The weekly Ottumwa courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1857-1872, 1869-11-25

THE BROKEN HOME.
"Iruth Stranger than Fiction.

In San francisco, on the north
side Of Folsom street, overlooking
Mission Bay, stands II palatial resi-.
dence.
Tho interior of this house is even
more beautiful than its exterior, CIV.
cry apartment being in its way gem
OF magnifcence and refinement.
The library especially realizes the
most perfect ideal of an elegant and
cultured home.
And yet, at the moment we look
in upon him--ono August afternoon,
as he occupied his library-the pro.
prietor of all this wealth appeared of
all men the most miserable.
He was Mr.. Morton Preblc, for
many years leading banker Of San
Francisco.
1t was in vain that the broad bay
window at the south end of the room
had been opened, giving ingress to
the sunshine and the fragrance of
rare tiowers--in vain that the walls
were lined with richly carved book
cases and paintings--in vain that soft
couches and Luxurious chairs had
been gathered around him.
He was wretchcd.
He lay on a sofa, in the depths of
the great bay window, tue wreck of
a once powerful man. Hisfigure was
thin and quaint; his face whiteas mar
BILE; his eyes having an expression OF
woful apprehension, of narrowing
anxiety, OF dreadful expectancy.
1t was evident at a glance that no
merely physical ailment had made
him what he was.
Bywhat whitening secret, by what
destroying affliction, had he been
thus agonized ? thus haunted ? thus
hunted ? he so noble and good he so
wealthy ard distinguished!
As he moved restlcssly upon his
luxurious cushions the pretty clock
on the mantel.piece struck five, every
stroke seeming to fall like hammer
upon the heart Of tho nervous inval-
id. He aroused himself, struggling
feebly 10 a sitting posture.
"Oh, will this fatal day never, new
er pass?" he murmured, "nor bring
us relief"
Noticing with a nervous start that
he was alone, he touched a bell upon
table before him, and called
"Helen Helen! where arc your"
Before the echoes of his voice had
died out a step was heard, and his
wife entered his presence.
II left you for only a moment,
Morton" she said, advancing to the
bankers side. "You were doing, l
think. l wished to send for the doc
torw
She was a beautiful woman of
some six and thirty years, graceful,
with broad white brows, and loving
eyes, in which the BRIGHTNESS and
sweetness OF sunshiny nature were
still perceptible, under a grief and
anxiety no less poignant than that
evinced by her husband.
'sThe doctor!" he echoed, half re-
proachfully.
eyes, DEAR" she said, in calm and
cheerful voice, as she drew chair
to the side of the sofa, and sat down
stroking the corrugated forehead of
the invalid with magnetic touch.
"Hc will be here Immediately. Your
last nervous crisis alarmed mo. You
may become seriously i'll! !"
Mr.. Profile besto we'd an affection.
ate look upon his wife, but said de-
spondently:
"The doctor He cannot minister
to mind deceased" Oh, if these
long hours would only pass. II !
only know what the day has yet in
store for US"
"Look up, MortonI" calculated
Mrs. Preblo, with a reverently trust
full glance upward through tho open
window at the blue sky, and as if
looking beyond the azure clouds
therein. "Let us appeal from the in
Justice and wickedness Of earth to
the goodness and mercy OF Heaven"
The banker gave a low, sobbing
sigh.
~ cannot look up, Helen" he an
swered, with passionate tremor in
his voice-"only down, down at the
grave that is opening before me !"
Mrs. Preble continued to stroke his
forehead softly, while she lifted her
pale face to the sunlight streaming
into the apartment.
"Look up, Morton-always look
up" she again enjoined upon the in
valid. During all these fourteen
years of agony, l have not once
doubted either tho goodness or tho
Justice of Heaven. BLESSED are they
that mourn; for they shall be COM
forted.' I believe that we shall yet
rejoice more keenly than we have
and that we shall come to
glorious day of joy beyond all this
long night Of sorrow"
The face of the invalid lighted up
with an answering glow, and he
"Glorious faith! My wife, you are
indeed a blessed comforter! Per-
haps, after all, you are right"
A knock resounded on a side-door
at this juncture, and the next mo-
ment DR.. Hutton, the family physic-
ian, for whom Mrs. Preble had sent,
entered the room.
He was an old man, portly in fig
IRE, with white hair and beard, but
with fresh and ruddy complexion,
D pair of shrewd blue eyes, and with
an exuberant boyishness Of manner
that sat well upon him. He had
kind heart and q clear head. Heap
preached the sofa, after greeting the
husband and wife, and lifted the thin
restless hand Of the invalid, feeling
his pulse.
"Quite high fever" he said, after
brief pause. "Worrying again, eh,
Mr.. Preble? You are wearing your
'elf out. Medicine will do you no
good 80 long as your mind is in its
present condition. l must give you
IN opiate-"
"Not now, DOCTOR" interposed the
banker. IL cannot-must not
sleep today! | need to be broad
awake now, tor ! cannot tell at any
moment what the next may bring
|orth. lam looking for the culmin-
alton Of all my years OF anguish-for
,he browning agony Of the whole.
Perhaps even now-Ah, what was
hat 2"
Va cfavtod mn u,ildI,. AND thnp DC