San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1891-07-14

| "Che Oella coSa o dc mOrlfe ucClS0
NAM, ALA porta DELI innamorata"
Some said the Duke had killed him;
but nothing could be proved nothing
was certain. The Duke was silent; so
was his Duchess; and Scandal herself
sat meekly with closed lips in
the presence of this stately and
august couple, whose bearing towards
each other Ia society was lesson
of complete etiquette to the world. What
| went on behind the scenes no one could
| tell. | raised my hat with the profound
| est difference as the carriage containing
the two ladies dashed by; | knew not
which was the cleverest hypocrite of the
| two, therefore | did equal honor to both.
| | was in a meditative and retrospective
mood, and when l reached the Toledo
| the distrcting noises, the cries of the
| flower girls, and vendors of cheStnuts and
confetti, the nasal singing of the street
| rhymers, the yells of pulcnela, and the
answering laughter of the populace,
were all beyond my endurance. To
crafty a sudden within that seized me,
made my way into the lowest and dirt
lest quarters of the city, and roamed
through wretched courts and crowded
alleys, trying to discover that one miser-
able street which until now | had always
avoided even the thought of, where /
had purchased the coral fish
er'S clothes on the day of my
return from the grave. l went
in many wrong directions, but at last |
found it, and saw at ga glance that the
old rag dealers shop was still there, in
is former condition Of heterogeneous
filth and disorder. A man sat at the
door smoking, but not the Grabbed and
bent figure had before seen-this was
younger and stouter individual, with
Jewish cast of countenance and dark
ferocious eyes, | approached him. and
seeing by my dress and manner that /
was some person of consequence, he
rose, drew his pipe from his mouth, and
raised his greasy cap with respectful
yet suspicious air
Are you che owner of this placer" l
asked.
Isl, signOr!"
What has become of the old man
who used to live here?"
He laughed, shrugged his shoulders
and drew his pipe stem across his throat
with significant gesture.
$50, signor!-with sharp knife! He
had good deal of blood, too, for so
withered body To kill himself in that
fashion was stupid: he spoilt an Indian
shawl that was Oh his bed worth more
than thousand francs. One would
not have thought he had SO much
blood"
And the fellow put back his pipe in
his mouth and smoked cOmplacently. l
heard in SiCkened silence.
He was mad, suppose" l said at
last.
The long pipe was again withdrawn.
"Mad? Well, the people say so. for
one think he was very reasonabe-all
except that matter of the shawl
he should have taken that off
his bed first. But he was wise
enough to know that he was of no use to
anybody-he did the best he could! Did
you know him, signOr?"
Il gave him money once, replied
evasively; then taking out few francs
handed them to this evil eyed, furtve
looking son of Israel, who received the
gift with ELUSIVE gratitude.
"Thank you for your information" l
said cOldly. "Good day"
Good day to you, signor," he replied,
resumng his seat and watching me curl
ously as turned away.
passed out of the wretched street
faint and giddy. The end of the miser-
able rag dealer had been told to me
briefly and brutal enOugh-yet somehow
l was moved to a sense of regret and
pity. Abjectly poor, half crazy, and
utterly friendless, he had been a brother
of mine in the same bitterness and ire
vocable sorrow wondered with half
shudder, would my end be like his?
When my vengeance was completed
should l grow shrunken, and old, and
| mad, and one lurid day draw sharp
knife across my throat as finish a
to my life's history? | walked more
rapidly to shake off the morbid
fancies that thus insidiously Crept in ON
my own brain; and as before the noise
and glitter of the Toledo had been I'M
bearabe, so now l found it a relief and
| a distraction. Two masQuers bedizened
in violet and gold whiZzed past me like
bash, one of them yelling stale jest
concerning l'innamorata-a jest | scarce
| ly heard. and certainly had no heart or
wit to reply to- A fair woman | knew
leaned out Of gaily draped balcony and
| dropped bunch of roses at my feet; out
| of courtesy l stopped to pick them up,
| and then raising my hat / Saluted the
| dark-eyed donor, but few PAGES OH
| gave them away to Il ragged child. OF all
| flowers that bloom they were, and still
are, the most inSuppOrtable to me.
| What is it the English poet Swinburne
| says:
~ shall never be friends again with
roses!"
My wife wore them always; even on
that night when / had seen her clasped
| in Guido's arms, a red rose on her breast
had been crushed in that embraces
| rose whose withered leaves l still pos
Il hn cnlit,nd, NH L