The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1883-12-29

changed, too. Ugly old houses that he had
learned to v~enerate on account of their age
had given way to more modern structures,
and anew railroad was making its way down
the valley.
His experience was satisfactory, and it was
not. He had expected changes and had found
them; the disappointment that he felt over
objects that he missed was tempered by his
kindly, patient nature. He was a philoso'
: nner w;.hout beir" ware of i, and brought
himself to accept the inevitable IN a very
praiseworthy way.
In the few hours he had spent in and
about the village ne found that they were
growing irksome; and when the evening
shadows had fallen, and all the little hamlet
was swathed in snow and silence, existence
became almost intolerable. The ringing of
the church bell increased his depression, and
his thoughts took on a gloomy tinge, despite
his effort to be companionable. Then he
thought of the Gordon household, and
while there was a shadow OF ineffable
sadness in the thought, he was deyoutly
thankful that things were as they were.
There was a time when he would have had
them different, but not low.
Noticing that his mother was observing
him, he reused himself from his %reverieS.
II guess | will go back in the morning,
mother" he said.
You have been here so little, my son,
thatI wish you felt like staying longer" she
ItDll6tl SelbIN. hllu lIltIl, uS II SIGdhllS VI
something that both had been thinking of,
she continued: 81 pity you, my dear boy
you ought to have a home of your own"
mo, no, mother" he replied, energetic
ally; sit is better as it is"
at has been said that it is not good for man
to live alone" she rejOined, quoting the
words as though they had been spoken by a
mutual friend.
II know, mother, you think l am wrong;
but l cannot help it,
Both looked into the fire then, and no
more was said about it. Their thoughts evil
IDENTIFY still pursued the same theme-hers
saddened by the knowledge that her son was
so lonely, and his tempered with an indeti-
mite feeling of relief.
In the morning he left the town as sudden
ly and as quietly as he had come. and night
found him again in his old quarters, dearer
now than ever. Shutting the door, he shut
out all the world and its worry. Everything
seemed to welcome MIN back. The fire
burned more cheerily, and the fantastic
shadows on the wall danced a lively reel,
half-drunken in the joy of his return. Long
he sat in silence, with his face on his hand
and his gaze fixed on the fire.
Suddenly he frightened somewhat, as if a
new thought had occurred TO him.. He got
up and lighted his candle. Going to a
drawer he got out a little bundle of letters.
You might have known they were hers by
the way he handled them. Some were bright
| ana some were DlIIeF, out ne Teau IIeIl all anu
cried softly as he finished and kissed each
page. In a way he was glad that he had loved
her, and the regret az losing her was so tenn
pered now that he could gain his consent to
patiently accept the inevitable, because, at
least, he realized that it was best.
Folding them up carefully and putting
the letters away. he turned and wrote for a
time, and when that was done seemed better
pleased. Turning to the fire he sat there
with eyes half closed and a look in his face
that defied analysis. A resolution had taken
possession of him, but whether of energy or
of despair you could not have determined.
The Goals glowed and crumbled and fell into
ashes. The candle burned IN Its socket I'M
needed, and the shadows on the wall stood
still at first and then drew nearer and nearer
the CRATE.
With an effort Wanlsley shook Off the
spell, and in the gloom made his way to the
drawer again, so hidden in the shadows now
it. Again he came back to his seat by the
dying fire, and again made his way to the
drawer. This was repeated at intel walls till
the last spark finally expired and all was
black.
Each time that he made a trip to the
drawer there were certain ominous sounds,
as of passionate kisses that in the silence OF
the night sounded strangely loud, and then
a sob or two, and again a noise as though he
kissed something. Each time that he came
back to his chair he flung himself down
more heavily, his head hung lower on his
breast and his arms depended in a pitiful,
helpless way, as though he were deeply de-
iected.
The man who had struggled so long and so
patiently had evidently succumbed to de-
spair. He reeled and staggered and fell
! across the bed, and lay as though death at
last had kindly come to his relief. But for
his breathing heavily you would have said
the man was already beyond the reach of
human aid.
1t was already late, and the slow hours
dragged YEARLY by, but the PROSTATE man
made no movement. The room grew cold,
and the scampering mice, the only living
objects there, made a noise unusually loud.
At length the late dawn. gray and chilly,
looked in between the curtains, and revealed
the form on the bed, outstretched and mo-
tionless.
A letter lay on the table by the stove:
Dearest of Mothers I know you Will say I
am wrong again; that | ought not to feel as / do.
But after the long years that have passed so
YEARLY, I nave now reached the point where 1t
would have killed me 70 have gone on as | did.
1t was death, too. to give up. But at last | have
solved it all, and if you could but realize the
great JOY that has come to me this night, you
would forgive the wrong. Believe me, mother
dear, l am the happiest man in town.
LOCKE WAMsLEY.
And there on the bed, after years of patient
toll and endeavor, lay this gentle fellow, at
perfect rest for the first time since the dav
that had cost him so much pain and suffer
ing. There was no trace Of what he had ell
dured; no bitterness in his honest face, but
rather a smile. He had solved the desperate
problem of his existence, and was dead drunk
for the first time in his life-"the happiest
man in town."
Shakespeare on Kissing.