The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-01-21
IN DARKNESS AID IN DANGER.

have reason for writing this tale,
or it would not become public property.
Once. in a moment of confidence, /
made friend acquainted with some
curious circumstances connected with
one period of my life. i believe asked
him to hold his tongue about them--he
says not. Anyway, he told another
friend, with embellishments L suspect;
this friend told another. and so on and
on. What the tale grew TO at last l
shall probably never learn; but since
was weak enough to trust my private
affairs 10 another / have been looked
upon by my neighbOrs as man with
history-one who has romance hidden
away beneath an outwardly prosaic life.
For myself ] should not trouble about
this. ! should laugh at the garbled YER
siOns Of my story set floating about by
nv own indiscretiOn. 1t would matter
little to me that one good friend has an
idea that | was once Communist and
a member Of the inner circle of secret
society-that another has heard that L
have been tried on capital charge
that another knows | was at one time
Roman Catholic, on whose behalf a
special miracle was performed. If |
were alone in the world and young. |
dare say | should take no steps To still
these idle Tumors. Indeed, very young
of curiosity and speculation.
But i am not very young, nor am l
alone. There is one who Is dearer to
me han life itself. One from whose
heart. ] am glad TO say, every shadow
left by the pat is rapidly fading-One
who only wishes to live her true sweet
life without mystery or cOncealment-
wishes to DO thought neither better nor
worse than she really is. 1t IS she who
oh
ports which are flying about as to our
antecedents-she who is veXed by those
leading questions sometimes asked by
1nquisitiVe friends: call back old MEM
cries of 10Y and grief. and tell every one,
who cares TO read. all he can possibly
wish to know, and il may be more than
he has a right to know, Of our lives.
This done, my lips are sealed forever
on the subject. My tale is here-let the
inquisitive take his answer from it, not
from me.
Perhaps. after all, | write this for my
own sake as well. ] also hate mysteries.
One mystery which ! have never been
able to determine may have given me a
dislike to everything which will not adj
init of an easy explanation.
To begin, | must go back more years
than ] care to enumerate; although /
could, if necessary, fix the day and the
five. j was rich. having when | came
of age succeeded to an income of about
two thousand year; an income which,
being drawn from the funds, | was Ehle
TO enjoy without responsibilities or anx-
iety as TO its stability and endurance.
Although since my twenty-first birth
day j had been my own master, | had
no eXtrayagent follies to weigh me
down, no debt to hamper me. | was
40 or /
ed again and again on my pillow and
said that my life for the future would
be little more than a curse to me.
Had death lust robbed me of one who
was dear TO me? No; the only ones l
had ever loved, my father and mother,
had died years ago. Were my rawlings
those peculiar to an unhappy lover? No;
my eyes had not yet looked passion into
Il Woman's eyes--and now would never
do so. Neither death nor love made my
lot seem the most miserable in the
world.
/ was young, rich, free as the wind to
follow my own devices. / could leave
England tomorrow and visit the most
beautiful places on the earth; those
places I had longed and determined to
see. Now, | knew / should never see
them, and / groaned in anguish at the
thought.
Ny limbs were strong. | could bear
fatigue and exposure. | could hold my
own with the best walkers and the swift
est runners. The chase, the sport, the
trial of endurance had never been too
long or too arduous for mel passed
my left hand over my right arm and felt
the muscles firm as of old. Yet | was
as helpless as Samson in his captivity.
For even as Samson, / was blindl
Blindl Who but the victim can even
family comprehend the significance of
thatwo Who can read this and gauge
the depth of my anguish as / turned
and turned on my pillow and thought
of the fifty years of darkness which
might be mine-a thought which made
me wish that when fell asleep it might
be to wake no more?
Blind After lowering around me
for years the demon of darkness had at
last laid his hand upon me. After let
ting me, for awhile, almost cheat my
self into security, he had swept down
upon me, folded me in his sable wings
and blighted my life. Fair forms, sweet
sights, bright colors, gay scenes mine
no more! He claimed them all, leaving
me darkness, darkness, ever darkness!
Far better to die, and, it may be, wake
in new world of light-"Better, |
cried in my despair, better even the
dull red glare of Hades than the dark
ness of the world'
This last gloomy thought of mine
shows the state of mind to which was
reduced.
The truth is that, in spite of hope
held out to me, had resolved to be
hopeless. For years l had felt that my
foe was lying in wait for me. Often
when gazing on some beautiful object,
some fair scene, the right to enjoy which
made one fully appreciate the gift of
sight, a whisper seemed to reach my
ear-"Some day l will strike again, then
it will be all OVER L tried to laugh at
my fears, but could never quite get rid
of the presentiment of evil. My enemy
had struck once-why not again?
Well / can remember his first appear
ance-his first attack. / remember a
light-hearted school-boy SO engrossed
in sport and study that he scarcely no.
ticed how strangely dim the sight of
one eye was getting, or the curious
change which was taking place in its
appearance. | remember the boys faith
er taking him TO London, to large dull
looking house In quiet dull street. /
remember our waiting in a room in
which were several other people; most
of whom had shades or bandages over
their eyes. Such doleful gathering it
was that felt much relieved when we
were conducted to another room in
which sat a kind, pleasant-spoken man,
called by my father Mr.. jay. This emil
nent man, after applying something
which know now was belladonna to
my eyes, and which had the effect for a
short time of wonderfully improving
my sight, peered into my eyes by the
aid of strong lenses and mirrors-I re-
member at the time wishing some of
those lenses were mine-what splendid
burning glasses they would makel Then
he placed me with my back to the win
dow and held lighted candle before
my face. All these proceedings seemed
so funny that / was half inclined to
laugh. My fathers grave, anxious face
alone restrained me from so doing. As
soon as Mr.. Jay had finished his re-
searches he turned to my father:
Hold the candle as held it. Let it
shine into the right eye first. Now, Mr..
Vaughan, what do you see? How many
candles, mean?"
'Three-the one in the centre small
and bright, but upside down."
"Yes; now try the other eye. How
many there?"
My father looked long and carefully.
Il can only see one" he said, "the
large one"
This is called the catoptric test, an
old-fashioned but infallible test, now
almost superseded. The boy is suffer-
ing from lenticular cataract"
This terribly sounding name took
away all my wish to laugh. 1 glanced
at my father and was surprised to no
tice his face wearing an expression of
relief.
That may be cured by an operation"
he said.
Certainly; but in my Judgment it is
not well to NEEDLE, so long as the other
eye remains unaffected"
rs there dangery"
There is always danger of the disease
appearing in the sound eye; but, of
course, it may not happen. Come to
me at the first sign of such thing.
Good-morning."