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Show SELF-ENTERTAINMENT FRANK MARSHAL lives in the village vil-lage near which I was born. He was a farmer until he was forty-five a prosperous farmer whose land had been left him by his father. He had never really worked hard. He had gone to the district school until he was fourteen and his father had even sent him to a boys' academy for a time and had offered to put him through college, but he was not fond of study, he saw nothing very practical prac-tical in books or in education, and he came back home at the end of his first year at the academy and announced that he was through. He went to work on the farm, and a few years later, his father having died, he inherited It and took charge of it. He developed no interest outside of the routine work in which he was engaged. en-gaged. He had no avocations, no hobbies, hob-bies, no recreations. He never read a book so far as 1 know; he had no interest in-terest in newspapers excepting in the one or two technical agricultural papers pa-pers which his father had subscribed for and which he paid for each year In an uninterested way. He bad no Interest in music; be could not play a game; flie details of travel confused him and got on his nerves. He vwts totally without resources for self-entertainment. It had never occurred to him when he was young that oid age would one day catch up with him and separate him from his old occupation, aud If he were then to be happy there must be something within him to form a basis of that happiness. He moved to town when he was forty-five and irave up work. He sils by the radiator In winter and on the porch in summer, restless and discontented. discon-tented. His chief interest is lemi'iig the furnace in winter and mowing the lawn in summer. He has fnnr times as much money as lie ran spend, but he's wretchedly unhappy because he has never learned to enjoy himself. One of the happiest persons I ner knew bs an old lady, blind and bedridden. bed-ridden. She had read widely and 1 his reading had taken her inlo lield of poetry and romance, and into every foreign country on the globe. As she lay in bed her mind wns filled with beautiful memories; her Imagination carried her far away from the scene of her misfortune. She repeated to herself the beautiful things she had committed to memory : she sat with the people she had met In history nnd biography and fiction. No one who visited her was ever Impressed with the fact that she wai helpless and 'ilind. for her mind was full of thinz for hi ot-o entertainment. |