Waterbury evening Democrat., 1891-11-06

knew, and do not know where to go to find one formerly did know"
 "New York is a large city, and like all large cities it's face takes on new expression each year. You have but just returned then?"
 "This morning."
 Ut is strange the more celebrated places did not attract you"
 "I stepped out of my hotel near by for the fresh air, and strolled hither under the influence of recollection of my boy hood, almost infantile days"
 For an instant only the old man peered over his glasses sharply at his companion and then said:
 "I am much attached to this house, not because my habit leads me here nightly, but because 1 have been fa- miliar with it ever since I was a young man."
 The old man lifted his glass and slipped his beer, apparently unconscious that he had said anything to attract the increased attention the young man gave him.
 "Even younger than you are now" he continued "Lordl Lord! what dinners have eaten-what gay times have had in this very room. A young friend of mine-we boarded in Chambers street together in those days-bought this house while it was yet building, and when it was finished carried his sweet young bride into it. And great house warming we had too. was opposed to it-that is, to the house; thought it too fine for him to begin on; for you must know, young sir, there were few finer houses in this city when this was built. Yet he could afford it. Young as he was, he was the head of fourishing business, built up by his father, who had died and left it to his only son, with number of old and experienced clerks. Yes, indeed, no house in this city stood higher than that of Dorison and Com pany."
 As the old man indulged his remi- niscential vein, the younger kept his dark eyes fixed upon him, and at the mention of the name of the firm the color crept slowly into his cheeks.
 'Yes, there have been gay times in this old house." continued the old man. "I have seen the beauty and chivalry of old New York gathered within these walls. Sometimes when the weather is fair venture out to the park to see the 
 all their bravery of silks and laces, have seen sweep up and down these stairs. Happy times, indeedl was al- ways welcome here as the confidential friend of the head of the house, and love it in it's degradation. have seen sorrow and mourning here too. have followed each one of Dorison's children through the door above to their graves save the youngest, a boy. But the time came when this house was not fine enough for Dorison, and he moved into a brownstone front in Twenty-third street. There disaster fell upon him. His wife died and he was never the same man.
 He retired from business-a mistake, for the time hung heavily on his hands, and he dropped. His only interest was his only son-only child, in fact saw him daily if in town, but in those years, hay ing interests abroad, was away from town a great deal"
 He interrupted himself to sip his beer
 Had he looked at the young man he
 would have seen a most singular expres- sion on his face; high color showing through his dusky skin and eyes intense ]; and burning. The old man did not, fol he continued calmly:
 
 l fine house alone for some years. Ther l one morning early servant entering tht . library found Dorison bent over the l table at work Wondering at the early = rising of his master he spoke. Receiv r ing no answer he went up to him. Dor B ison was dead. He had died in the ac , of writing letter. The most singula ] thing of it was that his executors found that he, whom we all supposed so rich l had not dollar. The very house h. 8 lived in was mortgaged to its full value. !, The young man leaned forward, anC p extending his hand laid it upon the arn @ of the elder man. saying with great de @ cision:
 s You have a purpose in telling me thi j. storyv
 @ The old man looked up with a sur '- prised air as he replied: l- "What purpose, young sir, could d have in telling such a story to an entir d stranger?'
 l. The young man made no reply for tt moment, but continued to gaze steadil d into the eyes of the elder one, as 5; thinking profoundly. Then he said i t, a deep, low voice, quivering with emo e ton: %
 IS "I will continue the story. MT. Dor
 son was fond of the young man, his son If treating him indulgently and giving hi1 y- most generous allowance. The so
 was youngster caught up in the whi, q. of fashion--a member of the leadin le clubs, following what you doubles ," would call fast life, but, as compare
 with others, not fast. If extravagan i- he brought no trouble upon his fathe n if reckless in his life, no disgrace upc le the name of Dorison. The letter h
 father was writing when he was so SUI n, denly stricken with death ruined th SC son. To whom this letter was addresses
 or what the fathers motive in writin D. it, never was known, and it is doubtf
 Dovu xuhatbar fhase fhinOa avar will