The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1885-09-17


when they were called to face the world.
A livelihood must be made for both,
and it was clear enough that only one
of them could undertake the dubious
task. The child Ethel assuredly was
not equipped for it. Medicine alone must
roll the heavy stone up the hill.
with what resolute courage and
simple faith in herself she set to work,
we who have always known her best
understood. She made no feeble APP
peals for help. A few of us gave her
counsel from time to time, when she
asked it, but that was all. She ceased
to ask even so much long years ago,
and |, at least, have many times been
proud to be counseled by her; for
wiser woman never knew.
''After her fathers funeral expenses
ere settled there may have been fifty
dollars in the house. Madeline saw
that immediate action was imperative.
What should she-what could she-do
to earn an income? 1t was not hard to
answer the question. In her happier
and leisure girlhood she had moderately
developed faculty for writing chill
ANd oOoIlCo, OO1uO HillCu udI lOuHu
their way into print. She resolved to
make a serious test of her powers in
that direction, and in the course of
few weeks, urged on by necessity, she
produced small volume of tales. A
publisher was found who undertook to
put the volume forth and pay Madeline
a fair royalty. The venture was
moderately prosperous. Others fol
lowed, and after ten years of struggle
the hard-worked author found herself
in possession of an income that was
more than sufficient for her own and
Ethel's needs. 1t was about this time
that Ethel married. Madeline was now
thirty and unmarried. She still re-
mains unmarried. and on that fact
hinges the noble devotion and the
slngle-heartedness of this woman whose
life has been beautiful and constant
exemplilication of faith in the dear God
whom she serves with such unostenta-
tious zeal.
I'm the early days of her struggle
she loved and promised herself in mar
riagh to Joe Bertram. He loved Made
line, too, in his way, and, do not
doubt, meant to make her happy. Joe
was in professional life-had made a
promising start and we all thought he
was destined to take a commanding
place. But goodfellowship was his
ruin. When / look back upon it the
swiftness of his descent appalIs me. The
convivial habit which at first manifested
itself in occasional nights of gayety,
soon became unmanageable. His busi-
ness suffered from neglect. The blear
look and blasphemous speech of the
drunkard sneaked into the place of gal
liant and high-minded Joe Bertram-
and he must once have been all that to
have awakened love in heart of gold
like Madeline's. To look at her PLACID
face now you would hardly believe there
was a time when she would have ac-
cepted the martvrdom of fire for Joe
Bertram's sake-for her loves sake; but
Itel you that that love was long the
imperious and dominating passion of
her life.
81 do not suppose that this part of
heNstory is out of the common expert
ence of women; but Madeline's was a
love that stopped at nothing short of
crime. Not Joe's degradation quenched
it; not her loss of respect for him weak
ened it; not death itself was powerful
enough to lay it in the dust Through
degradation. through pity for his fall,
through the black shadow of shame
full death, it mounted, steadfast flame:
and it has shone undimmed upon her
pathway during all her solitary years.
.'She loved Joe then. She loves him
now. She will never cease to love him.
'.But how brayely she has lived!
While her grief over poor Joe's death
was sorest, Ethel died. The husband
who had been tenderly attached to her
strangely disappeared. and two other
children had been left helpless but for
Madeline Madeline. as everybody
had called her since that time. She
had given them more than a mother's 8
solicitude and care, and all a mothers
love. She worked for them, reared
them. educated them. Now both are
married, and their children are daily
taught to ask Gods blessing on the dear
saint who waits, but not in idleness, for
the Voice of Mercy to proclaim the end
of earthly love and duty. Her home is
musical with the romp and laughter of
happy children; the house cat purs in
sleek content; and the scent of flowers
pervades the rooms where peace broods
and Madeline's gracious presence
reigns.
In the soft summer afternoon she sits
and dreams. The little old-fashioned
locket, in which Joe Bertram's picture
has lain for thirty years, hangs on her
bosom.
Little Daisy, comes leaping into the
room.
''Aunt Madeline, you ain't an old
maid, Is vou?"
Eyes, dear (the chin droops lower
and rests upon Joe's locket); yes, dear
babe, an-old- maid. "-Detroit Free
Press.
"A writer in Harper's Bazar says
that in France the house cook becomes
indignant if any Of the dishes are pro.
o.,rod af a vsoct a,1ranf as.,. orrl- - xrA.w.