The weekly Thibodaux sentinel and journal of the 8th Senatorial District. [volume] (Thibodaux, Lna. [i.e. La.]) 1875-1898, 1893-05-13

writer he was behind his time and his
work practically useless.
Poor old iIarson was in no condition
TO resist this blow. To his morbid mind
1t seemed d fitting ending to his career.
The arrow shot by the young, strong
man went straight to the heart of the
aged student. If he were behind his
time, what use could his books be for
the future? How could he work with
out an aim, and without work what was
lifeo
And he was stranded there, and no
human heart beat in sympathy with his
own.
TIE rain fell still, but the wind had
sunk TO a low moaning. and he covered
in his chair, his joyless eyes staring
straight before him.
why should 1 live?" he mumbled,
presently. 1T is all a mistake. There
is no God, no hereafter; and life is a
failure. Why should l peal it any
longer?"
Then, with sudden energy, he started
from his chair. He pulled on mechan-
ically his old brown coat with the shah
by, dusty velvet collar, and he put on
the battered hat at which the little
boys were wont to laugh, and without
a backward look he left the room.
On the stairs he met his housekeeper.
Surely you're not going out on such
a night, sir?" she said, remonstratingly.
"And with your cough?"
/ He r1anpaI Of ho. with N 1,,o1 loo1,
and pushed past her.
A fear of, she knew not what, fell
| upon her. She had much the same
feeling for him which she had for the
furniture, but tonight there crept into
it a touch of humanity, a half contemp-
tuous pity.
"Poor old man." she said. 81 will get
something hot for him against his re-
turn"
In spite of the inclemency of the
weather there Were a good many people
about in that busy part of London.
But this human contact only forced
upon Harson a stronger sense of his iso-
lation. He shrank away from the light
OF the farlng gas-jets before the shops,
as if he had been a guilty thing. Once
he paused. 1t was outside a chemists
shop. But only momentarily. He had
the courage born of despair, it is true,
but not the courage to look in the face
of any man and ask for the means of
his destruction.
Once he paused; and yet again. He
came to a church. 1t was a saints day,
and there was evening service, %
drawing towards it's close. Some one
had opened the door and there came
out a flood of light, and the sound of
the organ and the singing of the hymn
were borne to him. Invo]untarily he
stood and listened, looking up at the
Illuminated windows. Then, with an
impatient gesture, q%uickened his steps
and went onward-whither he knew
not.
But in spite of himself a new direc-
ton had been gwen to his thoughts.
He was forced to think of God.
Half uneasily he turned his head and
looked behind him.
The uncomfortable possibility of an
awful Presence which watched him
could not be shaken off in that solemn
hour. There IS a natural religion in
men which is stronger than their skep-
ticism.
"If God exists" said Harson aloud,
"and angels are not myths, let Him send
n to prevent my doing this deed"
There is more than one lonely person
in every great city. There was more
than one that night.
A young girl, whose ragged clothes
and pinched face spoke of want, had
crept out of the room, the rem of which
she could nc longer afford to pay, into
the scarcely more cherries streets. A
week ago life had held ho2e for her and
poverty had been endurable, but then
she had not been forsaken by the only
being who professed to Deal her any
love. She dragged herself YEARLY
along the muddy pavement, scarcely
having the energy to lift foot after
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