The Pascagoula democrat-star. (Pascagoula, Miss.) 1878-1920, 1892-10-07
HIS FIRST ASHES.

When the wife OF Durande, cap
tain in the One Hundred and
Twelfth cuirassiers OF he line, died,
he was sorely stricken with sorrow
and would nol be comforted. In
fact, he had hardly had time tOen.
joy his happiness or appreciate his
treasure, for they had been mar.
ried only month, when she was
taken from him in the milst of
their wedding tour in Italy.
Just about returning 10 Paris,
she fell ill in Rome and died of te-
yer, in spite Of the many physici-
ans called to attend her and the de.
voted care of her husband, who
never left her side till she breath.
ell her last.
Conscious to The end, she brave
ly sought to console him.
at was moi given TO mortals,'
she said, "to be happy long. Our
JOY has been too great; it could
not last. Da not weep, dearest
she cried; "let me pass away in
peace, without the memory of your
distressed face. Smile: io not
look so sal T. and she raised her
trembling hand and caressingly
laid it on his cheek
"You are a soldier" pursued
she; "dealh should have no terrors
for you. | have loved you only do
me, then, one last little favor. |
wish TO be near you always, even
in death. | beseech you, cremate
me, then; reduce me to little
heap of ashes that you can carry
always with you. l shall never
disturb you. How strange it seems
to call II heap of ashes 'l'-yet so
it will be. You will sometimes
glance at me thus. and can never
entirely forget me !"
Nevertheless when Duranle re-
turned to Paris he was n changed
man. lie was thin and haggarl
his eyes had lost their luster, his
step its elastic spring and conf.
dence.
"Couragc, courage, my boy
his colonel would say to him.
"Be brave, my friend y repeated
his brother officers.
But joy and brightness had gone
on, of Durande's life. The once
brilliant soldier was a broken man
No one on arrival was allowed
. to touch his luggage, and he HIM
self, with care and weeping, drew
from his satchel an artistic littl
, vase that he solemnly charged hi
brosseur never on any account Il
lay hands upon.
"a token of poor madame 7" lh
man ventured 10 ask.
"Yes, a token," Durande re
sponded ; before which, The sir
Roman urn that held all that wa
:, left of his poor wIfe's remains, h
Il knel, and wept bitterly when alon
n again. AT night it stood in fu
3 view upon n cabinet beside hi
: bed, lha, his eyes might rest upo
it when not closed in sleep and b
;. day. When his leave had expire
|. and he had returned to duty, h
. was dis,rait, a stranger 10 his con
70 rades, joining in none Of the
e pleasures or amuse menls, seemin
10 live only in The memory Of hi
r. lost wife and that urn-whic
. might be knocked over.
Re He had placed her portrait
is every room in his house, aud by
IN strange paradox Of sentiment
was here, among all these tend'
id recolleciions, that he passed h
,e least miserable hours.
" BY degrees, through steady col
n. temptation, perhaps, the sight
n. the Roman urn produced a lie
tn painful effect upon the discons
" late widoweL and no longer cause
:" him the cruel heart pangs of Il
q. first days Of bereavement.
/. He was now able 10 picture h
y, darling as she had been in Il
ot zenith Of strength aud beau,y,ga
le smiling, charming. Again Al
Of again he recalled and lived ov
he the moments Of that honey
journey, and grew happy hims,