Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1879-01-09

GOldthwalt. rs Farley paused. i do no
understand why he did not make confes
: sion to the man he-had wronged'
II do not wonder this perplexes you
but the reason is simple. He had not th,
courage. He was Il coward, and faced tn
secret consciousness of his guilt rathe
; than the open confession to his friend. N
f doubt his broOding over his undiscoveret
guilt had rendered his mind diseased, an,
that to him was II horrible thought, that h,
had by this sin undermined his who'll
| moral health. There rushed over him tn
thought that he had committed the unpar
, donable sin, and he had II fiendish desr,
to commit some open, terrible sin whicl
| would sweep away the reccOllection o
this. Something held him back. thinl
he said that it WAS the face of his friend
which was very gentle and seemed at th
time to have an unusual expression of af
} fection for him.
He probably saw, Farley. that thi
poor man was suffering; for it is hardl,
possible that man with such an expert
ence could wholly conceal it.
, mo doubt, 10 doubt; and one day
when he was walking with ils friend, an,
! the conversation gave an opening, he he
gan, without previous intention, and pour
ell ou the story of his sin, and the suffer
ings he had undergone. His mind wa
clear enough us to The facts, and he tol,
, them simply, without undertaking to ana
I'VE his own thoughts greatly; hut whel
, he came To describe his own exprrienc,
af, ,erwar,, he fell all the time that ther
WAS II certain inSinreriiy about him; lhr
he WAS not really coniess!ng that II Wa
not hard-pan which he had reached. I
speak more distinctly, he lod all This Is o
IA third person, and did not once mention
himself"
- Such ways are rarely 50 blind rs tn,
teller thinks said Goldthwait. Be
sides, he must finally have told all, or els,
you would not know the story"
VERY true" said Farley. rising to 90
- hut one cannot always tell all secrets
With that he left the Office, which ha'
grown dark during the talk. His frent
remained behind to attend to some bus,
ness Farley. Us he left the door, stoppe,
| rresOlute Il moment, rs if he woulI re
turn, but he changed his mind and waket
away He walked faster and faster, leav
ing the town behind until he was on ;
long bridge which crossed the river separa
, ting the city from one of its environs
The lamps were lighted, and as he leanet
on the rail, he saw their reflection in tn,
water. Far off on the distant bank low
Of lights marked the ascent of hill, anc
he watched, too, the moving steam cars
which carried Il steady gimmer with them
d" He must have understood;n he criet
to himself. He must have known who
these two friends were. What fool
am that | did not say the three word.
which would have made The whole matter
as plain as daylight" He walked OF
moodily, crossing the bridge. 1t WA.
Saturday night. and he was overtaken ol
met by many persons going to market Oh
to church. Two women who passed him
were going to confession, as he overheard
from them. He followed them with
sudden thought. and kept not far behinc
them until they came TO the door of J.;
Roman Catholic church. They entered
and he, restrained by II vague sense o
strangeness in such place, stopped al
the entrance. They would roll off theil
weeks sins, he reflected, receive absolu
ton and depart. He had often heard the
folly and superstition of this custom de-
that there would be Il most sweet relief il
the act of confessing to one, an entire
stranger perhaps, who yet held the office
of priest lie took IL step toward the
church. Then he checked himself.
"Whv do not | confess to my owr
minister?" he asked, and the answer was
that he had courage only to tell man
whom he did not know, and vino 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. 10 God
all final confession must be made. Then
came into his mind Il passage of Scripture
which was familiar enough to him, but of
apparently no connection with his present
trouble:
He Mat l0veh not his brother Whom he
hath seen, hsO Gun he lore God Whom he
hath not seen?'
lie repeated it mechanically, when sud-
denly, rs one turns precious stone TO the
right angle and receives an unexpected
flood of light, the simple truth shone upon
him; the confession which he had SO often
made to God, with great particuarity,
could not bring absolution and peace, be-
cause he kept back the confession from the
brother whom he had wronged. He turned
and FASTENED back to the city. lie began
! to run, for fear some doubt should catch
him. He buLtoned his coat about him,
plaated his arms ut his side and raced
over the bridge. He struck across the
city for Goldthwait's office. 1t was dark.
Of course he had left for home, and Farley
started for his friends house. He was
eager to tell him-a eager us il he had
some glorious news for him. He ran up
the steps out of breath. and trembling
with excitement. The servant who open
ed the door SAW him standing thele. his
face agiLated, so that he could not speak.
MIR. Farley said he, Its all over.
Mr.. Godlhwait has just died"
"Died" gasped the man. Some rela-
tions 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 turn
ed away.
Poor fellown' said one of them
" lie was John Goldthwait's most trusted
friend
Among the papers found in Mr.. Gold
thwait's 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 singular solemnily ut the time.
. 1t 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
lie 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
rs executor. The intelligence was given
to Farley rs an added proof of Gold
lhwaits confidence in him. He received
it with his head bowed.
1T is an absoution," he said; but no
one quite understood the meaning of the
phrase, which was. indeed, soon forgotten.
Horace b. Scudder, IN Sunday afternoon.