, 1884-01-19
NITRATE OF SILVER
An Elderly Lover Dyes for "a widow's
sake, and then Dies In Despair.

49, 80
[Meriden Press Recorder
But the perfldious antics of "The Wlscon-
din Girl7 are as comedy to tragedy compared
with what has recently happened at Harden
burg, in the proud state of Now York. A
Mr.. Clay, unheeding the fatherly advice OF
the elder Mr.. Weller, did not beware of the
widow, and In a moment of weakness he
fell IA captive to the wiles of the Widow
Truman. 1t is to be regretted that the am
alive gentleman had not read Mrs. Norton
to better purpose. II he had ever read her at
all, that he might have grasped the full sig
nihcauce of her injunction to
Love not, love not, We hapless sons Of Clay"
but it is clear that he did not, for he made
himself Il martyr to a woman's within, and be
Is now most hapless clay indeed. Mr.. Clay
is described by the local paper as a handsome
man, erect of figure, graceful of carriage and
ruddy Of complexion. But his hair was gray,
and now he resembles Hamlet's father In
hat he has gone to his account with all his
imperfections on his head.
The Widow Truman lured him on by art
full SMILES, kept on tap, as 1t were, by reason
of her having her hand in as a smiler for an-
other man. She told Mr.. Clay that she knew
he was not as old as he looked, but she OBJ
jected to him us n husband on the ground
that he looked old. Mr.. Clay was not the
first man who has "got an idea, /" and, as the
sequel proved, he was one of those who, when
they do get one, would confer blessings on
generations unborn IL they would strangle
their idea In its infancy. He thought OF
nitrate of silver and in due time his faded
locks were transformed from their snowy
whiteness to an ambrosial brown. Then he
called ON the widow, and with his eve In a
fine frenzy rolling he renewed his suit. During
his seclusion he had not kept up with the
current events of H~ardenburg, but he soon
learned that there had been another trans.
formation going on. While his bleached
capillary adornment was translating to am
brosial brown the widow bad also done some
thing in that line, and her ambrosial Brown
turned out to be six feet high. Worse than
this; while Mr.. Clay had tnrried Mr.. Brown
had married.
The rest Il soon told. Turning his saddened
face toward his bachelor home, where he had
once hoped to dwell In the chastened atmos-
phere wrought by woman's dear presence,
and where, perchance, he had sometimes
dreamed that the quaint old rooms would
some day resound to the echo OF childish
chatter and the music of blithesome laughter
swelling from youthful threats, to this
home doomed to lifelong desolation, Mr..
Clay went and there he pondered on the
changes-chemica and otherwise-which come
to us in this vain, transitory existence which
men call life. The dye was cast, the Widow
Truman had yielded to the Establishments OF
another; there was nothing left for him, and
so, as the clocks announced the midnight
hour, emptying the contents of the hair dye
bottle into a glass, he swallowed the fatal po-
ton. The sun rose and shed its genial
warmth next morning, and its rays pene-
trnting farther and farther into the desolate
rooms Of the Widow Truman's lover, came
at last and kissed the upturned face OF one
who dyed that she might live, assuming for
the sake OF the ~paraphrase that she had at
tanned to that most perfect life on earth-ths
absolute supremacy of happiness secured
through a compatible and lasting union.