Evening journal. [volume] (Wilmington, Del.) 1888-1932, 1891-05-18

IN the fifth act, you know, when the ven
cradle doctor, with head like Berarger
feels the first walking gentleman's pulse
and lifts his eyes toward heaven, saying
The death struggle approachesr OnI5
the difference is that with me IL continues
IL will not conclude-the death struggle
Smoke away; that doesn't disturb me, /" hC
added, seeing me put my cigar one side
his cough sounding like death rattle.
/ tried TO find encouraging words. ]
talked with him, holding him by the hand
and patting him affectionately on the
shoulder, but my voice had in my own
ears the empty hollowness OF deceit, and
Miraz, looking at me, seemed to pity my
efforts
was silent.
Look, said he. pointing to his table;
''see my work bench. For six months ]
have not been able to write"
/ made new attempt 10 revive him.
Die, at his ageI 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. eve 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 yourself unless it may serve
on some occasion to discourage the young
literary aspirants who bring their manu-
scripts to you-always praiseworthy ac-
ton.
Eyes, have Been successful Yes, have
a I hon a.,
money, and there in that drawer are "a GER
tain number Of yellow, green and orange
papers from which a coupon is clipped
every six months, and which represent $500
Of income. Il is rare in our profession, and
to gain that poor hoard have been Obliged
To initiate the unsociable virtues OF a miser,
know how to deny jewel to my wife,
dress to my daughter. But at last l have
that money. And often said TO myself, If
should die their bread is assured, and here
is a little marriage portion for Helenl And
was CONTENT was proudl-for / know
them, the stories of our widows and our
orphans, the fourpenny help of the govern
ment, the tobacco shops for600 francs in the
province, and, if the daughter is intelligent
and pretty like mine, the dramatic author,
an old friend. Of the father, " no advises her
to enter the conservatory of acting, and
who makes of her-mercy of Godl that
shall never be.
But for all that, my boy, it is necessary
that should not linger. Sickness is ex-
pensive, and already it has been necessary
to sell one or two bonds from that drawer.
To seek the sunlight, rs you suggest, to
bask like lizard in the tropics, one more
bond must go, and there would not be
enough to last to the end if / should wait
for seven or eight years more, now that /
can no longer write. Happily there is
nothing to fear. But what / have suffered
since have been incapable of writing, and
have felt my hoard of gold shrink and
diminish in my hand like the Magic
Skin of Balzac, is frightful. Now you
understand me, do you mott and you will
no longer bid me take care of myself No;
ii you still pray to God, ask him to send
me speedily to the undertaker's."
Fifteen days later some thirty of us fol-
lowed the hearse which carried Louis
Miraz to the cemetery. 1t had showed the
day before, and DR.. Arnold, the old fire.
quenter of painters studios, the friend and
physician of the dead man, walking behind
me, called in his brusque voice;
VERY commonplace, but always terri
BILE 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 dig
gers, who were lowering the coffin by
cords.
Near a cross bearer, whose short surplice
permitted the bottom of his trousers 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, hastily patched up by the aid of a
comrade over couple of glasses at the
corner Of a cafe table.
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 designed
~ committed all sorts of imprudences. He
confessed it to me before his death / had
not understood it at ALL, who had ex-
pected TO prolong his life at least three
years by creosote. At last the other night,
when it was freezing cold, he left his win
dow open, as if by forgetfulness, and was
taken with bleeding at the lungs. Yes,
that he might leave bread for those two
women. The cure does not dream that he
Is blessing a suicide.
But what Of it, my good fellow? Miraz
is in the paradise of the brave.-From Tales
by Francois Coppee.