The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1891-03-11

WITH nGuTl-DItdkluR slllllts dlu
going out stupidity with consumption,
as they do in the fifth act, you know,
when the venerable doctor, with head
like Bernger, feels the first walking
gentleman's pulse, and lifts his eyes
toward heaven, saying: The death
struggle approached Only the differ
ence is that with me it continues; it
will not couclude-the death struggle"
tried to find encouraging words. l
talked with him, holding him by the
hand and patting him affectionately on
the shoulder, but my voice bad in my
own ears the empty hollowness of de-
ceit, and Miraz, looking at me, seemed
to pity my efforts. | was silent.
Look" said he, pointing to his
table; "see my workbench. For six
months | have not been able to wrte.'
made a new attempt to revive him.
Die, at his agel NOnsensel He wasn't
taking care of himself. He must pass
the winter in the South; drink good
draught of sunlight. He could. He
was easy in his money matters. But
he stopped me, putting his hand on my
arm.
+" Listen" he said gravely. We
have seen each other seldom, but you
are my oldest, perhaps my best friend.
You have proved me pen in hand.
Well, am going to tell you something
in confidence for you to keep to your
self unless it may serve on some occa-
sion TO discourage the young literary
aspirants who bring their manuscripts
to you-alwaye praiseworthy action.
| Yes, have been successful. Yes,
have been paid franc line. Yes, l
have made money, and there in that
drawer are a certain number of yellow,
green and orange papers from which
coupon is clipped every six months, and
which represent S00f of income. 1t is
rare in our profession, and to gain that
poor hoard have been obliged to imi-
tate the unsociable virtues of a miser,
know how to deny a jewel to my wife,
a dress to my daughter. But at last
have that money. And. / often said to
myself. if | should die their bread is
assured, and here is little marriage
portion for Heenl And | was content
i was proud for | know them, the
stories of our widows and orphans, the
! four-pennv help of the government,
the tobacco shops for 600 francs in the
province, and, if the daughter is intel
ligent and pretty like mine, the dra-
matte author, an old friend OF the
father, who advises her to enter the
conservatory of acting, and who makes
of her-mercy of God! that shall never
be. But for all that, my boy, it is nee
essary that l should not linger. Sick
ness is expensive, and already it has
been necessary to sell one or two bonds
from that drawer. To seek the sun
light, as you suggest, to bask like liz
ard in the tropics, one more bond must
90, and there would not be enough to
| last to the end if l should wait for
seven or eight years more, now that |
can no longer write. Happily there is
nothing to fear. But what | have suf-
fered since l have been incapable of
writing, and have felt my hoard of gold
shrink and diminish in my hands like
the Magic Skin of Balzac, is fright
full. Now you understand me, do you
not? and YOU will no longer bid me
take care of myself. No; if you still
pray to God, ask him to send me
speedily to the undertaker's.
Fifteen days later some thirty of us
followed the hearse which carried
Louis Miraz to the cemetery. 1t had
showed the day before, and DR.. Arnold,
the old frequenter of painters studios,
the friend and physician of the dead
man, walking behind me, called in his
brusque voice: every commonplace,
but always terrible the contrast; a
burial in the snow-black on white.
The funeral of the poor. Brr! "
At last we came to the edge of the
grave. The place and the time were
sad. Under a cloudy sky the little yew
trees, swayed by the wind, threw down
their burdens of melted snow. The
bystanders had formed a circle, and
were watching the grave diggers, who
were lowering the coffin by cords.
Near a cross-bearer, whose short sur
plce permitted the bottom of his trou-
sers to be seen, the priest waited with
finger in his book, and, having grasped
the rim of his hat under his left arm, the
orator already held in his black gloved
hand the funeral Grafton. Suddenly,
as the priest began his Latin prayers,
DR.. Arnold seized me by the arm and
whispered in my ear: You know that
he killed himself!"
looked at him with establishment.
But he pointed to the group in black,
composed of the pretty widow and her
daughter, who were sobbing under
their long wells and clasping each other
in a tragic embrace, and he added:
For them. Yes, for six months he
threw all his medicines in the fire, and
designedly committed all sorts of inn
prudences. He confessed it to me be-
fore his death. had not understood
it at ALL, who had expected to pro-
long his life at least three years by
: creosote. AT last the other night when
it was freezing cold, he left his window
open, as if by forgetfulness, and was
taken with bleeding at the lungs. Yes
that he might leave bread for those two