River Falls journal. [volume] (River Falls, Pierce County, Wis.) 1872-2019, 1884-01-31

chetted for awhile, and laughed to hear
the inn-kesper dragging his lame leg
Through the hall prior to closing the
shutters. At last all was hushed; the
| rain had ceased; and they suddenly felt
themselves wrapped about with the
great silence and the deep solitude OF
country night.
Without a word she took the solitary
candle and placed it on the mantle
piece. before the dingy and fly-specked
mirror, and commenced her night toll
cite. He, sitting in the great arm chair,
with feet crossed, watched her, drowsy
with contentment and fatigue. She had
dotted her dress and skirt, retaining
only the satin corset which clasped her
slender waist, and was lifting her some-
what slender arms gracefully above her
head to unfasten her hair, when she
saw in the glass her beloved smiling at
her; and in the glass she returned his
smile. How he loved her at that
moment!
To-day he is old, this writer of love
stories, this merchant of dreams. His
hair is grizzly, wrinkles have gathered
about his eyes, his stomach Is weak--he
is broken down man, as they say.
This morning when he awoke, with q
bad taste in his mouth, and received
that notice he did not at first want to
90 to the funeral. Why attend the fun
eral of man he despised? What was
the good of such hypocrisy? 1t was
literary "comrade," q confrere-how
ridiculous the worldl-hut an unscrup-
ulous fellow, venal scribbler. Never
theless, he had never done him any
harm. Quite the contrary. Without
any personal interest, just for pure good
will, that journalist had always showed
him sympathy that made him blush to
think of.-had praised him with fact,
and had even warmly defended him
when he needed defender. If they
were not exactly friends they had cer-
tainly been comrades; they had shaken
hands on meeting each other, whether
in the street or at the theatre. Mol he
must certainly attend that funeral; he
owed that much politeness to the dead
man at all events.
And on that sloppy, rainy November
morning he shaved aud dressed ca .lier
than usual, breakfasted in haste, the
eggs were not fresh--phew!--) took
cab which smelt of wet dog, and got late
to church, when the funeral was nearly
over.
"Portez-arnes! Presentz--armes"
And the roll of mufiied drums fell up
on his ear.
What! Soldiers? All, yes! it is truei
there is q Cross of Honor on the catafal-
uue. The deceased had obtained that
cross in the slime of a political intrigue,
with which some female names were
scandalously mixed up. And the poet,
as he bowed down at the Elevation, felt
ashamed of the crimson ribbon that hung
at his own breast.
But since he came he might as well
remain to the end. The absolution is
given. He follows the rest in line,
sprinkles q little holy water, re-enters
his cab, and the funeral procession
moves through the boulevards TO the
cemetery. There the eternal and lugu-
brious comedy Of death is repeated; the
mourners who have been laughing all
the way about last nights scandal, now
assume a solemn or fearful expression of
countenance; the ridiculous orator lies
like a quack in his funeral Grafton,
worded especially for the purpose of
putting himself. He foresees that at
the exit he must again shake hands
with those whose touch is dishonor TO
him. He slips aside before the end,
and alter concealing moment behind
magnificent monument erected to the
memory of a drygoods merchant, hur-
ries away by an untrequented path.
1t has ceased TO rain; but the sooty
sky, tAe dead leaves in the mud, the
black trees dripping upon the tombs, the
unhealthy, epidemical winds sighirg as
it passes--all are ghastlyl
Suddenly an indispensable sadness
falls upon the solitary dreamer. lie re-
members that he is no longer young,
that he is no longer strong, that his life
is full of troubles and vexation, and that
his so-called "envied reputation" his
paper glory is nothing, absolutely moth
ing! He says to himself that when he
shall be laid in the ground, soon, the
same will be done for him as for that
worthless man-there will be the same
rafting of riae-hutts upon the pave
ment, the same Indifferent mourners
Joking in their hacks-the same gro-
tesoue orator in his white cravat utter
ing absurdities with theatrical emotion,
while a complaisant friend holds an um-
brella over him.
And he is so saturated with sadness
and disgust that he wishes he were al
ready dead, and that it were all over
forever. Oh! how good it would be to
sleep!
Then. in the murmuring Of the sob
bling wind, that bend the Expresses, he
faneies that he hears-as in response to
his CHASTITY wish--those words which
recall to him the best moments of his
life-the words uttered only by his be-
loved mother and the dear woman who
loved him most of all:
"Malntenant, it s'agit de faire dodoI'