The Caldwell tribune. [volume] (Caldwell, Idaho Territory [Idaho]) 1883-1928, 1885-04-03
orch to meet me. l took him in nv

'John,' said my wife, ''dO you
think that YOU are steady enough to
carry him Pr
looked at her reproachfully. AS 1
turned to walk down the steps into the
yard, stumbled and fell. Merciful
God the littlo fellows arm was bro
ken. l ran to summon surgeon.
After calling at the office of the sur
geon and leaving my call on the slate,
| went to a neighboring saloon to
steady my nerves. / lost my recol-
lection. l remember that l brushed
sawdust from my coat. | remember a
dark night and "a rainy day-I remem-
Der drinking with a one-legged man
but nothing was tangible. When 1
became sober, when consciousness
came upon me with dull, painful
awakening, was in a disreputable
part of the city. had taken up my
abode in den of ruilians. l ask you
you who read this-would not death
by hanging have been too good for
me P tried to pray, but what right
had to call upon the great Master of
Life? None. l went home. The
house was deserted. | found the fol-
lowing note:
"My Dear Lost Husband; l can no
niger endure the thought of living
ith drunkard. do not leave you
in anger. have just prayed for you.
l do not suppose that we shall ever
meet again. Yours. MAUD"
CHAPTER III.
| went away from the town where 1
had dionrooad ,,,uco1f nboro I boI
trampled upon the affections of my
wife. 1t would be impossible to de-
scribe my wretchedness. l contem-
plated suicide, but 1 remained sober.
was late in carrying out so good a
resolve, and found but little cOnsola-
tion in the old adage, better late than
never, but with determination born
of semi-despair, l turned my back
upon every temptation. lived in the
hope that my wife would return.
When evening came, l would 60 to
our house, could not call it home
and sit under the vines, the vines
which Maud had trained with such
tender care. My little angel. His
of his shoes in a closet. kissed it.
Weary months crept along in tiresome
l had written many letters
to many distant friends, yet no one
could tell me where could find my
wife. Critics said that my work had
become melancholy. Is not the leaf
when the frost falls upon
itP The precious essence of life had
been squeezed from my soul. Time
and again l prayed that might die.
Once heard man, who did not think
that was near, say that l was losing
my mind. He was wrong. 1 had
100 much of my mind. l wrote a
book. 1t was sad cry, rather than a
7oice of sentiment, but the people
bought it. How surprised was.
Why do gay people like to read lines
# sadness; why does the gilded but
ertiy light upon the withered flowerp |
don't know.
When a friend asked me to take a
rink, said mo-" didn't say 81 be-
icve not" l said "no." Sometimes
he "hoofed" tempter would whisper
n my ear, but when ! turned upon
i'm, he would apologize and retire.
he scoundrel ! The world is full of
ews, but there was no news of Maud.
he must have heard of my book, and
moving that such book could have
My been written by sober man,
Thy did she not come back to me ?
andered aimlessly; l strolled with
ut pupose. took no delight in the
ttentlons which literary people paid
le. How could fair society smile up
n such wretchp A magazine said
lat had once been drunkard, and
/ encouragement to other men, held
le up as an example.
One day, in a section Of country
hich l had never before visited, L
rolled through an almost pathless
rest. l suddenly came upon little
g school house. would have pass
l on, but voice held me.
"Children," said the voice, 81 am
sd that you love me, but l must
ave you. 1 must go back to my hus-
Ind who has become a noble man.
e have long known each other and
e separation will be painful, but 1
ust go. have told you of the author
the book which read to you. That ,,
an is my husband-Henry' father. ,
Q does not know that Henry and ,
'ay for him" ,
"Maudw 1 exclaimed, flnging /,
zen the door and springing into the /,
ON.
"Oh, John ~ :
Her tears and mine fell on Henry's J
ad. "Thank God," said. Thank :
3D." Maud cried. .
Into the room where 1 sit, the sun !
ans fall. From the window, see .
,nry, riding stick horse. l have .
st told him little story, how the :,
If and the old dog went to picnic. :, "
, incredulously shook his head, but "
cepted tho recital without verbal y
l am in constant dread. =,
t he be snatched from me, but why :,
ould hep Fate, after all, is not so II
iel. Above my head hangs beau e.
ll picture of a man in whose hands II
clasped the hands of woman. =,
Q picture of the man bears some re- ~
nblance to me, but the fair artist w.
not done credit to the woman. w
nd painted the picture. Many peo- ~ -,
come to look at it. Art critics say =, "
t it is master piece, but Maud ~
Al Y y