San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1886-04-16

PALMER's PATIENT,' &c. &c.
One duh November day, some twelve or
fifteen years ago. the -AdcIdidc, hOmeward-
bound from Melbourne, sighted the misty
shores Of Hampshire. Her deck was crowd
ed with passengers, gathered in eager groups,
ppcring with anxious glowing eyes at the be-
loved land batlIcd in the chilly fog, where so
many dear and lOng-lOSt friends awaited
their return to welcome them with loving
arms TO cheerful lrcSdcs, after their long
journey across the mighty waste of water.
Apart from any OF the excited groups stood
two men in whose bOsOms the first appear
anCe of the brine-waShed walls of England
evidently awOke no such feelings of longing
enthusiasm, One was young fellow about
twenty-five years of age, a stalwart, ruddy,
hatchet-faCed son of the ''bush," muffied up
to the eyes in skin rug, and decidedly not
very agreeably impressed by the atmosphere
of the coast in early winter. He was the son
of an extensive sheep-farmer, of colonial
birth and education, visiting the home of his
fOrefathers for the first time, without any
prospect of a warm reception from the dis
tant cousins and remote kinsfOlk who We're
probably scarcely aware of his existence.
His companion, one Edward Ross, was a tall
weather-Staned man in the prime of life, a
man with a brown, carewOm face, heavily
bearded, and with weary listleSS eyes. These
two, without any previous acquaintance, had
been thrown much together during the long
voyage, had smoked and paced the decks by
the hour daily, discussing the prospects and
politics of the land they were leaving behind,
yet scarcely ever touching on personal topics,
though Jack Irving, the younger man, often
alluded casually to the paternal home ''up
country" and quoted the various experiences
of the governor and ''mGteT' In their agri-
cultural career. The other however had new
eT once spoken of or seemed to claim any ties
OF kindred or of friendship in either hemi-
sphere. All Irving knew of him was that he
was of English birth, had gone out to the
Colonies fortune-hunting, and was now re-
turning, his pockets very comfortably lined
indeed, after some dozen years of hard work.
''Well, | can't congratulate you, old fellow,
on the cheerful aspect of your native landr'
exclaimed Irving, breaking long silence.
at isn't exactly what should call an enliv-
ening prospect; and yet to judge by the ex-
preston of our fellOw-passengers' pixies, one
would think we were standing at the portals
of Paradise. Ugh! | don't think / shall
ever feel warm again! How does it affect
you, Ross? You certainly don't seem intOXi-
Gated with patriotic Tapturep'
Ross turned round slowly, and said dreami-
ly-
''Irving, did you ever read the story of
EnOch Arden?"
Mr. Irving shook his head; fiction, either
in prose or poetry, had not been much in his
line hitherto.
ARA l., I ,i,,lr ha or
ten" resumed the other, half speaking to
himsclf-''the story of a man who years ago
left his wife and family, TO whom he was
devotedly attached in order to make some
money for them-for life was hard struggle
in the old world, which was their home. He
was absent many years, endured many hard
ships, including shipwreck, and at last man.
aged to struggle back, only to find his wife,
who had long since believed him dead, mar
red to another man. At night he stole to
the window of her home, and saw her seated
by her llreSdc. a baby in her arms. and other
children, including his own, gathered round
her making "A rosy picture Of peace, comfort,
and serene happiness"
"Well, what did he do? Burst up the pict-
ure of serene happiness pretty quick, /
guess y
mo; he crept away and kept the secret of
his existence until he died. which was short
time afterwards"
"Oh, he did, did he? Well, don't think
much of your Enoch What's-his-name. /
dare say Mrs. T.. had the best of the bargain
in No -
Irving" said Ross, after few seconds
pause, taking no notice of this trenchant criti-
Cism, would you care to listen to the story
of my life? II feel somehow i'm a mood to
unbOsOm myself tonight | suppose it's the
breath of home that thus moves me to speak
to you, a comparative stranger, of people and
events which have lain buried in my brood
ing brain for 50 many silent years-so many
years that | sometimes fear my judgment
may have become warped by the constant
contemplation of dead grievances and past
sorrows. You are young and fresh, your
mind is free from the blight Of disappOint-
ment from the distempered fancies of a
sOured life-that is why now seek your
sympathy, your advice, by thus thrusting my
dismal story on you"
my dear fellow" exclaimed Irving hearth
ly, pray don't make so many excuses! /
should like-very much like-to hear your
story indeed, il its narration would be any
relief to you. We have chummed together
very pleasantly, you and l. and, though
do not think | am Of a particularly prying
nature, or take any supeTfluOus interest in my
neighbOrs' affairs, still do confess to a little
curiosity about your antecedents; and l have
often wondered what made YOU 50 different