Waterbury evening Democrat., 1891-10-05

drops fell from his eyes and damped his shrunl1cn, palsied hands. John and some of the other men crowded about him, begging him to tell the import of his trouble.
 "Ah! men," he said, at last, ''mine is sorry story. You all know what suf- fering is or you would not be here, but think my lot must be little the hardest of any. Four years ago lost everything possessed, no matter how, and with my wife left our old home and came here to live with our son, who was a young man and had entered a claim. It is useless to recount the hardships and disappointments we underwent, for you are all but too well acquainted with them. Last fall my son took the fever, and after an illness that lasted through months he died. My wife, already feeble with age, fol- lowed soon after with long spell of the malaria, and yesterday she died. In the meantime everything that could sell to raise money was sold, and everything that could mortgage was mortgaged; and yet, gentlemen, have the sad consciousness of knowing that she died of want. But she is dead, ana l UlldIlh SO1 1OL 1O. hCNSI expected that should live to see the day when would rejoice at the death of my loved life companion, but such is the case. I rejoice over her death be- cause I know that she is now beyond the reach of want, and that the bangs of hunger can never affect her again. Yes, rejoiced at her death-the death of my dearest friend, because in that saw her only hope of relief. To-day I came here to try to borrow few dol lars with which to bury what remains of her, but he," pointing to Mills of fee, "refused to let me have it, and now must go to the county and ask to have my wife buried as a pauper. The farm and everything on it is under mortgage, and tomorrow all the house. hold things and the farm tools are to be sold and I will be alone and penniless | in the world, with no money, no home, and no friends. Would to God, men, I had never lived to see this day, and | now having seen it, have nothing to \ look forward to but death. That is the | only hope and the, only consolation that \ is left me-"
 Not man in lthe room but what would have gladly given the old man aid if it had been possible, but the fact that none of them were much better off made that impossible, so all they could do was to sympathize and pity; and though they attempted to offer words of consolation, they felt that,it was but a mockery.
 As they remained about him looking upon his bowed form, his head dropped lower and lower upon his breast, his
 nervous hands became more quiet and
 composed, and at last it appeared that
 he had fallen asleep. Some one so re-
 marked, and John Green stepped for
 ward and laid his hand on the wrinklec ! brow.
 ''Yes," said Johnin a low tone, Che is l asleep, and his sufferings are all passed
 Hunger, want and cold will never affect
 him more, and never again will he fee
 the force of mans inhumanity to man. And it was even so. The poor olc
 mans broken spirit had fled from it } worn-out, emaciated tenement ant
 bounded up and away to that bright
 immortal glory, the inheritance of tht
 poor and the lowly who have, like tht
 Master, suffered the bangs and sorrow Il of this life.
 'Ee is dead," John went on, "and \ thank God that ne IS. It IS better, ia better, that such as he should die thai that they should live to become wan
 derers on earth or objects of publi
 charity. In calling him away God ha
 shown His greatest mercy"
 'It is even so," said an elderly gentle
 man who stood near. "This world ha no fitting place for such as he, save tn grave, and it is a thousand times bette
 for him to sleep there than to live out
 few more years of wretched existenc
 here"
 No one doubted the justice of thes
 remarks, and not one of all the men il the room felt that 1t was not a matte of rejoicing, rather thau sorrow, tha
 the old man was dead.
 While the men were still standinI
 about the silent form, the door to tn
 private office opened and Mills cam