The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1892-03-05

Happy and biest are those who SO Hvs
in these two worlds as to make the
most of both
Olive could not tell what hymn was
sung after the sermon. She was still
vibrating to the sound Of the preachers
tones-his strong sympathy. his perfect
knowledge of allthe needs OF humanity.
had satisfied her yearning at last. She
was no longer unsubmissive to the WILL
of God; He had spoken to her by this
human voice, and
1T linked all perplexed meanings
Into one perfect peace"
The sunshine was still resting tran
GULLY on the grass when she came OUT
and she assembled the stone steps with
grateful glance at the ivied bank that
sloped up to the churchyard. She was
going back again into the old world; but
It was not quite the same old world that
it had been in the early morning 1t is
a world that changes good many
times in the course of ones itetlme-
changes ike hillside with the lights
and shadows always fitting over It.
The girl walked slowly along the path
under the trees; she was in no haste 70
leave a spot where she had found rest
unto her soul
Some one saw her walking alone
down that path with curious feeling
of satisfaction There was no light
haired young man waiting for her at the
gate with supercilious smile. Quite
alone she went up the sharp slope OF
the narrow street, passed through the
little crowd at the print-shop corner.
and took her solitary way towards
Charing Cross This was his way also.
so that he was fully justified in respect
fully following her
She stopped short at the door OF
shabby book shop and pulled the
bell. This movement brought her face
to face with her follower, but she did
not see him. On her face was new
look that told of peace; but the first
flush and radiance of early youth were
gone She had lived whole lifetime
since the day when he had seen her sit
ting under the larches Was she less
beautifulo He did not think so, although
the delicate features were a little sharp
ened and the soft cheeks had paled.
Olives beauty did not depend on the
bloom of girlhood.
Seward Aylstone had gone abroad for
his summer holiday with that face i'm
printed on his memory. He was
painter and was always looking about
for pretty faces; but this face possessed
some strange spiritual grace of its own
which escaped him when he tried to put
it on canvas. Yet he was successful
man and could write A. r. A. after his
name. People said he never failed in
anything that be seriously undertook;
but then people never will understand
that the lives of all true artists are full
of unsupported failures. The beauty OF
the unexpressed will always haunt our
real painters and poets to their dying
day. Beside every finished work, fresh
from the brain, stands the ideal OF the
worker with its gentle, hooking smile.
Thinking constantly of that one face
in England, Seaward Aylstone some
times lighted ON other faces which re-
minded him of it. Once it was a peas
ant girl with her skirts gathered up.
anu a lOS1Q "a FluG icttvCS AGlJ OG1k@
anced ON her head, who looked at him
innocently with Olives brown eyes.
He stopped her for moment. her
cheeks crimsoned, she answered him in
few childish words; and lo the like
ness had fed! Wherever he tested a re-
semblance it vanished; and this set him
longing foolishly for another glimpse OF
the woman whose counterpart was no
where to be found.
On the very first Sunday after his re.
turn he caught sight of her in the
Chapel Royal and followed her home
after service. 1t was an omen, ha
thought, that he was destined to sea
more of her yet.
He had arrived at his old-fashioned
house in Cecil street on Saturday night,
and had found everything in due order
there. The ivy that was trained all
over the balcony was kept SO freshly
green that il was marvel to Londor,
eyes; the shrubs in the huge majolica
jars hourishing bravely. In the studio