The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1874-03-21


John had no companions and sought none.
The young men and women of his set had
married and settled in life; he was still the
same.
But there came change. Eleven years
had passed since the mother died, and it was
June again. John was spending day at the
old place once more. He sat in the door
looking out on the magnificent landscape, the
broad lake, and the dim line of mountain
away across the valley. The lo'ely day SEEM
ed to cheer this stern, lonely man.
Three persons came up the road; they ad-
vanced straight to where John was sitting.
One of them stepped forward, looking John
steadily in the face, held out his hand to
him, and said, "John, do you know me?'
The voice seemed to strike him, with
sharp, stunning shock. He quivered, held
his breath, stared into the eyes of the ques-
toner, aud then suddenly becoming unnat-
urally cool and collected, said, as it you,
William?''
The two who stood back had once been
Johns warmest friends. They now came
forward, and with such words as they could
command, told the story of Williams sudden
return, and sought for themselves forgiveness
for the cruel and false suspicion which had
so long estranged them from their friend.
John seemed to hear this as in dream.
He talked with William and the man in
manner that seemed strangely cold and in
different, about where William had been voy-
| aging so long in distant seas, and OF his
strange absence. A quarter OF an hour pass
| ed away. The men proposed that John
| should 90 with them to their homes, and said
| there would be gathering of frierds there.
| They pressed the invitation with warmth,
and such true feelings as our voices express
| when dear friend has been greatly wronged,
and we humbly acknowledge it.
John said absently, in reply, that he did
not know. He looked uneasily around as if
in search of something, perhaps his hat. He
essayed to rise from his chair, but could not
and in a moment he fell back ashy pale, faint
ing and bleathless. The men had not looked
for this, but accustomed as they were to the
rough life OF the wilderness, they were not
alarmed. They famed the fainting man
with their straw hats, and as soon as water
could be found, applied it to his hands and
face. He soon partially recovered, and look
| ing up, said in broken voice. "Gve me a
little time, boys" At this hint, the two old
friends, who were now crying, stepped out OF
the door, and cousin William sat down out
upon the door step.
John found that little time was not
enough. He mad Travelled too long and far in
that fearful desert of loneliness, easily or
quickly to return. A nervous fever followed
the shock he received, and for two months he
Qld not leave Cne nOmeSCedu, anu was cOnnl-
ed to his bed. But the old house was not
lonely. The men and women came both his
old friends and some newcomers, and tried
to make up to him in some degree the love
and sympathy he had SO long missed. But
for many days it was evident that their kind
ness panied and oppressed him.
ut appears like" said Pete, "that rough
word don't hurt him, but a. kind one he can't
stand" And this was true. His soul was
fortified against hatred and contempt, but
kind voice, or a gentle caress, seemed to
wound him so that he would sob like an in
FAINT.
As he recovered from his illness he con-
tinued gentle, kind and shrinking, to a fault.
By the operation of some spiritual law that l
do not fully comprehend, he was, after his
recovery, one of those who win strange af
lection from others. His influence seemed
like wild fascination. 1t was said of him in
after years, that he was more truly loved,
and by more people, than any other man or
woman in all the settlement ronnd. Chill
dren loved him with passionate attachment,
and the woman of chIld-like nature whom
he made his wife is said to have died of grief
at his death. He departed this life at the age
of thirty-eight years, and he sleeps on the
edge of the great valley, with his mother and
his wife beside him.-P. Deming.