The Iola register., 1891-02-06


preston of gentle and patient mel
ancholy-what, | say. # after all
the reasonable precautions taken
to insure safety, they should actu-
ally prove insufficient? What-ff the
prison to which we have consigned the
Ideeply-regretted one should not have
such close doors as we fondly imagined?
What if the stout coffin should be
wrenched apart by fierce and frenzied
| fingers? What, if our late dear friend
should not be dead, but should, like
Lazarus of old, come forth to challenge
our affection anew? Should we not
grieve sorely that we had failed TO avail
ourselves of the secure and classical
method of cremation? Especially if we
had benefited by worldly goods or money
/ left 10 us by the so deservedly lamented!
For we are self-deceiving hypocrites-
! few of us are really sorry for the dead
few of Us remember them with any
! real tenderness or affection. And yet
( God knows! they may need more pity
( than we dream of.
/ But let me to my task. l, Fabio Ro-
mani, lately deceased, am about TO chron-
/ icle the events of one short year-a year
/ in which was compressed the agony of
. Il
year!-one sharp thrust from the dag
ger of time! 1t pierced my heart-the
wound still gapes and bleeds, and every
! drop of blood is tainted as it falls!
One suffering, common to many, l
have never known, that is-poverty. l
was born rich. When my father, Count
FilippO ROmani, died, leaving me, then
LAD of seventeen, sole heir to his enor-
[ IL Nf =.
erful house-there were many candid
friends who, with their usual kindness,
prOphesied, the worst things of my future.
Nay, there were even some who looked
forward to my physical and mental de-
struCtiOn with a certain degree of malig-
nant expectation and-they were estima-
BILE persons too. They were respectfully
connected. their words carried weight
and for time / was an object of their
maliciouSly piOus fears. / was destined,
according to their calculations, to be
gambler, a spendthrift, a drunkard, an
incurable roue of the most abandoned
character Yet, strange to- say, l be-
came none of these things. Though a
NeapOlitan, with all the fiery passions
and hot blood of my race, l had an in
nate SCOrn for the contemplate vices
gar. Gambling seemed to me a delirious
folIy-drink, destroyer of health and
reason-and licentious extravaganza. an
outrage on the poor. l chose my own
way of life-a middle course between SIM
plicity and luxury-a judcious mingling
of hOme-like peace with the gaiety of
sympathetic social intercourse-an even
tenor of intelligent existence which
H. 4 s,,s
che body.
l dwelt in my fathers Villa-a minia-
ture palace of white marble, situated on
a wooded height overlooking the Bay of
Naples. My pleasure grounds were
fringed with fragrant groves of orange
and myrtle, where hundreds of full
voiced nightingales warbled their love-
melodies to the goldenmoon. Sparkl-
ing fountains rose and fell in huge
stone basins carved with many quaint
design, and their cool murmurous
splash refreshed the burning silence of
the hottest summer air. In this re-
treat / lived at peace for some happy
years, surrounded by books and pictures,
and visited frequently by friends-young
men whose tastes were more or less like
my own, and who were capable of
equally approaching the merits of an
antique volume, or the flavor of a rare
vintage.
OF women I saw little or nothing.
Truth to tell, instinctiveIy avoided
them. Parents with marriageable
daughters invited me frequently to their
houses, but these invitations l generally
refused. Ny best books warned me
against feminine Society-and l believed
and accepted the warming. This ten
dency of mine exposed me to the ridicule
of those among my companions who
were amorouSly inclined, but their gay
jestS at what they termed my weak
ness never affected me. ! trusted in
friendship rather than love, and had a
friend-One for whom at that time
would gladly have laid down my life
one who inspired me with the most
profound attachment. He, Guido Fer
rari, also Joined occasionally with others
in the good-natured mockery l brought
down upon myself by my shrinking dis
like of women.
'.Fie on thee, Fabio!'' ne would cry.
Thou wilt not taste life till thou hast
slipped the nectar from pair of roSe-red
lipS-thou shalt not guess the riddle of
the stars till thou hast gazed deep down
into the fathomleSS glory of q maiden'S
ayCS-ILOu cauSt not know delight till
thou has ciaSped eager arms round coy
waist and hear the beating Of a passion
ate heart against thine own, \ truce
20 thy muSty volumes, Believe il,
hose ancient and Sorrowful philosophers
I'D no manhood in them-thcir blood
was watcr-and their SlandeTS against
women were but the pettiSh uttcranceS
ct their own deserved diSappOintments.
Those who miss the chief prize of life
would fain persuade OtheT= that it is
not worth having. What, man! Thou,
with ready wit. a glaBcing eye, a gay
smile. a supply form. thou wilt not en-
ter the lists of love? What says Vol
tairc Of the blind god?
''Qui que tn SOiS VOLTA ton maitre,
II fut-il eSt-Ou il dOit etre.'
When nv friend spoke thus l smiled,
but answered nothing. His arguments
failed to convince lie. Yet l loved to
hear him talk-hiS voice was mellow as
the note of thrush, and his eyes had an |
eloqUence greater than all speech. l /.
loved him--GOd knows, unSelfiShly, sim I
cerely-with that rare tenderness some |
times felt by SchOolbOys for one another; I
but seldom experienced by grown men. |
was happy in his society, as he, /
indeed, appeared to be in mine. We |
passed most of our time together, he, /
like myself, having been bereaved of his |
parents in early youth, and therefore |
left to shape out his own course OF life |
as suited his particular iSncy. He chose /
art as a profession, and, though fairly |
successful painter, was as poor as was
rich. l remedied this neglect of fortune