Butte semi-weekly miner. [volume] (Butte, Mont.) 1886-1890, 1886-04-28

tlemenC cOulQ not scale Win tne truLuPce
OF her love sounding the charge. o father,
Agassiz with q single scale could ments lily
create the fish from which it was taken.
Then from my words know me, understand
mel"
The face OF the old man grew sterner and
sterner as his son proceeded, and he thus
answered him: t-..t
Understand you? understand you far
better than you understand yourself.
Dark-haired Alinda, is she not human?
Does she not eat and drink and do wrong?
I do not blame you for having loved her,
but blame you for not quenching the
flame. What do you suppose your love is?
I will tell you. The thirst for the eternal
less in every soul, but especially such as
yours, has thus an instinct of your dust.
That is why she is such q paragon. She is
not so to others. She can never be yours,
even were she the angel you deem her. You
know she can never be yours. There is q
gulf betwixt you, which can never be crossed.
You might with more reason attempt to
possess q star. Wisest is he who submits
without murmur to the inevitable. Life
is too short for regrets. You must change
your course Immediately, or we must part.
Promise that you will henceforth strive to
overcome these Weaknesses. love you.
Everything possess is at your disposal
Promise here that you will endeavor to
erase the image OF the dark-haired Alinda
from your consciousness. Promise me
this, or we must part"
Thus replied the son: II love you, my
father. I am willing, il need be, to lay
down my life for you. But what you ask
of me cannot do. / could not if / would
I would not if I could. Her memory
though my deepest woe, is somehow my
OILY joy. Would you despoil me OF my
only ioy?" a
The old mans eyes were now full ol
wrath, but his words were calm and slow
and their calmness and slowness made his
eyes more terrible. He arose from his
chair, and thus he spoke:
''This, then, is the result Of all l have
done for you. Very well. Be it SO. To
morrow 1 leave you forever. This castle
shall be yours. In yonder chest you will
find gold. will not leave you destitute
1t is not for me to punish you. You viii
be your own Nemesis. Some day you vii
wish you had "beyed me; not in this world
in the next. have lived longer than you
and know more. Follow your own obdu
racv. Treasure the image of the dark
haired Alinna, and some day your con
sciousness will be hell. Treasure thu
image OF the dark haired Alinda, turn YOU
gaze upon it, and if only with the same
intensity as now. and by and by you vii
lose your soul. You may not be aware o
it. however, for horribly stormless are thu
skies to the soul that is being lost, but yot
will lose your soul"
III
It was beautiful October day. One o
those days in the presence OF whose gOr
geons hours it seems irreverential to pursue
our petty concerns. One OF those days il
whose presence we are greater than our
selves. But the sordid, jostling throngs il
the Sahara of great city knew the sky
was clear and the sun shOne, and that wal
all. They were too busy chasing shadow
to recognize substance. All that is ephem
eral must be sw-ated for and acted for
The immortal things belong to erybody
All that is eternal and glorious in the uni
verse ia forever knocking at tine heart o
man, imploring for ingress, that it may b'
his servant. But he listens not, choosing
ra ther to be himself q slave to the ira nsien'
and the worthless.
1t was q beautiful October day, and a
man lay dying in a hovel in a narrow alley
in the Sahara OF great city. He waf
alone, but he had plenty of company, fol
he was with himself. It was afternoon
and the hand of death had been upon hin
ever since the morning; yet with an almos
superhuman energy he sat erect upon hi
couch of filthy blankets. Beside him was .
loaf OF hard bread PAL tly eaten. 1t was al
the food he had for several days. II yol
had walked alone through that unfre
quented alley, and look through the dirt
begrimed window, and seen his face, yot
| would shudder if you should think OF il
after you had been in the house after al
an hundred years. In his white and WASTED
hands he clutched a small miroor and wa!
looking into it with q passionate worship
| cleaning in his CLASSY eyes. 1t is the sa M
strange young man who paced SO restlessl!
| to and fro in the east-facinR room OF th
tower There is the same disheveled hair
There is the suffering pallorin the mercuria
ing dissolution. But how changed! Hi
degree! His lips are like a ma;den's! Hi
flaxen hair is almost black! His gray eye
| are large, black and lustrousl What see
he that maddens him with adoring Joy
He is gazing on the dark-haired Alinda! Fo
| twenty years he has treasured her image
his consciousness! For twenty years h
has i,nbibed it incessantfy! What at las
| is the dreadful result? His spirit has b'
come SO much like hers that only can sh
be clearly seen in his face. but the very col
tiguration of the head and color OF the hal
is like hers! See how nadly he gazes! II
is worshipping his own image now! He wi
die in an hour and will he worship himse
any less then? Will he find pleasure
aug ght but himself then if he cannot now
No He worships himself. He is all seltisf
ness. His soul must be lost!