Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1877-09-17
The Man whose Yoke was
not Easy.


He was a spare man, and, physically,
an ill-conditioned man, but at first
glance scarcely seedy man. The in
dications OF reduced circumstances in
the male of the better class are, fancy,
first visible in the boots and shirt, the
boots ofens lively exhibiting degree of
polish inconsistent with their dilapida-
ted condition, and the shirt showing an
extent of ostentatious surface that is In
variably fatal to the threadbare waist
coat that it partially covers. He was a
pale man, and fancied still paler from
his black clothes.
He handed me note.
. 1t was from certain physician /;
man of broad culture and broader ex-
perience man who had devoted the
greater part of his active life to the
alienation of sorrow and suffering; a
man who had lived up to the noble
VOWS of noble profession; man who
locked in his honorable breast the Sc
crets of hundred families, whose face
was as kindly, whose touch was as gen.
tie in the wards of the great public hos
pitals as it was beside the laced cur
tains of the dying Narcissa; man who,
through long contact with suffering,
had acquired a universal tenderness and
breadth of kindly philosophy; man
who, day and night, was at the beck
and call of Anguish; man who never
asked the creed, belief. moral or worldly
standing of the sufferer, or even his
ability to pay the few coins that enabled
him Qhe physician) to exist and prac-
tice his calling in brief, man who so
nearly lived up to the example of the
Great Master that it seems strange
am writing of him as doctor of medi-
cine and not of divinity.
The note was in pencil, characters
tically brief, and ran thus:
"Here is the man 1 speak of. He
ought to be good material for you.'
For moment l sat, looking from the
note to the man, and sounding the ''dim
perilous depths" of my memory for the
meaning of this mysterious communica-
tion. The "good material" however,
soon relieved my embarrassment by put
ting his hand on his waistcoat, coming
toward me, and saying, "It's just here /;
you can feel it"
1t was not necessary for me to do so.
In fash remembered that my medi-
cal friend had told me of certain poor
patient, once soldier. who among his
other trials and uncertainties, was afiict-
ed with an aneurism caused by the
buckle of his knapsack pressing upon
the arch of the aorta. 1t was liable to
burst at any shock or any moment. The
poor fellows yoke had indeed been toe
heavy.
In the presence of such tremendous
possibility l think for an instant felt
anxious only about myself. What ]
should do; how dispose of the body
how explain the circumstances of his
taking off; how evade the ubiquitiou;
reporter and the coroner's inquest; how
a suspicion might arise that 1 had il
some way, through negligence. or fol
some dark purpose unknown to the ju
ry, precipitated the catastrophe. al
flashed before me. Even the note
with its darkly suggestive offer of "good
material for me-looked diabolically
significant. What might not an intel
ligent lawyer make of it."
l tore it up instantly, and with
feverish courtesy begged him to b.
seated.
"You don't care to feel it 2" he asked
little anxiously.
"No."
"NOr see it?''
"No."
He sighed trife sadly, as if l ha,
rejected the only favor he could bestoW
l saw at once that he had been unde
frequent exhibition to the doctors, an
that he was perhaps a trife vain of thi
attention. The perception was corrot
Grated moment later by his producin
copy of medical magazine with tn
remark that on the sixth page 1 woul
find full statement of the case.
Could serve him in any way?
asked.
1t appeared that could. If 1 coul
help him to any light employment
something that did not require an
great physical exertion or mental ez
citement, he would be thankful. Bu
he wanted me to understand that b
was not, strictly speaking, a poor man
that some years before the discovery
, his fatal complaint he had taken out
, life Insurance policy for $4,000, an
, that he had raised and scraped enoug
, together to pay it up ; and that he woul
not leave his wife and four childre
| destitute. "You see," he added, ''if
could find some sort of light work to d,
and kinder sled along. you know III
til
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