The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1876-08-11

is lllG AuublSf dCdlg buCIc was ulOIS
of true God-life in the PEASANTS kiss and
the bright flash of welcome from love-
! lit eyes, than in all the circumstance of
kingly splendor, crown, and jewels. 1t
was the divine part of a true man and a
true woman looking upon itself through
human eyes and human hearts. 1t was
that mysterious essence of life-that in
comprehensive something which wom-
an only expresses in the pet name of
! GOd-love! And love is lost to me w
"You are wrong, my child, my little
one. Love is not lost to you, nor can
be. If his heart is worth your having,
and if it ever truly loved you, it will
come back to you. There is no perfect
love without perfect trust. Don't you
know this, Elsie, child?"
But "Elsie, child" only nestled closer
to the old aunt's bosom, and was silent.
"Mr. Devereaux is a gentleman, and
he thinks he loves you. But be has no
sympathy with the working class-or
what immaculate society call the work
ing class-and he cannot bear that you
should come in contact with them as
you Ito, and must, if ever you are to be
help to them in any way. You are
down with them when you hunt them
in their homes or at their toll. Your
! finger is on their pulse. You watch
their struggles, and you know how hard
it is for them. You have mission-a
! high missiOn-given to you of God, and
you must not do violence to it, as you
surely will, if for loves sake you cease
to sow and to reap! Of the thousands
who know to-day, as household word,
the name of 'Alixene,' only three there
are who dream that that popular author
and Elsie are one. A child creeps be-
fore it can walk, though there be few
who seem to step out from the mothers
| lap erect from the start, and whose
hands and knees were never sOiled by
contact with the dust of the earth. In
| literature, as in any other calling of life,
most of the aspirants for it's hOnors
creep slowly at the start, and are re-
! joiced, if when the hour of old age is
upon them, they can look around and
see some fruits Of labors and hear some
little commentator of their efforts. If
you walked not from the first, you
crept but little, and you have increased
your pace and heightened your strides,
until you can look back from your
standpoint of to-day upon hosts of toll
ing ones who are far, far in the distance
behind you. You have accomplished
much; but yOu are capable of doing
] llOlG anu OCllCiY duN JOu ulo
is the crisis of your life. To reveal your
secret now, even to him, might ruin all
your glorious prospects. AS his wife
you could not put pen to paper for the
public's good, without incurring his dis
pleasure. Your new work must be COM
pleted as it was begun, sub rosa, or it
will never be completed as it should be.
You must rise to the high dignity of
your mission. You feel the spirit of it
the} longing for it; but the woman in
you makes you faint and falter tonight.
This is but nature as we speak of other
sOuls-of yours, it is your weakness. AS
what would be strength in a cord would
be weakness in a cable, so what would
in other women would be great and
grand, in you would be commonplace
and ordinary; and that is death-for your
| life is not in the heavy atmosphere of
valleys, but in the rarefied state of
mOuntain-tOp into which you are being
lifted by Gods hand and your own"
"But, auntIe, am so tired tonight"
sobbed Elsie. "Hands, and head, and
heart are all so tiredr ~
81 know, dear, and you are wounded
and battle-stained. But God is leading
you by the hand, God, who gave you
glorious gifts, who made you a pearl
among pebbles, an exotic among herbs,
a star upon the dark of many and many
and many life. You have worked and
you have won, know. You are high,
you are glorious, in your divinity of
womanhood, but the fields are white
still with the harvest, and the laborers
are few. The next ten years are your
best years. If you cloud and shadow
them, or allow them to be clouded and
shadOwed, they are gone forever, with
all their chances for growth and good,
and you cannot, in all the future, COM
pensate for their loss. You must either
rest on the laurels already won, and step
aside for the next candidate for honor
and place and influence or you must
go on, up, out of his way to the summit,
where you have a right to stand.
Which shall it be, my darling?"
The June roses were nodding sleepily
in the moonlight on the easement be-
side them; the small hand had forgotten
to third the silver hair; the young head
lay on the old bosom quietly enough;
but the heart in the young bosom had
been crying at Gethsemane, and God
and the angels knew how, in that still
hour, so fragrant and so fair, Elsie
Heath climbed up the Calvary heights,
bearing the burden of her cross.
(Which shall it be, my darling?"
81 will be welded to my work,
auntie," the girl answered, lifting her
face from over the old heart whose idol
and hope she now was; 81 will be
welded to my work. Pray God L may
not die at the altarw
A year later, Paul Devereaux saun-
tered lazily into the Sanctunl Sanctorunl
of the book reviewer of the London
World
The former had been for six months
on the continent; the latter had been his
playfellow in bOyhood, his chum in col
lege, his stanch, true friend always.
"What have you here, WHIP in
quired Mr.. Devereax, laying his gloved
! fingers tip down on the marked page of
an open book.
ooh, something that will make wry
faces here in England-and in our own
America, too, for that matter-but a
truth, nevertheless, a grand, sorrowful
truth. Listen: TO work or not to work,
is the question every woman thrown
upon her own resources struggles to an
swer. To work brings independence,
strength, and the means to pure, use
ful life. But if she be of fine, sensitive
nature, she has learned there is no COM
panionship, no sympathy or encourage
ment for her among the people whose