The Lancaster ledger. [volume] (Lancaster, S.C.) 1852-1905, 1856-04-16

roue IN the nrst mack, all weeping protuse
ly, the widow with grief and whiskey, the
children with cold and hunger. In lis
lifetime Mr.. Flynn was brute, and nc
one knew that fact half so well as his wild.
ow. Lie had playful way of knocking
her down, when he was in liquor, which
was generally every night, and habit OF
performing the Irish reel on her face,
while she lay on the floor screaming. lie
was a good shot with bottle, as the scar
on Mrs. Flynn's upper lip could testify, and
skilful hand to extract front teeth. He
evidently considered black eye an excel,
lent thing in woman, and he took care
that his wife should never be without one.
All that II good husband should not be
Patrick Flynn was. Yet there are tears
for even him, so terrible is death!
Very different were the funerals of Pa
trick Flynn and James Bourne. There
was an impossible social gulf between
them in death, even rs in life. never
saw the Fifth Avenue look more magnif
cent than when Bourne was buried
There had been a heavy rain the day be
fore, and it had ircshencd the green Of the
leaves, and washed the dust from the side
walks and pavcments. Long lines Of car
riagcs were drawn up on both sides Of the
street, and in front OF the Bourne mansion
stood splendid heaise, and four proud
horses, covered with funeral trappngs
and superb with black ostrich feathers.
1t was II highly fashionable funeral.
We mounted the broad steps with a
score of our hctters, Simpkins and I, AID
a grave African admitted us into the
Bourne mansion. WAS familiar with it,
for had not Mrs. Bourne honored me hv
an invitation to her soirces! but Simpkins
was amazed at lis extent and magnifi-
cencc. What with its chandeliers and
iapestried walls, its gilded sofas and chairs,
It's paintings and costly Sevrcs vases, its
tuited rings and velvet carpets, and mir
rors that multiplied every object over ADD
over again, it was as fine as Aladlins
palace to the poor book keeper. My
good John, il is the result of the columns
of figures that you have been adding up,
and balancing, and copying from book to
book this many long year. Your nim-
b!e fingers and the calculating brain oc
the dead man yonIer, built and furnished
this fairy palace. Your fingers, please
God, will WELD pen, and glide over paper
as heretofore, for years to come-for like
the king the house OF Bourne & Co."
never dies, but the brain Of James Bo, rne,
that restless brain, is stal. 1t labors with
no new scheme, unraveli 40 Saotty ques-
ton: it is dense as the brain Of an IDIOT.
Has it come to this, James Bourne?
We went with the stream, and soon
found ourselves in the chamber of the
dead man. 1t was the library, which had
been darkencd for the occasion the cur,
tains were let down, and the blinds were
partly closed. The light struggled in
dimly, in two long streaks, Letwecn which
in square of gloom stood the coffin
mounted on high trestles. 1t was made
Of rosewood, richly vcined and polished
and its i'll was studded with silver screws
In peinte eS workmanship it vas equal to
the rest OF t&e furniture.
81: is a pity" thought J, "that so fine
~ thing should he buried. But the grave
digger will think differently, if he thinks
at all, for he will toss the gravel on it, as
he would on pine coffin, and will tram
pie the earth above the millionaire, as il
he were merely - pauper! All is girls,
that comes 10 his mill"
We looked at the dead man with
vague but painful thoughts. The book
keeper doubtless recalled hlm, as he saw
him last, in the counting room of that
closed, store i'll Coprtlandl Street--a hard
featured but stately gentleman in black
but clothed him i'll white, just as he was
IN his coffin, and made him drink my
health, at one Of his wifc's paslies had
often touched my slass to l,is, in a forma
@ay. so it was no stretch Of fancy on my
part. the last time saw him in his ow,
houss-it was the previous wiT,ter--ht
was in the room in which he now la,
dead. Some literary dispute had led u,
from tie psIlor into the library, where W,
settled it by appealing to the authority o
books. praised his books-he had real
ly a superb coliection-and so won upor
him that lac rang for segars and boitlt
of old Topaz sherry, both of which We en-
joyed together, sitting in his easy chair
and he .siaHdine on the rug before the fire
Little did ! guess then that he was Sc
soon TO die! 1t is easy to revive the Pas
by the dead; impossible to foresee the
Future 10y the living!
| gazed on the rigid features Of tn,
dead man, and something impelled me t,
speak 10 him as If he were alive. Stand
ing beside him alone--ior the book-keep
er had wandered back into the parlor--
told him few plain truths.
"And So" said I, "James Bourne, Il,
old fellow that the poet sings Of, Pall;d
Nors, has struck wide your door at las
Unanneppced he strobe into Your cham
Der, and smiling at his trusty friends, ih
beyy OF doctors aronnd your bed, he wavet
them back aud laid his hand on you
heart. 1t was a cold heart, but he mad
it colder. You are no longer the grea
merchant, whose word was law ol
Change, but a common poor man; nav
not even tba,-7.pnly six feet Of clay pack