Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1877-05-23

none. There was no lack of fattery
to help him on to ruin. He staked
his all and lost. 1t was terrible
blow, he had been so sure Of success.
One day on the topmost wave Of
popularity, fattered, carressed,-
the next friendless, defeated, alone,
withering beneath the sneers and
gibes of the successful party. A
few friends gathered around him
after the first shock had passed.
urging him to persevere, to try once
more, and Dick, neglecting his bus
mess, spent his days and nights in
saloons and barrooms, following the
meteor Of political fame. He learn
ed to flatter and decline, became
the friend and companion Of the
idle and dissolutc, for every vote
counted, and the gambler at the Ia
BILE, the drunkard in the street, had
as much power to say who should
rule the land, as the minister in the
pulpit or the Judge upon the bench.
Again and again was failure in
scribed upon his banners; the pref
ty cottage was exchanged for hut
by the riverside; he who had been
first in his profession became a
newer of wood and drawer of water
for the multitude, and at last, scorn-
ing honest labor, went down, down,
till there were but few depths Of
evil which his soul had not tasted.
The farmer looked well to his fold,
and the merchant to his till when
Vagabond Dick drew nigh.
Yet the spirit of good had not
utterly forsaken him, for last night
as he sat in the shadows OF his un-
happy home, there rose before him
a picture of the life which might
have been his, of the lovely home,
the happy wife, the joyous little
ones whose presence sootbed his
dreariest hours, and clasping little
Annie to his breast, Dick had pray
ed for strength 10 make one more
effort to rebuild the broken walls of
ruined life; but it was all over
now. Hope had died, and grim
despair reigned supreme in Dicks
heart as he crept along in the
shadows of the naples which shell
tered his boyhood's home, now the
property of Barton Moore.
For him, the friend of his youth,
every step in life had been a sue
cess. A dogged perseverance, sup
pied the place of genius. Little
by little he had risen in wealth and
power, till no man in the town was
so respected by his fellow-citizens.
Yet toward his old-time friend he
had shown himself cruelty implaca-
BILE and unforgiving. Never had
Dick attempted to rise but Barton
Moore's hand had been the first to
crush him. Though fortune smil-
ed upon him, though gentle lady,
tender and true as Jennie herself,
filled the vacant place in his heart
and made his home happy, though
sweet-voiced children made the
old house ring with laughter
and song,-while Dick Selby trod
the same street and beneath the
same air, there was no happiness
for him. There are few of US but
have some Mordecai sitting in the
kings gate.
1t would have cost Barton Moore
little this night to have taken the
poor shivering pedestrian on the
seat by his side, to have sheltered
him with his warm robes, and made
bright a few moments in a wretched
life. Instead of this he had chosen
to add another insult to the mum.
berless ones he had already heaped
up, and the flame Of hatred rose
higher and higher in Dick Selby's
soul, as he stopped in front Of the
grand old house, and supporting
himself by the gate-post, stood
glowering and sullen, in the twi
| light, while wild, mad schemes o1
vengeance ran through his fevered
brain. The moon was coming up
and its mellow rays touched the tai
tree spires with golden radiance
The wind had died away, and the
stirless, frosty branches stood as II
carved from silver. As the ligh,
flashed upon window and cornic'
and roof, changing the gray ole
pile to q wonderful fairy palace,
sudden thought flashed through
the outcast's brain. How stately
| the old house wonld stand will