The Argosy — page 109: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

94 The Village Blacksmith. ‘ FfYe was young and tall and well-built; not a giant like you, you know, Reuben, but above the average size; and he looked very strong. He was clean-shaven, with small bright eyes, and he didn’t look altogether a bad man.” ‘ How was he dressed—did you notice?” ‘¢ Corduroy trousers, a sealskin cap, and a peajacket. But why, Reuben? I hope you have not seen him in this neighbourhood.” ‘T have, Miss Vera; I saw him last evening with Mark Brown, and they seemed as thick as thieves. I saw them in the wood as I came home from chapel. I doubt Mark is up to no good. I'll give the policeman a hint to be on the look-out, and I should tell the Rector—I mean the Archdeacon—if I were you, miss, though I know he thinks no end of Mark. He is one of the lost, I doubt, though I have done my best to save his soul; but the devil has snatched him out of my hands; he is a bad lot is Mark Brown,” said Reuben slowly. ‘‘ He is one of those who put their hands to the plough and then turn back, and so are unfit for heaven.” ‘Perhaps Mark’s hand never reached the plough,” said Vera with meaning, which, however, Reuben did not grasp. “I wish I had given that man in charge the other day; but I'll tell my father what you have told me, Reuben,” she continued, having as little hope as the blacksmith that her father would pay much atten- tion to the report. And then, after a little more conversation, they parted, little thinking that the fair, smiling Vera would have passed through a furnace almost as hot as Reuben’s, and Reuben himself through a purifying flame before they met again at the forge. But happily for them, as for everyone else, the future was veiled ; for, if we could know the storms to be weathered during the voyage of life before we set out on that eventful journey, how many of us, supposing we had the power to refuse, would venture to start ? None but very good sailors, and they are few. Once started, however, there is no turning back ; fog or gale, cyclone or tempest, on we must go; come shipwreck, come pirates, come fire, come hurricane, no turning back. Thank Heaven for it, then, that we do not know what is to come. Sometimes, it is true, there is the little cloud in the sky, scarcely bigger than a man’s hand, which warns us of the coming storm ; but oftener our trials are unexpected, we unprepared, the wind rises suddenly and the flapping sails are struck ; oftenest the sun is shining brightest, we are feeling the most secure, when the storm breaks over us. Such is life. Not all wind and rain, not all foul weather, but sun- shine and fog, storm and calm, joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain; plenty of all. And yet we grumble that life is short, and, strange to say, the most miserable often complain the loudest of its brevity ; while on the other hand the question, ‘Is life worth living,” is answered by many in the negative. Eomichbooks.co