The People's vindicator. [volume] (Natchitoches, La.) 1874-1883, 1876-04-29


Every Sunday does Bob visit that
retired spot, and always does he
leave a bouquet Of fresh cut flowers :;
for Florrie loved flowers, and flowers
are the only offerings be can make to
her he loved so dearly, who now
sleeps beneath the soft turf.
And if because there is no Mi Sht
smile, or there are no pretty wo,ds
to thank him as in the golden days Of
y"re, Bob returns home sad and lone
y, and perhaps plays over on the
piano whose keys will never more
echo to her touch, her favorite air.
think yon that, if his eyes d" fill, and
il great lump does seem to rise in his
throat--tl,ink you that he does not
do so with il chastcned heart, and a
fervent PRAYER Of thankfultless that
he has still the memory of the past
wlercwith to comfort his wounded
heart? And does he not find in that
weekly visit more real happiness
than either you or l cou|d in the most
enhancing pleasure with which this
gay and thol,ghtless world ab"unds ?
am certain he does and if you
wish to know why, l will tell you.
One evening l called on Bob I'M
expcctedly. His servant told me l
should find him in the drawing room.
As never stand on ceremony with,
him, | made my way to that apart
mcnt, and was about to enter mnon.
nonnced. when / stopped suddenly
on the threshold.
Bob was sitting at the piano when
I reached the door of the room, which
was standing open, but he never
noticed me. He sat there alone,
drcamily gazing at vacancy, appar.
antly absorbed in his own secret
thoughts. I wondered whether they
were sad or happy. | did not enter
the room, but paused uncousciously,
l knew not why.
Presently his hand wandered over
the ivory keys; softly they echoed to
his mastery touch. | knew those
chords Il had heard them many Il
time and oft a few years before.
Twas the song she used to sing
and as Bob sat there, seemingly
dreaming of the past, soft ray of
the sitting sun stole gently through
the conservatory window, setting on
his dreamy face lighting it up with a
golden halo. As it did 81, Bob smiled.
l vow to yon that if ever an angelic
smile lit up the face Of mortal man, 80
was Bob's lit up then.
Perhaps, I thought as his hand
wandered over the keys, he was list.
ening for her voice in the spirit land
far anyway, and may he he heard
it, too!
Who knows
He may Lave done 80 cannot
tell but | can say this much Il did
not take one step further into that
room. ins,inctively felt I had M
right to be there so, gently and
quietly turning, l stole softly on tip.
toe down the stairs, took my hat, and
said to the servant, "Do not tell your
master l have been here this evening
I will call again to. morrow"
The man looked surprised, but res
pcctfully nodded assent.
So I left the house, feeling that
had no right to intrude on Bob al
such Il moment.
All, Bob-dear old Boil know
you are happy, and that, were tl'it
whole worlds riches laid at your feet,
they could not purchase for You sncl
real pure happiness as you feel during
those sacred minutes, when your gen
tie soul wanders into spirit land
And that. gentle reader, is my story
A very little story, is it not !-a"t
perhaps you will think little Of !
now you have read it.
It's only an old Renaissance raket
up from the memory of the past
There is a dear old ballad Of BaIfe's
the last line Of which often recalls it:
truth to me. / dare say you all know
the ballad l refer to; the last lin
runs
"Memory is the only joy T.
That grief can call its OWN
So moor Rob Fortcscue has found it
so, perhaps, have thousands Of 9th
ers.