Waterbury evening Democrat., 1892-01-09

star-sown night, he felt that he would have given much to have seen the faces of his old friends looking kindly on him again. He had gained so many desira- ble things that it was absurd to lie here pining for little friendliness from com mon people. Only there are moments, even in successful lives, when nothing seems so precious as those poor treas urcs that we laughed at and threw away long ago.
 How happy that pair had looked, as they stood, side by side, watching the flow of the water! Yet it was only very common kind of joy that they were feeling, and it might have been Mi- chaels too. He had held it in his grasp and tossed it from him; it was gone for ever, and he had only just begun to re- alizc its true value. What had he gained in exchange? Shreds of interest, given sparingly by woman who had never loved nor been loved, barren glittcring days, whose monotony was only broken by Mrs. Chasc's frantic efforts to get into society!
 As he thought of those frantic efforts, he laughed with sudden scorn of her and of himself. He was beginning to know something about them now those disappointed women who have climbed q little way up the social ladder and then stuck fast He had seen their frenzy when some other woman, poorer, but more attractive, had glided gracefully past them, and | taken up her position above their heads. | How pitia ble this small ambition seemed , to him at this moment, when he was weak and lonely! The simple wifely love, the clinging hands of little chill drcn, the sacred sweetness of a home, were blessings that the successful man was never to know.
 Sleep came upon him unawares; long sought, it kept far from him, but, when he had given up all hope of rest, a deep Slumber fell upon his senses; and he lay still and unconscious with the night air blowing on his face. The wind was rising, but he felt it not. Then a stronger puff caught the muslin window curtain and hoatedit perilously near the flame of the candle, which was still burning on the toilet table. But he did not wake.
 No, he did not wake, but his dreams were terrible. He had wronged Aaron Fcnlalc, it was true, but surely Aaron had taken a cruel way to avenge his wrongs. And Jane and Olive too: they had ever been soft and merciful in the old days, but now they were helping 1 Aaron to hold him fast on the bridge. And it was not the Neon that was run ming along at their feet, but a river of burning lava, red and horrible. He was choking with it's dense fumes; he could feel it's fearful heat; but yet they would not let him go. There was no escape; they were bent on his destruc- tion, and he could not even find voice to utter a faint cry. One more strug gle, a wild start, and he awoke at last.
 The room was full of smoke. The l little chamber had become as hot as an oven, and now and then flame darted out of the thick cloud. Faint, and still ! bcwildered by the opiate, he was slow in realizing his danger; but he made a strong effort, and groped his way to the door, gasping for breath.
 He had locked the door, and the lock was very old one. Wildly he turned the key round and round, but the door remained fast closed, and the room was growing hotter every moment. He would try to escape by the window. Only, it was impossible to breathe much i longer in this dreadful atmosphere, and when he tried to call for help his voice failed, and died away in whisper.
 It was a cruel fate to perish in this way, friendless and alone. There was no more strength left in him now, death was coming fast, and now that it was really near he knew that he wanted to go on living, A little while ago, life had not seemed very desirable thing, but now it was precious and sweet, full of new possibilities and hopes Per haps if it had not been for this awful