Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-09-06
MY FRIEND SPARKLING.
A Troubled Conscience and a
 Haunting Presence.

lam manufacturer of and dealer in grave stones and monuments. There are three men who habltually associate death with busi- neSs-the doctor, the undertaken and the tombstone maker. l have the finer feelings and sentiments of the average man, yet my occupation has led me to regard the great and solemn change chiefly from a business point of view. That men should die has seemed to mo as a matter of course, and as necessary means for the support of my self and family. Still, death may produce great shock in mo, as was the case with that of my friend Sparling,
 We had been friends from boyhood. He lived near me; my way to and from busi- ness led past his house. I met him almost daily. Mutual assistance over some of the hard places of life, similarity of tastes, and frequent interchange of thought and opinion had endearcd each of us to tho other.
 For week had been busy with prcpara- tions for long business tour. It was to last three months. The day before my de- parture I had met Sparling and had said to hlm: Il am going on another tour. Lest we should not meet tomorrow, let us say goodbye now" We separated with a hearty hand-shake and the friendlicst of farewells.
 l was to take tho evening train of the next day. My ticket for New Orleans was in my pocket my trunk packed, tho parting with those at home was Ovcr and the hack was taking me to the atation. The afternoon paper was in my hand; 1 opened it and the following paragraph caught my eye:
 "SUDDEN DEATH-As we go to press the painful news reaches us of the death of our esteemed citizen, Ezra Sparling, which oc- cured at h:s residence about three o'clock this afternoon. The occurrence will be as startling painful to his host of friends and acouaintances, as the deceased has ap- parently been in the best of health. The cause was probably heart disease. Particulars are necessarily deferred till our next lssue.'' The paper dropped from my hand; the shock made mo faint for c moment. Spar ling dead! 1 could not comprehend it.
 The hack had just turned into the street on which was his house. I looked at my watch; there was not one moment to spare.
 Shall I tell the truth that this certainly gave me great relief, just then2 I, of all men, should be with the afflicted family in that dark hour; and here was an excellent excuse for the non-performance of the sad duty. 1 shrank, as all do, from the dis agreeable task.
 The hack went swiftly to the house: the driver knew he had no time to lose I saw In the twilight that the blinds were closed :; two or three neighbors were on tho front steps. I had a glimpse of woman doing something at the door. Putting crape on the knob,'' l said to myself, and the scene disappeared like some fleeting picture con- jurcd up by the memory.
 So my journey was commenced with a heavy heart. I looked about anxiously for somebody at the station who could tell mo | something more about my friends death. Nobody could. The two or three with whom I was able to exchange few words about | it before the express came and went knew what did and no more. They had seen the 1 brief newspaper announcement, and that was all.
 l lay awake two hours that night after my berth in the sleeper was made up, thinking of poor Sparling, of his bereaved family, and what ought to do in the premises. It was an unusual occasion with me; nobody not even relative, had ever departed and l left the gap in my life that this man would leave. Naturally, began to condemn my self for hastening away as had done, after l learning of Ezra's death. To be sure, my plans were all previously made, and the three days delay that would be, necessary in offering my cancellations to the family and attending the funeral would be incon- venient That was all, merely little de- engagement of my plans, not even involving any business loss. I became angry and dissatisfied with myself as these reflections proceeded, and tried to excuse my conduct by the plea that the news had come upon me so suddenly that I had no time for the calm reflection necessary to a change of | plan. My conscience was a stern monitor, and would not excuse me so easily. "He would never have acted thus toward you,' was its comment upon my apologies.
 I tossed about uneasily; proposed in my mind that l would get off at Cleveland and return homo; resolved the next mo- ment that l would do nothing of tho kind, but would send long tel egram to the widow, explaining the necessity of my absence and rendering my sympathy; decided next that this would ba an absurd thing to do--and at last fell to sleep with nothing settled. When I awoke 1 was three hundred miles from home, and Cleveland was an hour behind me. l tried
 Wm. H. Collins,