Connecticut western news., 1889-06-05
At this period experienced one of the

SIO0toSs 8lAOA0 VI ny AAos AooV uAy dear grandfather. He died peacefully, tended and beloved by all of us to the last. He possessed one of those rare natures in which egotism never found place, and whose active goodwill never spared any pains to give pleasure to those whom he loved. He had one of those tender and delicate souls which neglect themselves so that they may think the more of others, and consider themselves fully recompensed by smile, finding their happiness in the happiness which they create for others.
 shall always remember the painful impressions which we experienced when, month after the death of this dear relative, we went to his apartment where we found the old furniture and the familiar objects which reminded us of him. A strange servant opened the blinds abruptly, being indifferent to an emotion he could not understand. The light from without suddenly filled the room and with it entered breath of fresh air, bringing in the noise of the street. Death gave way to life. And with life, its stern duties. The apart ments of our dear grandfather were to be rented, and we must remove the fur niture, empty the closets and clear away for the newcomer who was to occupy the rooms. The moving was begun and I was painfully affected. It seemed to me that all that yet remained to recall my grand father was about to be scat tered and broken up.
 The regular mode of life which had existed for more than thirty years seemed to have left its mark in every part of this little abode. Each piece of furni- ture removed, and each drawer emptied, was memory stirred and uprooted. Yes, am sure that these hundreds of trifes, collected So long ago, suffered greatly in being torn pitilessly from their customary places and from the peaceful obscurity in which they reposed. One of the company uttered an astonished "Oh!" and showing me the lower DOT tion of closet which he had just opened, cried:
 "Henry, see herel''
 Hooked, and Isaw-Oh! dear grand father, dear and excellent man!-I saw the lower shelves of the closet filled with books all alike, leaves uncut, and blue covers which l recognized at once: ''The Swallows" "The Swallowsl"
 There it was complete, the first edition of my poems, this edition which was ex- hausted so rapidly, ''which people bought, and of which no one spoke" as Massol had said. I should think they didn't speak of it! Grandfather had bought the whole edition; he was the unknown public!
 Ikneeled and touched with trembling hands those volumes which were unread and old at the same time. Some of them had the stamps of the most remote bookstores; one came from Temple Boulevard, another from the Odeon booths. As I handled them, seemed to see my dear grandfather going out with his light step, as he used to say, and running all over Paris to buy his grandson's book. l saw him enter a store, ask proudly for "The Swallows" 1" by Henry Didier, buy two or three copies (as many as he could without ex- citing the suspicious of the bookselleD, and take them away under his arm, laughing to himself over his touching ruse. Returning homo, I saw him run ming quickly to this closet and conceal ing his booty, delighted that the pile continually increased in size. He had kept the secret for more than fifteen years. His delicacy wanted none of the thanks which it SO richly deserved.
 Then I recollected what he had said to me, smiling, the day that I received Massol's letter:
 "Are you happy youngster2 We'll, no more could be desired.'
 Yes, I was happy, dear grandfather. No success which l have since achieved has equalled this happiness on learning that the first edition of my first book was exhausted. I know now in what manner it was exhausted, have dlscov- cred your innocent ruse, and to the passed joy is added my deep gratitude to him who gave me this joy. I could not have loved you more; but your deli cate action has shown me that the most attractive thing in this world, the most radiant and sublime, is kind heart.
 Henry Didier ceased speaking. A tear glistened on his cheek. And we, his hearers, sweetly affected by his story, remained silent. for the