The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1891-11-08

life, q fsverish kind Of life, fear. Grief
has driven him wild, and they say that he
who always was as stesdy as a rVck is go
ing the pace now"
"HOutin going the pace! 1 cannot imagine
such a thing
30, there's no doubt about it, A month
or Two after his wife's death he took to
knocking about Got into row with some
| young fellow about a chorus girl at the
Orpheus theater; took to betting and play.
They say he is making ducks and brakes OF
whatever he had after the failure OF that
bank: What lovely creature his wife
| WAS
Beautiful indeed. Didn't she leave q
childTn
Yes A little girl He sent the child to
boarding school Rather young for that.
But he said he could not bear to be re-
minded of her mother by the child. It's the
way always with your steady men when
they go wrong. When they break ort they
go regular buster"
And you don't know where he or the
! child isl"
mo. When he began to 60 wrong, he
cut this place and all the fellows he knew
here. He never was in any set, you know,
but he dropped away from all the people he
knew. Pm very sorry for Houtin. for he
ofish."
backed away from the speakers and
SUNK out OF the club like leper from
among the clean.
LOST She and the Other lostl He, gone
abroad! She. my child, my tender child,
not yet reared up between strange walls,
among strange, unsympathectic facesl She
that was the apple Of my eyel
w hlther should | goa Where should |
hide myselfg was hidden from the eyes of
all mortal men, but stood in a fierce. re-
lentless light in view of my own. Where
should hide myself from the reproaches of
my own hearts Was to roam about till
the end. wandering Jew who had ceased
TO own brotherhood with even the Ish-
maelltes OK Mans The fate which had en-
meshed me was the most awful that ever
overwhelmed deuizen Of earth. What
curse could be equal to having the heart
and conscience of man and yet be unable
to carry repentance into act, unable to stay
my own disgraceful course, or stretch out
the hand Of help and love TO the child Of
my blood, the darling Of my soul7 Was
what had to endure the torture of lost
soulss Were my days of probation at an
endi and had entered upon my eternity of
painsl
Then began interminaple days of wan
dering-I knew not l cared not whittier.
Ny child was lost, the Other had passed out
Of my ken. What was the rest Of the world
to me?
All the privileges men coveted most were
at my disposal, excspt fellowship of my fell
low man. touch with the hand Of my kind.
The Other had gone abroad. | crossed
from England TO the Continent without aim
or object. II could see my child, IL
could find where he had bestowed her-but
what would that avail! / should be agon-
lied by my own helpessness to lift tress of
her hair. 1should only have driven In re-
morselessly upon me the memory that
1 z4o IAk.z 4
ton Of the room in which my child's mother
died
The endless days went on one after an
other. but never summed up into weeks or
months, or years. The trees grew green and
bare again, and green and bare once more,
but kept no record of time.
All my faculties remained as on the June
morning of my waGderirgs into the
Adelphi. l grew no older to myself The
clothes wore were as they had been, the
money in my pocket, my watch, the minia-
| lures in the leather case. | had the same
| weight and substance in my own regard as
OF old in the view of the rest of my fellow
men l was empty air.
l could pass the jealous sentinels round
the palace of the Tar, and sit at the coun-
billboard Of empires. No door that opened
| to any else could exclude me. | might stand
on platforms with the tribunes of the peo-
pie and feel the awful conveyance OF a
nations eyes focused upon me. 1 could
fancy words spoke on platforms. and
heard alone by my own ears, were words
which drew from the people their thunder
of acclaim. | could sit at table with the
kings and princes, and stand beside the war
horse when the bugler. throwing up his
head ia the battle smoke, sounded the clarion
for the charge.
Empty air was to all men, and dreams
were they to me.
AT lazt-Oh h0art-d rowing vvOrdai
last, after time,I knew not how long,
years, l knew not how many, found my
self in the London streets.
1t was in bright day and in the Strand
when these came upon me, clad in handle
garb, the likeness of my dead wifel
Could the sum Of those unnumbered days
spent in wandering account for my lost
daughter being full crowns Could the talk
by the club fire give q clew to the reason for
this homely dress of nv child2 Had all the
substance Of toe Other been squandereda
Was this my child-a woman of the seam
stress class9
turned and followed the girl She was
pale and pinched. She walked with feeble
steps Under her arm she carried a small
bundle. She was bringing back some work,
my daughter My little Ethel bringing
back seamstress work through the daylight
streets OF Londoni What homecoming
was this second one of mine! What a spec
I S0OAo AoA q llCn htH 0Ob1hk AnOGoA S1 SS-
No doubt the Other was with her-had
come back to her when all his money was
spent in unworthy ways. No doub. he was
living on my child's earnipgs-that was the
habit with men of his stamp No doubt il
l kept close to her should see him. would
keep close to her
The girl went down q side street off the
Strand and entered shop. She opened her
bundle and spread the contents upon the
counter. The bundle did not contain new
work, but old finery. In the middle was a
brooch, with the portrait of man did not
recognize The likeness of a man with fat,
red face and grey beard.
The shopmsn behind the counter looked
at her bundle and asked her how much she
wanted.
Two pounds she said. l knew the
voice. 1t was the voice of my lost Agnes!
had heard such voice saying to me things
almost intolera oily dear
Two pounds" cried the shopman, in as
tonishment For these old haudkerchiefs
and scarfs you can have two shillings. The
brooch is worth nothing" He handed it
back to her. ats pewter and glass"
The girl started and colored, IL thought
It was gold and diamonds. LISTS my
fathers portrait. He gave it to me as gold
and diamonds. Are you sureF'
Certain, miss Pm very sorry, but it's