Middlebury register. (Middlebury, Vt.) 1886-1937, 1892-09-23
HIS FIRST'S ASHES.

stricken with sorrow, and would not be
comforted. In fact, he had hardly had
time to enjoy his happiness " appre-
ciate his treasure, for they had been
married only month, when she was
taken from him in the midst of their
wedding tour in Italy.
Just about returning to Paris, she fell
i'll in Rome and died of fever, in spite
of the many physicians called to attend
her and the devoted care of her husband,
who never left her side till she breathed
her last.
Conscious to the end, she bravely
sought to console him.
at was not given to mortals," she
said, "to be happy for long Our joy
has been too great; it could not last.
Do not weep, dearest" she cried; "let
me pass away in peace, without the
memory of your distressed face. Smile;
do not look 50 sadv' and she raised her
trembling hand and caressingly laid it
on his cheek.
you are soldier" pursued she;
"death should have no terrors for you.
l 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 a little
heap of ashes that you can carry always
with you. l shall never disturb you.
How strange it seems to call heap Of
ashes r-yet so it will be. You will
sometimes glance at me thus, and can
never entirely forget mer
Nevertheless when Durande returned
to Paris he was changed man. He was
thin and haggard; his eyes had lost their
luster, his step its elastic spring and
confidence.
Courage, courage, my boy" his colo
mel would say to him.
''Be brave, my friend!" repeated his
brother officers.
But joy and brightness had gone out
of Durandes life. The once brilliant
soldier was broken man.
No one on arrival was allowed to
touch his luggage, and he himself, with
an artistic little vase that he solemnly
charged his brosseur never on any ac-
count to lay hands upon.
"a token of poor madame" the man
ventured to ask.
eyes, a token" Durande responded,
before which, the slim Roman urn that
held all that was left of his poor wifes re-
mains, be knelt and wept bitterly when
alone a. ain. At night it stood in full
view upon cabinet beside his bed, that
his eyes might rest upon it when not
closed in sleep and by day. When his
leave had expired and he had returned
to duty, he was distract, stranger to hia
comrades, joining in none of their pleas
ures or amusements, seeming to live only
in the memory of his lost wife and that
urn-which might be knocked over.
He had placed her portrait in every
room in his house, and by strange para
dox Of sentiment it was here, among all
these tender recollections, that he passed
his least miserable hours.
By degrees, through steady contem-
plation, perhaps, the sight Of the Roman
urn produced less painful effect upon
the disconsolate widower and no longer
caused him the cruel heart pangs of the
first days of bereavement.
He was now able to picture his dar.
ling as she had been in the zenith OF
strength and beauty, gay, smiling charm.
ing. Again and again he recalled and
lived over the moments of that honey.
moon journey, and grew happy himself
in this sweet, posthumous revival OF
radiant hours.
When at work the urn stood on his
writing table, and he thought how il
life and in that bygone time he had writ
ten and pondered and she had sat qui
city beside him reading or sewing tran
gully, silently, without disturbing him
Six months passed, heightened to g
year, and now and then it happened tina,
Durande forgot the urn and left it on his
table at night instead of carrying it t
his bedroom. Finally he enshrined il
for good on his office table. Not thai
the memory of his wife was less than a.
first, but because in time it was born,
in upon him that funeral deposit like
this was unsanitary, unhealthy in {
sleeping room.
Nevertheless every day it was sur
rounded, as usual, with lilies and roses
his wife's favorite flowers.
The one year heightened to two, anC
Durande had returned to his bachelo
life.
"'Tis wrong to bury yourself aliv,
shus," said his friends and his wifes re
lations; "begin, go into the worlC
again"
Durande yielded, once more went out
frequented the quarters of his brothe
officers, joined in their jollifying, anc
actually one evening carried them al
home with him to a banquet in his owl
apartments. The wine was good, tn
champagne sparkling, laughter, songs
uproar the order of the night; when tn
supper ended they all adjourned to tn
private office, where the mortuar,
shrine stood alone upon the table, sever
and mournful.
Revelry ran riot, in the midst O
which Durande suddenly recalled tn
presence Of The dead" as he was won
TO call the urn caught it up hurriedly