The Austin weekly statesman. (Austin, Tex.) 1883-1898, 1892-04-28

cred himself grievously injured, and
perhaps it was only natural that he
should say bitter things about the
man who had injured him. Filled
with resentment, he showered male
dictions upon the head of his absent
my, until it became evident that
there was not virtue or grace to be
found in his nature. The man was a
coward and q villain, he declared; q
contemplate poltroon, who did not
know what honor was; a miserable
travesty upon the human race. And
so 1T went on, until it almost seemed
that the vocabulary of abuse was ex-
hausted. But suddenly, in the midst
OF his indignant TRADE came one whose
face was pale, and who whispered
that his enemy was dead, and that
they were even now composing the
body for it's last sleep, in that DESC
late home down the street. What a
change came over the stern, accusing
face! True, he had been angry, but
who can make war on the dead? His
look softened, his eyes grew moist.
Poor Bill!n he exclaimed. "We were
schoolboys together in the little old
red school house back in Georgia.
Well, L was angry with him some-
times, but no doubt he was a better
man than thought. 1 have misun-
derstood him all the way through.
And he died so suddenly, you say?
must go down and see what 1 can
do for the poor little wife and babies. :"
And he went and was the good angel
of the desolate family while the quiet
form of the dead lay still, and took no
note of kindness or unkindness. But
it was when they tried to express their
gratitude for what he had done that
remorse took possession of him, and
he cried with hot tears forcing them
selves to his eyes: ooh, if had only
thought of being kind while he was
alive, it might have been different;
but now it is not kindness, it is atone
ment."
Nv
And we are all very much alike,
We have some delicate scruples
against making war on the dead, but
we war upon the living, and hound
them about the earth, and beat and
trample them down until the grave is
their only refuge, and then strew
flowers over them and speak
words of praise. But after all
would not the war upon the dead be
the more merciful of the two? Sup.
pose that those of us who make bust
ness of assaulting people turn our at
tention to the inhabitants of the
silent city, and give the living 6
chance?
~
A curious story came to the Home
Corner the other day. In certain
Texas town, an old building that had
been used as q postoffice fifteen year;
ago, was recently torn away to make
room for better buildings, and there
in the wreck were found number O.
old letters. Some defective letter box
had allowed the letters to sliI
through, and there they had lain il
darkness ana silence for fifteen years
with their messages all undelivered
Perhaps the hands that wrote some O
them were already cold, and the eyes
that should have read them have long
been closed, perhaps, for time works
many changes. The finders looked
the letters over curiously, as one looks
over the articles brought up from some
unexpected grave. In one OF then
they found sum of money, sent by s
gentleman who was still either
of the town, and they fastened to tel
him of their discovery and give hin
the money that had never reached It'll
destination. He held it in his hanC
and looked it over with the air of ont
who greets an old friend. eyes,
sent the money, and it was lost" h
said with a reminiscent smile. "AnC
during all these years L have beel
firmly convinced that the postmaster
stole it," But when this speech wa
reported to the postmaster, who il
now resident of Austin, he exclaimed
with deep humiliation, "Just to thinl
that 1 have gone along, holding my
head high all these years, feeling tina
1 had never done dishonest thing in
my life, while all the time here was ;
man who was firmly convinced that
had stolen.n And it is very doub btu
now whether this old postmaster
cOulu D6 COuNluC0u VI oil HAL Z uli
on mere circumstantial evidence, O.
could be persuaded to think ill of ;
man simply because appearances ar
against him.
~
at always seems to me that neve
do get my hands out of the dish
water" exclaimed weary littl
woman, sinking into a seat with
long drawn sigh that told now utterl,
exhausted she was; and though ligh
and pleasant conversation were goin.
on around her, she was to
tired to take part in it, or even t
understand it. People could easil.
remember when, a few years back, sh
had been bright, merry girl, wei
read for one other age, fond of society
and with some natural fondness, also
for pretty clothes, such as she Away
managed to wear in spite of limite'
means. And now she was a house
hold drudge, with her hands in tn
dishwater a good portion of the time
with society neglected and book
thrown aside, and with no time lef
for devising pretty clothes, and n
4 l.. ILL.,