Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1891-08-27
The Mystery
Of the Towers
" LAURENCE TINSLEY.
PROLOGUE
LIFTING THE VEIL.

| AlAVNNIMsaESSS some of my young
| ~AIAEAHyMFD readers were born
| >fAESNRV for to recount truly what
~NSVMgY would from the beginning,
<aIy must carry myself back to
40 WI scenes long since forgotten
~E1sS4 by all, save perhaps the &C
ITS tors in thom-two days be-
tween which and the Present,
time has now hung its dark veil, which
every day and month grows thicker and
more impenetrable, hiding behind its mas
sive folds the memories which we would
fain keep fresh and green within our minds
memories, perhaps not all happy ones,
yet all alike dear to us, for In the sad ones
the sorrow is dead, and we see only some
dull spiritless ghost, which we con look
upon without fear, and In the rest we live
over again the Joy which we once felt in
them Yes, the shadow of the veil which
time hangs DER memory daily grows
daI ker, and fear the hour is not far off
when its thick folds shall slowly close not
only over the Past but DER the Present.
that all with me shall be wrapped in the
calm peace Of the black night the dark
ness of that night through which no moon
beams, no stars rays glimmer to light
the traveller to his future; all Is at an end
I'LL that one strange, incomprehensible
Day when tho great, glorious Sun of
Eternity shall pierce with its golden beams
the gloom which hangs DER space and
wakes the world TO life once more-a new
life in which darkness, sin, and sorrow are
not n new day, which shall be as shadow
less as the night itself-as shadowless as
the mighty ocean a new life, in which
there shall be nothing but gladness.
Night-the blacklist highland the one
bright day.
Yes fear me this night is not far off
for me; but ere the daylight wanes for
ever let me, for the last time, draw aside
this veil which falls over the dead past, and
read-with difficulty, for my eyes are dim
med with age-the record which Time, with
the pen of joy or sadness, sorrow or glad
ness, has inscribed upon my memory's
book "A record which can never be
completely erased-never till the iron
fingers OF death shall come, and, with an 10y
clasp, take the volume from my falling
hand, and, tracing in fiery crimson letters,
as though OF blood, the dread words, THE
End" upon the Inst of its soiled torn, dis
colored pages, close this my life record
for ever.
Come then, let me, while there is yet
time and strength within me- lay open
before me the nearly completed history,
and copy from Its pages, as well as 1 am
able, the strange story Of my life, that
through the medium of my pen it may be
known TO any who may care to peruse 1t.
And should any of these doubt that what
i write is truth, lot them look around and
view their own lives, and the lives of those
around them, and see whether, strange as
my story may seem, compared with that
of others, it may not yet be true.
Let those who care to read an old mans
tale, then, come with me back the many
years to when the first entry on this book
was made, the many years which lie be-
tween the present and the past about
which would write-t.le past when was
young, and did not know what was meant
by living, much less concerned myself
with what lay beyond
When / was young What a chord
that utteranoe touches feel myself q
boy again. see--but. there, let me be-
gin at the beginning, or l shall be speak
ing of the end before my readers know
what forms the substance of the COM
mencement
will not trouble you with any details
concerning my birth and parentage.
What shall be necessary to complete the
links in the chain of events with which l
have to deal will relate later on, in their
proper places
1t sufflces then, for the present that I
had a happy home once. My earliest
recollectiOns were of a busy household,
which hard work and constant striving
made If not a luxurious at least a com
Portable one-of a large family of healthy
brothers and sisters l alone the sickly,
weakly one-scarcely q day without some
ache or pain-the one ailing lamb of the
hock-a circumstance which may give ex-
ouse to the love which, beyond that for
all the rest my mother lavished upon me.
Yes, the early days OF my childhood
were happy ones, but then there came a
change.
My all in all-my guide, protector.
everything, and everything parent could
be-my mother-sank into a decline.
Then all of a sudden the current of my
whole life seemed changed. Till then I
had dreamed away the days, the months.
the years-and they but few-scarcely
twenty in number. 1 took no part in the
hurry and hustle around me. Under the
shadow Of my mothers wing I followed
my own sweet will-guided only by her
gentle rule-in all things; and that rule
! had found a calm and peaceful one.
My health forbade study to any large ex-
tent. else 1 should have been regular
book-worm, for scarcely anything did
love better than diving into all and any
readable material that came to hand but
80 great was the penalty had to pay for
this pleasure that 1t was but rarely l
dared indulge in It
AS have said, my health interfered
with my greedy taste for learning. My
progress up the paSh-though must own,
a rapid one-was 80 checked by nervous
attacks and such terrible headaches
headaches that filled my ears with scream
ing noises and blinded my eyes with fiery
stars--that often the time had so spent
IN pleasure was paid for by double the
amount passed In the agony of pain.
This began when l was quite child
I persevering in hopes that 1 should out
grow the weakness - hopes, however,
which were doomed to disappointment.
Matters got woree instead of better, until
at length, after a morethan usually severe
prostration, the result of an ill-advisedly
deep plunge into some rather difficult
problems, my mother, fearful lest in the
end I should entirely overthrow my health
and reason, warning me solemnly that the
doctors feared such might be the result If
persisted, implored mo with prayerful
tears-thsy were the first l had ever
drawn from her eyes--not to run the risk