Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1885-10-15
VANITY HARDWARE.
PART THE SECOND.
CHAPTER /.
WHETHER TO DIE OR
BY ALAN MUIR


Since novel writing began, was there ever
a story which, having been ended honestly
and in good faith, all things being wound
up, should Of its own persistsncy start of
againi ! had written The End;n l truly
believed that the last of the story had been
told; yet here sit this sunny August morn
ing, pen in hand, and my mind full of the
most ex.' Nordinary sequel. ........
Why should / not give you an odd exam
plel Suppose. strolling one summer day in
Hampton churchyard, you read on a tomb
stone, "He-e lie the mortal remains of Dr.
John Book, who lived in the parish, boy and
man, for matter of sixty-fi five years. more
or less. Presently after delivering yourself
of sigh for auld acquaintance you walk
down the street. There, sauntering along
the shady side in a new coat and hat, you
meet your humble servant That would be
a fine surprise, I take it. Now here, you OBJ
serve. is the novel of Tumbledown Farm,
which expired July 81, 1884, and was buried,
tombstoned and forgotten; and behold
Tumbledown Farm on foot again, trudging
down the long lane of life, that seems to
have many turning, but never an end.
But how shall tell the remainder of the
storyl Shall l tell it in the order Of its oc-
currence to myselfl or shall l throw the
narrative into the order of time, leaving
YOU to guess how and when each Bit came to
nv knowledgel l shall tell it in the order
of time, and not trouble myself Or you with
explanations, which any one who thinks for
an instant can supply for himself; while
those who don't think, you observe, will
never raise the question.
Just one word in your ear The first part
of this story, l told you, was written by me-
assisted by miss. Now, if the whole truth
were told, this second part ought to be
headed, ''Written by miss assisted by me-"
for most of the facts following reached me
through my young lady, and are related in
her own pretty language. If you could but
see the free flowing handwriting of some
leaves, and the crooked, grabbed pothooks
and hangers Of other leaves, you would feel
no surprise when one paragraph reads like
old Dr. Books parlor and the other like Miss
Millicent Hervey's drawing room. Have /
said enoughs
Vanity had been dangerously wounded
The ball had entered her side, and the doc
tors had great trouble in extracting it. The
patient suffered much and from weakness
she dropped into fever, and lay flushed and
moaning and wandering in her mind right
on to the time of the falling of the leaves
The physicians said she would die, in all
probability; but she rallied, and with a
weary heartsick look upon her face, turned,
as it were, up the toilsome road leading
back from still death to the life that now is
A lady was nursing in the hospital who
was what I used to call nun-only I be-
ieve now the saying is ''sister, in conse-
quence of belonging to our church, and not
to the Papists. She was, in point of fact, a
Puseyite. This lady did not like, being
myself member of the Protestant religion,
and not caring for new-fangled ways dur.
ing the matter Of, let us say, five or ten
years which l have to live. Whether the
Popish gown and bonnet made the face
brighter by contrast or not, can't say; but,
without doubt, the lady was pleasant to
see, providing, you observe, that you
looked at her and not at what
she wore. never saw that
woman out of temper. never saw her in a
hurry. Never saw her without a fine, healthy,
hearty smile, as if, to put it in my way,
she had eaten a good breakfast, and was
ready for the days work. And they do tell
me that sometimes when there was bad
case, or one of great suffering, her goodnes:
was uncommon. AMI t1at the very touch of
her hand on throbbing forehead seemed to
cool it. The prayers she would say were
wonderful enough to make one think that
all parties might find themselves right when
they got right up to the doors of the good
place. For all that, we must he careful to
maintain the Protestant religion.
This lady, then, was at the hospital when
Miss Vanity was brought in, and she heard
all the awful story; and really she seemed to
be drawn to the young woman by what she
was told. The doctors had their own notions
about Vanity, which is little wonder; and
remarked upon her beauty; and gave each
other the whisper; and were tolerably sure
that she was knowing one. Somehow this
lady, Sister Catherine never took that view
of things, but treated the sick girl like a
daughter; never let fall a hint that she was
not as good as herself. Anyhow, she found
the way to Vanity Hardware's heart. f
// a "s