St. Landry clarion. (Opelousas, La.) 1890-1921, 1893-04-29

drD mn
mo, Paul, I acdflt q mind to aUorsh5o a!
tCell aS q heart to lope."
Ha, they say am growing old. Old
was old a score of years ago. This
hand is heshless and wrinkled, and as
write it moves tremulously over the
paper. True, it was not so twenty years
ago, nor were my eyes dinmed and de
spoiled of their youthful Iuster; my ster
was firm, my head erect, my hair as
glossy as when my mother bade me her
last, dying farewell. All these had
yet was old. My life was gone; only
existed. Twenty years-long, dreary
And as l look back upon the
thorry, uneven path, naught but mock
ing shadows, stretching their huge
black bodies across the way, appear to
my view. Did say naught? No. One
star-one bright, refulgent star at length
penetrated the gloom of my pathway
and drove away the shadows that
haunted me.
There yonder by the window she
stands. Oh, how like anotherl She is
no longer child that / may dandle on
my knee. She is a woman now, and ]
smoothed with careful hand her path
way and watched with fiuttering heart
her progress. She stands there by the
window gazing out upon the bleak, snow
filed street, and ever and anon as some
half frozen, famishing wretch staggers
by, a suppressed sigh, a whispered prayer
escapes her lips
1t is fast growing dark, and the street
lamps shed their Pickering rays through
the storm; still she stands there. The
wind RACES and howls through the
street, as if in mad joy at the misery
and woe it was sending to many poor
abode; and she knows not how very like
that night it is, that night when first
she breathed the air of heaven. As that
fearful night rolls back upon my mem
ory can with difficulty keep back a
struggling tear. And that night was
just twenty years ago.
Little did | think when in the first
bright flush of manhood should ever
witness such scene; little did | know
what woe, what despair was in store for
me and for her, long dead, as in our
youthful love we sat by that purling
brook, and reyelled in our castles in
Spain" All, those were happy hours,
alas, fear too happy. The events Of
yesterday have fed from my renem-
brance; but that evening, that last In
dian summer evening, so full of joy and
promise, remains in letters ineffable.
How beautiful | thought she looked as
gazed upon her that memorable even
ing-that evening which must see us
part, she to return to the wild whirl of
city life, to resume my studies at col
lege. Dame Fortune had not fondled
me as she had most of my classmates;
vacations Were not for me opportunities
to throw aside the mental cares of stu
dent life and ramble unrestrained
through the country or revel in the daz-
zling delights of Newport and Saratoga.
With vacation came new cares, new
duties. / must spend it in some obscure
district school house eking out few
dollars to bear my expenses at college
for the rest of the year. But | did all
this with a willing, cheerful heart. Am
bition had whispered sweet tale in my
ear and heaped up before my eager eyes
invaluable rewards for all this toll.
1t was in the autumn of 1S-, and the
vacation fast coming to close, began
to see the end of my intercourse with
thirty or forty dirty, saucy ragamuffins
with no small joy. | received my forty
dollars for three months hard labor, and
on the morrow was to return to college.
AS the evening came took my last walk
to the babbling trout brook, and seating
myself on the broad, smooth rock close
down by the waters edge, waited to
bid a farewell to the mistress Of yon-
der summer villa. AS ] sat there on
that rock and gazed half sadly in the
calm water, what tide of sweet mem
ories swept Ger mel 1t was on this very
spot only three little months ago that
first saw her.
On that well remembered evening /
sat there on that same rock reading the
closing chapters of the Life of Thomas
Jefferson, and my meditations were in
perfect unison with their spirit. They
were thoughts of greatness, of honors;
thoughts of good to be done, of hopes to
be realized, of name to bequeath. Both
reading and meditation were broken off,
however, by the approach of footstep.
looked up and saw on the opposite
bank some rods above me person had
hesAd much concerning from the vii
layers, but never before seen. They all
spoke much Of certain rich man. who
IN the summer months came from the
great city with his family and occupied
the little cottage yonder among the trees.
And / had heard, too, of this rich
mans daughter, SO beautiful, SO kind. SO
stately. This was she then. But | was
unnoticed, and she continued arranging
little bouquet of wild flowers to glad
den her mothers sickroom, | supposed,
for had heard also that the rich mans
wife was an invalid. She walked on
slowly down the stream till she was
nearly opposite me. ! thought ] had
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