Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1877-12-28

ilb ONtI HIS ulNlhtONtTtu HOllI nuu rendered
his mind diseased, and that was TO him a hor-
rble thought. that he had by this sin under
mined his whole moral health. There rushed
over him the thought that he had committed
the objectionable sin, and he had n fiendish de-
sire to commit some open, terrible sin which
would sweep away the Recollection of this
Something held him back think he said
that it was the face of his friend. which was
very gentle and seemed at this time to have
an unusual expression of affection for him"
'He probably saw, Farley, that this poor
man was suffering; for it is hardly possible
that any one with such an experience could
wholly conceal it..
''No doubt, no doubt and one day when
he was talking with his friend, and the con-
versation gave an opening, he began, without
previous intention, and poured out the story
of his sin, and the suffering he had under
gone. His mind was clear enough rs to the
facts, and he told them simply, without un-
dertaking to analyze his own thoughts greatly;
but when he came to describe his own expert
ence afterward, he felt all the time that there
was a certain insncerity about him that he
was not really confessing, that it was not
'hard-pan' which he had reached. TO speak
more distinctly, he told all this as of a third
person, and did not once mention himself"
Such ways are rarely so blind as the teller
thinks said Godthwait. Besides, he must
finally have told all, or else you would not know
the story"
Very true" said Farley, rising to go but
one cannot always tell all secrets With that
he left the office, which had grown dark dur
ing the talk His friend remained behind to
attend to some business. Farley, as he left
the door, stopped irresolute a moment, as if
he would return, but he changed his mind
and walked away. He walked faster and fast
cr leaving the town behind until he was on
II long bridge which crossed the river .eparat-
ing the city from one of its environs. The
lamps were lighted, and ns he leaned on the
rail, he saw their reflection in the water Far
of ON the distant bank a row Of lights marked
the ascent of hill, and he watched, too, the
moving steam cars which carried II steady
glinmer with them.
He must have understood: :" he cried to
himself He must have known who these
two friends We're. What fool | am that |
did not say the three words which would have
made the whole matter as plain as day
light He walked on moodily, crossing
the bridge. 1t was Saturday night, and he
was overtaken or met bymany persons going to
market or to church. Two women who pass
ed him were going to confession, as he over
heard from them. lie followed them with
sudden thought and kept not far behind
them until they came to the door of a Roman
Catholic church. They entered, and he. re-
strained by vague sense Of strangeness in
such plnce stopped at the entrance They
would roll of their weeks sins. he reflected
receive absolution and depart. He had often
heard the folly and superstition of this Gus
tom denied. but at that moment it seemed to
him that there would be a most sweet relief
in the act of confessing to one, an entire
stranger perhaps, who yet held the office of
priest. He took step toward the church
| Then he checked himself
why do | not confess to my own minis
tor:' he asked, and the answer was that he
had courage only TO tell man whom lie did
not know. and who would hold his confidence
| sacred. And what were these ministers and
priests: why make confession to them, 1t
was because in some way they heard for God.
| To God MI final confession must be made.
Then came into his mind passage of scrip
ture which was familiar enough to him, but
of apparently no connection with his present
trouble:
''He that breM nat his brothsr ,rhom he Rah
seeH. hour can Es L,re God trG0m he haiti MT
SfH r'
He repeated it mechanically, when suddenly,
as one turns precious stone TO the right an
gle and receives an unexpected flood of light.
the simple truth shonc upon him the con-
fession which he had so often made to God.
with great particularly, could not bring alb
| solution and peace because he kept back the
| confession from the brother whom he had
wronged. He turned and hastened back to
| the city. lie began to run. for fear some
doubt should catch him. He huttoned his
coat about him, planted his arms at his side
and raced over the bridge. He struck across
| the city for Goldthwaits Office. 1t was dark.
| OF course he had left for home. and Farley
started for his friends house. He was eager
| to tell him-as eager as if he had some glo-
rious news for him. He ran up the steps out
Of breath and trembling with excitement.
| The servant who opened the door saw him
standing there, his face agitated, SO that he
could not speak.
Mr.. Farley" said he, Its all over Mr..
Goldthwait has just died"
Died :" gasped the man. Some relations
who had heard of his sudden death. at that
moment came up the steps and heard the
| same intelligence. They asked Farley in. but
he shook his head and turned away.
Poor fellow :" said one of them. He was
| John Godthwait's most trusted friend"
Among the papers found in Mr.. Gold
| thwaits desk was his will. executed the very
day of his death, and not only that, but on
the very evening. He had called in two of
his clerks to witness it, and had displayed n
singular solemnity at the time.
at is my will, he said to them. which l
have just drawn up, having cancelled an old
one :" and it was but moment after they
had left the room that he was heard to fall
from his chair. The old will lay by the new
one. The only difference between them was
that he had associated William Farley with
his wife executor. The intelligence was
given to Farley as an added proof of Gold
thwait's confidence in him. He received it
with his head bowed.
1T is an absolution," he said; but no one
quite understood the meaning of the phrase,
| tv,iph i,,Iaal
Horace E. Scudder IN Sunday 4 AtterHOOR.