Morris tribune., 1889-05-15
1.-THE Closing of tho Doors"

One of the most pathetic stories ever
told is that by James Payn. the novelist,
In the May Forum. He writes:
When was boy, one of the,&any things that
puzzle boys, and which they arSXoo proud to ask
to be explained to them, was what was the mean
ing of ''mulfied drums" Now know. for I am
growing very deaf.
He analyses the progressive oncoming
of the terrible atfliction with the minute
ness of a dying physician watching his
own life fading out At the first he heard
everything with abnormal keenness. He
heard far too we'll. At night there were
sudden explosions in his brain, like the
bursting of powder magazine. There
was sound about him like the buzzing
of hive of bees, and sometimes like the
roar of breakers, though he lived inland
The sounds. though, were within his
head, as he gradually learned. Just as
gradually he found that external sounds
were growing duller Then he found
himself saying sharply What" very
often People had somehow got into a
foolish habit Of mumbling their words.
At last, but not for good while, the hor-
rible truth flashed on him that he was
becoming deaf.
He consulted doctor and an aurist.
The doctor told him the trouble came
from nervous prostration. The aurist
said:
what is the matter with you is ner-
vous deafness. Something has occurred
to shock or depress you.
"He was quite right" says the novelist,
quietly. Then he refers no more to this
part of the subject.
The aurist told him what he wanted
was fresh air and constant supply Of
good news. Then Payn continues in the
same strain of submissive melancholy,
which is infinitely sadder than any down.
right complaining could be:
Since then have been getting gradually worse
The pleasure of conversation have lost
forever, which, being So can write of it, as few
others can, without passion or prejudice, as the
true biographer writes Of a dead man. For the
rest Of my life all that shall get Of it is scraps
such as kindly guests at table are moved to throw
to the dog whose importantly is disagreeable to
the rest of the company.
To some people it may seem small thing to
know that they shall never again hear bird sing
or even cuckoo clock strike, or even to lose the
conversation of their friends. But to me the re-
Election is O very sad one People seem
to me to be made to laugh so much more easily
than they used to be. Heaven knows l do not
grudge them their mirth. But it is sad to have to
ask my sweet, patient companion Cat the play what
has been said andwhile she is telling me, to the
great discomfort of my neighbors, we lose the
next speech, and perhaps the thread Of the play.
A deaf man is always at least one speech behind
the rest of the world. Let us hope we get our
hearing back, with all other good things we miss
in heaven.
By the by, / wonder who has got my hearing?
Force of any kind men Of science tell US. Is never
lost but must needs go somewhere or other.
hope whoever has my hearing will have the same
opportunities and make as good use OF It as did
What bright and genial utteranees, what assrr.
ances of love and friendship have entered at those
once open doorsl have listened to speech that
has been better than 'silver," and now that shall
hear it no more, how inestimable it seemsl As
the man who has lost his sight pictures with the
mental eyes that are still left to him the pleasant
fields and farms" the sea with its 'innumerable
SMILE and the we'll remembered faces Of his dear
ones, so conjure up with the same tender sense
Of loss and melancholy Joy the conversation of
fria