The Press., 1890-07-10
MY FIRST LOVE AND LAST.

The evil germ had been developing in my morbidly excited mind for months. Mine is a wayward but not an impulsive tempera- ment. There are persons, situated as was, who would have sought death at once, either by the quick process of blowing out their brains or by the more refined cuthanasia of an overdose of chloral There are persons who do so every day. But although had fully determined to end my life by my own act, was haunted by curious desire to ef- feet what then regarded as desideratum in some notable way. was possessed by hank ering to make brilliant finish" You are right. had been frequenting race meetings and backing my fancy pretty freely, with the usual result that had lost money; but it was not that which impelled me to felo de SC. There is another passion which is even strong CT than that of gambling master passion of love. And was the victim of an unre- quilted attachment. took to the turf simply to dispel the abiding grief which had fallen like cloud upon my career. In the words of the Irish poet, "Sorrow" had, indeed, ''Iny young days shaded"
 Few who have watched the bright, active lad with ruddy cheeks who yielded the bat or hunted the leather in the Dulwich playing fields seven years before would recognize him in the spare, pale, woe begone man of lack luster eye and faccid muscle who stood in the queue attending the combaluzier lift at the west corner of the Eiffel tower on sunny morning lass August. At last had solved the problem which had been vexing me. had hit upon the plan of throwing myself off the top platform of the loftiest structure in the nation. That would be something unique; my body would be so disfgured by the fall that identification would be impossible; death would be almost painless. calculated that the breath would have left me before touched the soil.
 This cold, almost mathematical, weighing of the circumstances of my proposed dissolu- tion may strike the reader as unnatural. assure him it is not so. There is method in madness, and the suicide is under the spell of very terrible form of mania. The suicide should not be abhorred as a criminal, but compassionated as martyr to mental dis ease. Thank goodness the days are passed when an unpitying world buried him at cross roads at night, and drove a stake through his dishonored corpse. At least shall be spared that indignity. I had thought over these things as I purchased my ticket, waited my turn, stepped into the lift, and glided up the inclined plane to the first plat form.
 How spacious and beautiful the view from b of city and country beneath, watered by a meandering Seine, and ringed by such a framework of hill and grove, field and vine- yard! This earth, after all, is fair to gaze upon, and would be tolerable to exist in, if one were only happy. How fresh the air 1! There is almost an exhilaration in breathing it. But I must not falter. I should be above these weaknesses. The die is cast. I have burned my boats. cannot go back from my resolution. My tongue is hot, my palate parched. am thirsty. There are four res taurants here; Russian-I don't like Rus sians; 8 Flemish-ughl they are coarse; Brebant's-too dear, and even would be sui cides must be economic; Spiers and Pond's- that is more like home; and as this is to be my last drink on this sublunar sphere, let it be an English one drawn by English hands How the glass of cool, bitter ale sparkles as held to the light; how tempting when the clear amber of the liquid reveals itself trans parent; and how attractive the mantling crown of beady foaml
 1 must buy ticket for the ascension to the second platform, for we mount by stages. Singular, that when such observations should momentarily have less hold upon my interest l remark that this lift is upon the hydraulic principle This second platform is nigh 400 feet above the level of the Champ de Mars; the view is wider but less animated, tle streets merge, the river is slender, sinuotiA tape, the hills fiatten out, the palace of Yer sailles peeps from behind a curtain of ver- dure. There is the inevitable luncheon bar here-how gross mortals will gorgel-not far from it the office of the aerial Figaro A sun- burnt, broad shouldered young fellow with curly black hair is writing his name on the register of those who have ascended thus far kept by the newspaper people. As he finishes with flourish and laugh, an elegantly pro- portioned girl beside him-her dress of blue serge, trimmed with white cashmere and sur mounted by a sailor hat proclaims her no Frenchwoman-murmu s'How ridiculous !' and releases silvery Till of laughter. There is a peculiarity in the intonation that wakes half forgotten souvenirs.
 Well, old gal, {" he says, ''as you won't come any higher, just hang about here while l go aloft."
 As leant over the register noticed among the list of grandees and generals with the mo- hillary particle the signature Rear Admiral Flapdingle." One of those vulgar Americans 1 suppose. Still, as l, too, had to climb to the next platform for private reasons, and there was but one ift-vertical now-I perforce would have to put up with his society. We are elevated in big box fitting into a square cage, and when we are about half way, our jerky motion is arrested, and we change into another box which conveys us to our jour- ney's summit. Here am quite 900 feet from the ground. I knit my brow, clinch my teeth and brace my limbs. Courage for the ultimate leap which is to free me from the trammels of a selfish, deceitful generation, the sordid ills of a base humanity.
 Horror! Wicked, malicious Eiffel! I can not realize the ambition that fires my soul. The upper portion of the inclosure of the platform is hedged with plates of thick glass. There is corkscrew staircase to the roof which leads to the belvedere above Would it be possiblea The hope is abandoned before it is we'll entertained. Baulked again. It is private. What shall do? Descend and lie down before train of the Decauville rail- way, or drown myself in a basin of the lu1ni- nous fountains? Suddenly am violently slapped on the back, and breezy voice ad- dresses me. It is Rear Admiral Flapdingle. He is progressively healthy and insultingly familiar.
 "Hallo! stick in the mud, is it yourself is in it. What have you been up to? You look white and thin, regular church yard de- serter."
 You have the advantage of me, sir"
 "No haven't-at least have, Lat slian't keep it long. Look at me again.
 II fail to recognize you"
 "Unless I'm very much mistassn recog- n,.e you, Master Willie Piercy Do you rec ollcct Duiwich?'
 ''That is my name, and do recollect Dull wich; but can't bring you to mind'
 ''Tell, you are an old duffer! Don't you r5rnnfO hpr Tom RuIlamv2f