Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1890-08-14

r lived with me like moenbeam for fifty
S years, and l put my head down on the
e desk before me in a weak, unmanly way,
: and sobbed aloud.
} "They led me gently home, and left me
at my own door-with kind words. l
shall never go to the classroom again. My
career is over, and so have dragged my
} self to you, Carl, to you, who have known
} and loved her, for some word of comfort in
my distress.
!, Tell me, Carl, if in all your researches
into nature, you have found anything to
!. lay hold of for sure and certain hope in
, the immortal life ?''
The old mans words ended in strange,
eager whisper, and he clutched the Profess
sor's hand with strength of which he
himself was unconscious.
"Mein Gott," said Meyerling, suffering
sympathetic spasm of the heart, "why do
you, of all men, ask me this question
Did we not settle it years ago that the
head says no while the heart says yes;
that human affections in their purity and
strength and steadfastness seem to be a
promise of eternal life; that whether we
live again and preserve our conscious be-
ing or not, we will try to walk here as if
worthy of the immortal gift-in humility,
patience, unselfshness, striving to subdue
/ our passions, seeking the noblest things
for the good of our kind, looking with
humbled, awed reverence unto the high
est devoutly bowling before the powers we
| do no not understand, before the mysteries
that surround and battle us, walking in
obedience, tolerance, and love, seeing the
light, not through self-assertion and AFRO
gance and the pride of half knowledge, but
humbly, devoutly, upon our knees? Have
| we not settled it that the instincts are
| mighty, that possibly the starry guesses of
the soul far outreach the conclusions of
our little mole-eyed knowledge? Though |
we stumble and fall we must still go for |
ward, untiring in our search for the secret |
of mans destiny.
'But come with me, my friend, l will |
show you what has never been shown to /
any one on this side of the ocean. 1t does
us good to know that others have suffered |
the same pangs by which we are torn; that |
they still live, and endure, and labor, still
feel the sun and the rain and the dew, and
can still thank their maker for the gift of |
being"
The Professor took lamp and helped
his old friend up the stairs to his chamber.
He drew from under his bed little chest
of quaint foreign make and opened it with
small key. Then ne drew out woman's
gown, with faint delicate perfume in the
soft white folds. The muslin and fine lace
about the throat, the satin ribbons with
which it was garnished, were all sadly yell
lowed by time. Lying with the gown was
a baby's cap, a small embroidered morsel,
he took up in his big hand tenderly
sThis was the wedding gown of my young
wife, married but two years, and this was
our baby's cap, buried in the same grave"
The leaves of some brown faded and dried
flowers fell from the gown and crumbled
away at touch. 'sMy wife, my boy" he
repeated, bending over the chest, dead
twenty years, and yet mine for eternity"
Fer moment his head was bent low, his
breast heaved, and the great veins started
out on his forehead. Then he put the
things softly back, locked the little Golfer,
and the two men silently descended the
stairs. A new tie bound them together
Meyerling threw more wood On the fire;
the old man bent forward in the great
chair "Carl," said he feebly, 81
have not slept for many nights. Narcotics
do me no good. Unless sleep | shall go
mad"
Meyerling slipped into the vacant place
beside him. There was plenty of room for
them both. He put his arm round the old
mans shoulder and again drew the white
head down on his broad breast. The thin,
chilly hand was clasped in his. He could
not remember his father, who died in his
childhood, but it seemed now that he had
gone back half a century and found the
father he had always missed. He was
thinking of him so long dead, when the
old mans monotonous, regular breathing
fell on his ear.
The clock was on the stroke of II when
Mary opened the study door to see the
lights and fire. The Professor held the
old man like baby in his arms. He
raised warning finger and Mary re-
treated 1t was ) the next morning when
she again looked in. The two men were
in the same attitude, only rug was
wrapped around the old mans knees and
Meyerling was asleep with his arms still
around him. The morning light fell on
the two heads as they lay together, the
one attenuated, lean, wasted, and worn
with grief and age and thought and study,
the other powerful, strong, masculine, in
the full vigor of life. II
al believe l have slept an hour" said
the old man drowsily as he opened his
eyes.
you have slept seven," said Meyer
ling cheerfully; "you shall sleep seven
more" He put him down on the couch
and covered him with the rug. Then he
stood long time before the open window
musing on dream which had come to
him in the night and seemed to be linger
ing round him still with starry influences.
The early morning sent all its delicate
signs and odors through this misty dream
atmosphere.
At last he shook himself free from IL
fusion and with a certain sense of dubiety
in his mind stole down to Mary's kitchen.
She was the only human being of whom
the stalwart Professor was afraid, and in
certain sense she stood to him as visible
conscience.
Mary was just kindling her range, with
the red light of morning playing over the |
wall. She was in a bad humor, it was
evident, from the way she handled the
range covers, and kept her back persist !
emily turned to the door.
"Mary," the Professor began humbly, |
| 'we are greatly honored, for we are having |
| under our roof one of the greatest and |
wisest men of his age. He has enlarged |
the domain of science. He has helped to |
establish the fact that every act of thought |
is attended by molecular change in the
substance of the BRAIN"
@Humph," muttered Mary, still on her
knees before the fire. The soles of her
thick shoes looked very incorporating.
Gle was my MASTER" the Professor went
on more humbly still, "and now he has lost
his dear wife so well beloved, and he an
old man. He is to live with us from this
time, Mary, and we are to make his last
days very happy. 1t will be a great Joy to
us to suceor and comfort this good, this
great old man. And, Mary, if you should
be finding the labor Of the house too much