart grows hot and evn
the holy pictures .look down m anger
on human misery and human lies. All
April 16, 190ft
nB uemna mm, g0 far behlnTT
Now his only world I. thi! nd hlU.
tower, high up", where the wh uH
and plays with the bell-rop" ls
will judge, vengeance is hP Go(l
pers the old man, and heavy
roll down his withered cheek -
"Wassiii! Are you aslcM, c
one cries from below. 1j0qi
""XrVi r nail.. r.-,o ,
La,iD uic ; USES tno r,1
ana started irom his bench
God! have I really been
Never has this shame co
me." Quickly, with practiced ha
man
"Bear
M- D?
upon
seizes the rope and gives a 'onl v
i . i in x- ' ),jK be.
t i c, iitve aiiits upon thir
the people are moving about busily
Wassiii in his tower rises the joyfni
cry, "Christ is arisen from the .lead!-!
He rings, and the newly-ariseu whi(i
seizes the tones, and, with y.ij
spreading wings, carries them upward
and the echoes, far and wide. re.
peat the solemn music of the bells.
Never has the old man run- the
bells so wonderfully. It seems as if
some of his emotion has communj.
cated itself to the cold metal an,l
inspired them to sing in joy and hap.
piness, to laugh and to weep; the iiv.
ing tones rise to heaven, up to tha
brilliant stars, which appear to shine
even more brightly, as the tones peal
out again and again, resounding from
earth to heaven, in love, and joy, and
peace, and heaven and earth re echo
"Christ is arisen."
Even the old belfry itself seems to
share in the joy of mankind, an 1 the
wind which fans the cheeks of the
old man sings joyously "Christ it
arisen."
The old heart forgets its sorrow, a
life of care and toil. Wassiii has for
gotten that his life, his hopes or hap
piness have been nothing but aa
empty dream; that he is alone in ths
world, old and feeble. He hears tha
GBTHSEMANE.
sounds which sing and weep rise
through the gloomy space up to the
starry heavens, and sink down to the
poor earth. He sees himself sur
rounded by his children and grand
children; hears the happy voices,
voices of young and old uniting in a
chorus, and singing to him of that
hope, and joy, and happiness which
his long, weary life has never offered
him. The old man pulls the bell
ropes, tears roll down his cheeks and
his heart beats fast in his visionary
joy.
Before the church the people are
standing together and talking; never
has the old sexton rung the bells so
wonderfully.
b Suddenly the big bell gives one
mighty stroke and stops; the small
bells, confused, end their play with
a sharp discord, then a few vibrations
and silence.
Step reverently the old bellringer
has rung his last peal. Translated
for the Springfield Republican.
It is computed that the English
language is spoka by S50.000.00o.
Ssmbvl sbI 1 vsj BB13gj