The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1902-06-08
THE BRAVE WAY.
The Darkest Road May Be the One
that Leads to Light.


We die each day to Something; II is he
Who rises TO renew the fight afresh,
Shall gain Eternity.
Out near the eastern end of Long island
where the salt winds sweep the sand dunes,
and whence the long, dark bodies of the
greyhounds of the sea may be seen they
hurry back and forth between the world
centers Of art and trade. is a little house of
the plainest make externally, which is
home to a certain man and woman, and
their children. The stranger approaching
II would uncensciously let the house out of
his memory with the mOmentary thought
that II was the living place OF one Of those
honest old Long island farmers who have
rot yet succumbed TO the frills and frivol-
fly which surround them in summer. He
who enters will probably never let the
memory of the rooms leave him, IL he can
help. On all sides visible the touches
and trimming of choice taste; expressions
in material form Of fair thoughts and gen
tie tendencies. And how they charm, here
and everywhere Is there anything more
whose holdings reflect the thoughts and
fine feelings Of its occupant or its occu-
pants? Ii is like rare painting or a sweet
poem, or a strain of high music.
The father of the family which lives here
is the hero of sad-ending romance-if
what is told Whereabouts be true. Years
ago, 1t is said, he was promised TO marry a.
young woman OF beauty and high social
standing-like his own-in the city of their
homes. Then the sunshine of the tale is
clouded by a breach Of love on the wo-
-
makes things visible we find the man put
ting his learning and culture into the shap-
Ing and coloring and firing of clay, out
near the end of Long island. Taking up
the quiet simple life of his Surroundings;
putting the best he had in him into an
oven, to have ii come out failure often;
success seldom. He Strove on. Little by
little he brought his pieces nearer to the
cOlors he had seen in his dreams, and, per-
haps 10 help him forget the dull shadings
OF his past; perhaps to help him see the
glorious COlOrinRS with which a n
ing companiOnship alone can adorn our
doings, he chose the teacher of the village
children TO wed.
The years have come and gone. The
cret of the colors which they held has been
unfolded. and under the glaze of dainty
vases and quantity beautiful shapes of one
use or another CLEAN rich. rare tones of
the primal hues. The quiet island folk
have seen little palaces built around their
plain homes and each summer brings its
host of the citys fashionables, who seek
the cool and restful ocean. They have seen
those creatures of culture and travel rave
over the Odd-cOlOred bits of pottery which
to them were only evidences of work and
time wasted, and they have wondered at
the much these same city folks have been
willing to pay for this burnt clay. The man
who holds his secret so close that he will
not even have helper, lest ii be thus given
out, has enough TO follow the dictates of a
gentle nature gently trained, and his home
is little heaven of beauty and happiness
1t is all because he knew how to die to
one of the greater of those deaths that
come almost daily to most of us Their
name is thousands. Disappointment sor-
row, trouble, care, pain, bereavement
these are some of them. And when they
come as they do TO all, we to sink and
let them hold us under the waters of re-
sentiment and bitterness until we drown
mentally and spiritually? Or shall we use
all the strength we can muster to swim
back TO the ship from which we were tossed
that we may carry out some of the work
we had planned? 1t is not for a wise man
to question. l can only point TO the potter
of whom you read here. 1t was doubtless
his desire to put the color of his thoughts
and capabilities into something vastly dis
tant from a vase. But. denied that, he
put II into the vase, and out of the vase
has grown and blOomed the very flower
he sought, and lost awhlei