The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1886-02-10
The Mysterious Reporter.
BY AN OLD NEWSPAPER NAN.

BY AN OLD
Many years ago I was the editor OF
weekly newspaper, published in a -four
ishing town on the Mississippi river in I'LL
nois, and one day, finding we needed an
additional reporter, 1 sat down to write
to a friend in Chicago, requesting that
one be sent me, but before had written
the date line the door of my Office opened
and a young man entered and inquired
for the editor. The new conner was cvl-
dently of Irish birth, and the grace and
refinement of his greeting, as he came to
my side, marked him as a cultivated gen
tleman. He was of medium height, we'll
proportioned body, perfectly formed
head, large dark eyes, clean shaven face,
hair black and glossy and lying in thick
curls, fine teeth, and a clear red and
white complexion. But what most i'm
pressed me as looked into this new face
was its smile. This seemed to have its
birth about the eyes, and from thence
flashing to every other feature, illumina-
ted the whole with a soft brightness ire
sistible in its attractiveness and impossi-
bic to discribe. Altogether l thought |
had never met with handsomer, man
1ier man. The card he handed me bore
the name of Sullivan, and he went on to
explain that he was twenty-three years of
AGE, graduate of an Irish college, and
had recently been reading law in Dublin
and doing some reporting for a city
journal there; but that circumstances had
induced him to come to this country for
q prolonged stay, and he was anxious to
obtain newspaper work in the West. He
had no references, but was 80 strongly
Impressed in his favor that consented
to give him trial.
So our business connection began; and
I was not long in discovering that in him
I had secured a valuable assistant. He
was thorough and efficient in everything
he undertook, and seemed anxious for
constant occupation-would plead for it
in such nervous, feverish way that l
came to suspect he had some great trouble
on his mind, that only steady employ
fient could relieve. He seemed to be
solitary in all his ways. Had he so
chosen he might, by the natural charm of
his manner, made sincere friend of ev-
ery person with whom he came in con-
tact; but nobody, except myself, could
get beyond the line of business &C
auaintance with him. Any attempts at
more than this he promptly checked by
an assumption of the most chilling po-
iteness. To me, as the months passed by,
he grew to be gentle, patient and at
tached friend; while in return I loved
him as brother, and it panied me to see
the depression of mind which l had no.
ticed soon after our first acquaintance
gradually increasing in intensity. My
wife tried to divert his mind by making
up little parties of pleasant young people
at our house. He would always honor
her invitation to these gatherings; but If
he knew was at the office-as / gener-
ally was until late every night-he would
get away as soon as he could, without &C
tual rudeness, and come to me and say
something to the effect that he would
like to help me with my work if l would
let him-that everybody was kind and
pleasant, but he had no heart for ordinary
social conversation, and just wanted to be
alone with me. The sweet, almost child
like, expression of his face at such times
there was no resisting, and I usually let
him have his own way without remon-
STRANGE.
But, Notwithstanding Sullivan's disin-
clination to mix with social circles, he be-
came very popular with the towns
people by reason of his great physical
strength and courage. l could give a
score of incidents illustrating this. He
once kicked burly hotel porter half
across the public square for burning lit
tie negro girls ear with lighted cigar;
and I was walking along the levee with
him, on another occasion, when he rushed
on board a steamboat at the landing and,
with one blow, knocked the mate over
board for cruelty beating deck-hand.
He was also a great lover of little chill
drcn, and expended liberal share of his
salary in toys and sweets for them, and
was ready to fight in defense of the most
ragged and dirty little imp among them
on the slightest provocation. Saturday
was a holiday in our Office, and it was in
the town schools, and so it came about
that at an appointed hour on that day a
troop of children, whose acquaintance he
had made in his walks about the nci gh-
borhood, would come focking to our
rooms. None went away empty-handed.
If the supply of bon-bons gave out, he
would substitute two or three coppers for
each of the others. Then he would sing
them some simple Irish songs, and wind
up the entertainment with little speech,
both amusing and instructive to his
youthful audience. He said to me, on
one of these occasions, when the depart
ing footsteps Of the happy company had
ceased to echo along the hallway: ITO
me there is no music half so sweet as the
laugh of little child! always feel a
pity for them, knowing the mountains OF
pain and sorrow the most of them will
find lying across the paths they must
travel in life"
Sullivan had been with me nearly two
years, and his tendency to melancholy
seemed to have become disease, and was
wearing his life away, while unmistakable
signs of sleepless nights appeared in his
face. No persuasion could induce
him to consult a physician, and
all my attempts to get a hint of 1hs
cause of his trouble, in order that
might offer some consolatory advice, were
in vain. 1 finally suggested few week:
rest and trip around the lakes, and t<
this he replied: ooh; no! dear old fel
low. Work! work! work! is the pana
cea for me, if there be one in this world