Public ledger. [volume] (Memphis, Tenn.) 1865-1893, 1881-01-29
The Tale of Sorrow rs Related
by George LaSeile.

Salt Lake Tribune J
He was a little weazen faced old
chap. He had restless and uncertain
eyes, and his voice was broken aud
hoarse. He introduced himself as
George LaSelle. He told with many
hats and stops and some tremulaus-
ness-in ~interjections, as it were-of
his hard fortune 10 Alta. He was
there with a wife and three children;
his ca lin he and his wife had planned;
it was unpretentious, but it was com
Portable beyond description, aud with
in was embellished with all the taste
which his spouse, a cultured lady,
could bestow upon it. Here he d.
crossed to explain that his wife met
him first at a social gathering among
the French Canadians, in the hill
country behind Quebec. lie had gone
home from California with much dust,
and the whim taking him, he had gone
to see the st. Lawrence, to see how
it compared with the Sacramento,
and joining a hunting party he wan
dered away to the north. So
By accident be stopped for the
night at the very house where the fes-
tiyal was to be, and there among the
guests was one more beautiful than
the rest, more accomplished. He
stopped for a moment, and with a look
of abstraction gazed out Of the window
as though his memory had carried him
back to scenes of inetfable delight.
he recalled himself with a start; the
ghost of a blush seemed to fit before
bis face, he breathed quickly two or
threetimes andthen resume / his story.
1t was the old, old tale. The positive
within him had met a negative, their
love was like a cloud burst, they fused,
hat is they married, and the Canadian
forests took on deeper shadows when
he led bis adorable bride away. Why
recount the years and their events;
there had been some hardships, but
the love which was first kjndled in
the Canadian woods had deepened
with the years, and, with every sue
ceeding sorrow, had been intensified.
Last autumn they had gone to Alta
and built their home, and when the
Wind took onits storm tones, and clouds
began to fling out their black banners
above the mountain peaks, the wife's
eyes kindled, and she said: 1T is as it
was in the home of my girlhood, when
the winter commenced to marshal his
storms. 1t will be delightful when
the frost puts his spell upon the brook
aud silences its Neutrality-suspicious. when
the squadrons Of the storm form on
the hill crests." you see" he added.
she is a scholar" Then the voice
began to grow husky and the eyes to
take on a winter light. The crisis oil
his story was approaching. He pie
tured in dreadful tints the solemnity
Of last Friday. When the awful
night was almost passed, an inspira-
tion-a premOnition-seiaed him.
Springing up and s%eizing two children
he babe the wife take the other and
follow for her life. (His wife and
himself had remained up ind dressed
all night.) They rushed out and made
their way TO a great rock near and
stopped in It's shadow trembling, All
was still except the trickle Of water
thawing. The wife began to say i'll
was a useless alarm, when he put his
hand on her arm and said, Listen
First there Yves a grumbie and moan,
such as sometimes heralds an earth
quake, A moment later came tho
crash of the avalanche. When itl
had passed there was no vestige of
their house. Why rehearse the story
Of their dreadful suf to reach
this city? They came broken in
health, penniless, and the wife was
PROSTATE with a nervous shock in an
old deserted abode in the seventeenth
ward, and the children" here his
voice broke 10 a whisper, were cry
ing for bread" With tears stream
ing down his checks, the reporter
emptied bis pocket in the sufferer !
hand, c%ursing himself meanwhile that
he was so poor. The erief-strickeD
man arose and departed. An hour
later the reporter had occasion to pass
Jennings corner. The lamp-pOqt was
leaning up against a man, and the
man had apparently lost bis spinal
process. As the reporter passed o
strangely familiar cracked VOICE com.
menced to sing
"Whsn. Johnny. comes marching hic-home /
again-hic
Hurrahl Hurrahl
Passing over 10 the other sido the
reporter met Joe Farren, and said:
Joe, you have travelled some do YOU
know that warbler" Somewhat, "
said Joe, "he is Confidence George, Of
Caraboo, and the deadest beat in all
the Great Basin" The reporter said!
"You don't say SOL