The morning star and Catholic messenger. [volume] (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, 1877-07-22
HOME, SWEET HOME"

Night dropped her shadowy veil over Lon
don, and the mantle of mists that all day long
hsd enveloped the CITY, grew NOR more dense ana
burned brightly at the corners, but 1T was q
very dreary night to be ont in. Yet crowds
filled the streets, for even in night storms the
GREAT thorou hfares are never deserted. Guilt
and wretchedness are always wakefol and
abroad. To realize the desoiation of loneli-
nees one must be a stranger IN crowded CITY,
with q sensitive nature, and refinement that
shrinks from rude contacts and uncongenial
sCompanion5hip.
Alone in the country with the blue sky above
us and the green grass beneath our feet, there
I are charms that 200 US TO forgetfulDess. There
lis 'nnuch music in the running stream and
beauty in the flowers that grow upon it's
baRks Some German writer, 1 have forgot
ten who. calls flowers the stars of earth, and
stars the flowers of heaven Fair and radiant
< flowers they are and shed their brightness on
less, softened and mellowed light seem to
hnger moro pleasantly on green fields and
Alone in London! Dreary and desolate
weary and aching heart. The strsnger>gather-
ed bis thin cloak around his shivering form,
and drew his bat over his face with sensitive
shrinking from the crowd that rudely jostled
past him. He was alone in London, and very
poor, not even having shilling to procure
soanty supper.
the gas lights were few, up many pair of
stairs, was the garrett in which he slept, but in
itthere was nothing save the darkness one
broken chair and wretched bed with its
scanty covering.
when he entered this desolate chamber in
nights like this, an unseen company sur
rounded him, the spirits of the viewless air,
and in the wailings of the wind, they told him
arrange mysterious tales of wTetchedness and
dread, until half wild with dark imaginiDgs,
no ruehed forth in the night and in the pelting
storm. Thus through the chilling sleet and
rain he walked the streets, looking into the
hard faces OK the pasSers by and wondering IT
In all London there was another man who had
no one to care for him, NO one to love him, and
then the thought how deliciously strange it
would seem to him--a stranger and wanderer
for many yeaTs--to be loved.
He hoped the blessed light would dawn up
on him, but in the darkness of this night it
seemed great way of. The cloud of poverty
and gloom that wrapped his heart was too
cold and deep, he feared, for human sympathy
andilove to penetrate. He seemed to see be-
fore him, Fate, with weird fingers weaving the
mystic web of his lonely destiny, and as he
watched the phantom's hands with feverish
intensity, be wondered If at some future day,
him instead of pail. A strain of sweet, sad
music broke in upon his lonely musings. Over
All refined natures music has absorbing
power, and though it often fills the soul with
sadness it casts upon it the spell of an irresist
PIE fascination, and the stranger paused in
nls eesolate walk to listen to the song. The
WandoWs of the princely mansion were but
nat1 yelled, and he could see the happy group
tn9t surrounded the piano, and the fair girl
tnaS sang the soft minor air which sank into
the lstener's heart
he was poet and had written songs of ten
derness and love for others to sing Himself,
ne could not einR with such q weight upon his
neArt. The Light of genius was ia the eye, and
the imagery of q feEVid imagination gathered
round bis brains, and the poeI's native im-