The weekly Thibodaux sentinel and journal of the 8th Senatorial District. [volume] (Thibodaux, Lna. [i.e. La.]) 1875-1898, 1883-06-30
"HOME, SWEET HONE"

day long had enveloped the city, grew
more dense and tell in beaded drops
Of rain. The gas lights burned bright
" at the corners, but it was a very |
dreary night to be out in. Yet crowds
filed the streets, for even in night
storms the great thoroughfares are new
er deserted. Guilt and wretchedness
are always wakeful aud abroad. To
realize the d~esolation of loaeliness one
must be a stranger in a crowded city,
with a sensitive nature, aud a refine
ment that shrinks from rude contacts
md uncongenial cOmpanionsh,p.
Alone in the country with the blue sky
above Us, and the lgreen grass beneath
our feet, there are charms hat WOO US
to forgetfulness. There is much music
in the running 'trcam and beauty in
the flowers that grow upon its banks.
Some German writer, l have forgotten
who. calls flowers the stars of earth.
and stars the flowers Of heaven. Fair
and radiant flowers they are, and shed
their brightness on the smoke wreathed
city. but in their %matchless, softened
and mellowed light seem to linger more
pleasantly on green fields and waving
corn.
Alone in London! Dreary and desc
late reality, that swelled almost to bors
ting a weary and aching heart. The
stranger gathered his thin cloak around
his shiveling form. and drew his hat
over his face with a sensitive shrinking
from the crowd that rudely jostled paat
him. He was alone in London, and
very poor. not even having a shilling
to procure a scanty supper.
Somewhere in dark part Of the city,
where the gas lights were few. up many
pair of stairs. Was the garnet in which
he slept, but in it there was nothing
save the darkness, one broken chair
and a wretched bed with its scanty GOV
ering.
When he entered this desolate cham
Der in nights like this. an unseen CON
pany surrounded him. the spirits of the
viewless air; and in the wailings of the
wind. they told him strange mysterious
tales Of wretchedness and dread. until,
half wild with dark i~maginings. he
rushed forth in the night and in the
pelting storm. Thus through the chill
ing sleet and rain he walked the streets
looking into the hard faces of the pass
ers by and wondering if in all London
there was another man who had no one
to care tor him, no one to love him and
then lie thought how deliciously strange
it would seem to him-a stranger and
wanderer for many years~to be loved.
He hoped the blessed light would
dawn upon him, but in the darkness Of
this night it seemed a great way off
the cloud of poverty and gloom that
wrapped his heart was too cold and
deep, he feared. for human sympathy
and love to penetrate. He seemed to
see before him. Fate. with weird fin
gers weaving the mystic web of his
lonely destiny, and as he watched the
phantom's hands with feverish intensity
he wondered if, at some future day.
that a mantle of brightness might fall
upon him instead of a pail. A strain
Of sweet, sad music broke in upon his
lonely musings. Over all refined ma
lures music has an absorbing power.
and though it often fills the soul with
sadness, it casts upon it the spell of an
Irresistible fascination. and tho stranger
paused in his desolate walk to listen to
the song. The windows of the princely
mansion were but half yelled, and he
could see the happy group that surroun
ded the piano. and the fair girl that
sang the soft minor air which sank
into the listeners heart.
He was a poet and had written songs
OF tenderness and love for others to
sing. Himself. he could not sing with
such . weight upon his heart. The
light of genius was in the eye. aud the
Imagery of a fervld Imagination gather
ed round his brains, and the poets ma :
tive impulse. loving, warm and true.
lived within his heart.
In the sensitive and gifted the long