Litchfield enquirer., 1869-11-25
.MIisfelIanp..
THE BROKEN HOME. .oo s.TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION.

"TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION. ;
 In San Francisco, on the north side of Folsom street, overlooking Mission Bay, stands palatial residence. A j-3'
 The interior of this house is even more beautiful than its exterior, ever apartment being in it's way gem of magnificence and refinement. saa geo 8. a9aa D4s-,sA {
 The library especially realizes the most perfect ideal of an elegant and cultivated home. t@.
 And yet, at the moment we look in upon him-one August afternoon, as he occupi- ed his library-the proprietor of all this wealth appeared of all men the most mis- erable. '35'.-' . '' -'.a--a" He was Mir. Morton Preble, for many years g leading banker of San Francisco It was in vain that the broad bay-win- dow at the south end of the room had been opened. giving ingress to the sunshine and tho fragrance of rare howers-in vain that ed book. cases and paintings-in vain that soft couches and luxurious chairs had been gathered around him.. ua...9da .gv7r .
 He was wretched. ..0.,. .:-.-.- ..e, He lay on sofa, in the depths of the great bay-window, the wreck of once powerful man. His figure was thin and gaunt; his face white as marble; his eyes having an expression of woful apprehen- sion, of narrowing anxiety, of dreadful expectancy. .aa-at1M ,saods .sa, | It was evident at glance that no mere ly physical ailment had made him what he was.
 By what whitening secret, by what de- stroying afniction, had he been thus ago. nized? thus haunted? thus hunted? he so noble and good! he so wealthy and distin- guished! ''a A's' a. -'.' ,'-'I# qa -:'3 | As he moved restlessly upon his 1luxuri- ous cushions, the pretty clock on the man tel.piece struck five, every stroke seeming to fall like 8 hammer upon the heart o1 | the nervous invalid. g He aroused himself, struggling feebly to sitting pssture.s .s:sT
 | "Oh. will this fatal day everspass," he murmured, 'tnor bring us reieff4 z1''
 Noticing with a nervous start that he was alone, he touched bell upon the table be. fore him, and called: ..--s -.t.- ..-
 "Helen, Helen, where are you?"
 Before the echoes of his voice had died
 out, step was heard, and his wife entered
 his presence. s,,, .,r,igr crao-,,rf ,.-,-
 "I left you only for moment, Morton,''
 she said, advancing to the bankers side. t"You were dozing, l think. l wished tt
 send for the doctorT' lt 5 .'.';,. = 5e,o She was beautiful woman, of some si, and thirty years, graceful, with broad
 white brows and loving eyes. in which tho brightness and sweetness of g sunshiny mature were. still percepihle unde a grief and anxiety no less poignant thar
 that of her husband. ''.lA" Ai-'I.4t : il "The doctor !'' he echoed, half-reproach
 fully. @ ~ - or- s1' J.A -. 5,e-,5l 9,'5..2
 cheerful voice, as she drew chair to the side of the sofa. and sat down. estrokint
 the corrugated forehead of the invalid 3 with a magnetic touch. :He will be heri immediately Your. last nervous crisil ,. alarmed me. .5H You may become eIserionsl, filr -- v- .=------ .=----
 MT. Preble bestowed an aitectionate lool upon his wife, but said despondently:nfd !! aThe doctorI he cannot minister oto. | ! mind diseased! Oh; if these long hour, ], would only passlI If E only tnew'wha
 the day has yet in store for usrsssx ad 4.a . "Look up, Morton" enioined Mrs. Pre- ble, with reverentiy strustfulf glance np ward through the open window at the blni sky, and as if looking beyond the azuri clouds therein. Let us appeal from th, |iniustice and wickednessG of earth to th,
 goodness and mercy of Heavenl .i E.siiaY