The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1885-08-22

| 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 counselcd by her; for a
wiser woman | never knew.
after her fathers funeral expenses
were settled there nav 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 a faculty for writing chill
dre4 S stories, some OF which had found
their way into print. She resolved to
make serious test of her powers in
that direction and in the course of a
few weeks. urged on by necessity, she
produced n 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
EthePs 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
ngle-heartedness of this woman whose
life has been beautiful and constant
complication of faith in the dear God
whom she serves with such unostenta-
tious zeal.
in 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, l 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 q commanding
place But goodfellowship was his
ruin. When | look back upon it the
swiftness of his descent appalls me. The
convivial habit which at first manifested
itself in occasional nights of gayety,
soon became unmanageable. His bust
ness suffered from neglect The blear
look and blaSphemous speech of the
drunkard sneaked into the place of gal
| liant and high-mnded Joe Ber6am-
and he must once have been all that to
have awakened love in a 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 martyrdom of fire for Joe
| Bertram' 5 sake for her loves sake; but
l tell you that that love was long the
imperious and dominating passion OF
her life.
81 do not suppose that this part of
her story is out of the common expert.
ence of women; but Madelne's was a
love that stopped at nothing short OF
crime. Not Joe's degradation quenched
1t; 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 a shame
full death, it mounted, a stcadfast flame;
and it has shone undimmcd upon her
| pathway during all her solitary wears.
"She loved Joe then. She loves him
now. She will never cease to love him.
b'G hON DIdNtl1 SIG mas HNGu!
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 Aunt Madeline, as everybody
had called her since that time She
had given them more than a mothers
sOicitude and care, and all mothers
love. She worked for them, reared
them, educated them. Now both are
married, and their children are daily
taught to ask Gods blesSingon the dear
saint who waits, but not in dleness, fol
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-fashoned
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 amt an old
maid is you?"
YES, dear (the chin droops lower
and rests upon Joe's locket); yes, dear
babe, an-old-maid. "-DctroH Free
Press.