The National tribune., 1893-02-23
Ills LIFE and HERS,
A Study in the Influences of En-
Vir0nment.
BY JOSEPH PERcIvAL POLLARD.

i
II was some time before he spoke again. The
dull. even ticking of the clork was the only
sound to disturb the passive quiet OF the room.
Even the pictures seemed wrapped In mantle
of preternalural gloom; they no longer ap-
pealed, dumly. TO the senses. Outside, the
gray stiffness of the Spring DAY was upon the
village shut in by pale. misty warp OF ram
clouds. Ii was dull picture.
He looked cut. with something OF sense OF
pain Swallowed his face. that faded into
grim smile as his eyes caught the whole H.
tensity of the drearness of the place.
No" he went on searching her face with a
swift glance, and then turning bis gaze and
almost his voire with all its painful hardness,
towards a photograph on the mantel, you
have said nothing. of course. How could you
One does net not say those things. But you
could not help thinking it, Mind, do not
blame you only myself And Ms for cruelty
If YOU only knew how every word of this hurt
mel"
Again She made vain attempt at interrupt
ing him.
"ShIn he said. SO quietly that the rudeness
of il was lo>t in the mingled force and gentle
ness Of the exclamation and the gesture that
seemed directed sill only to the inanimste pic
ture; "you must let me unlurihen myself to
Won without making it too tfficult for me, so
that shall scarcely be conscious of it all.
have appointed the fullness of my cup, aud L
must needs drink it,
What long time ago. it seems since left
the place AuG yet it is only Two years. The
change is all on my side here there is none
at ali. ] might only have been sleeping over
night But. you see. have hardly been sleep
ing at all. he city has made me grow, per-
haps too rapidly. and my tastes for ruralities
have all been hunted; cravings for sharper
mental stimulants have been whetted.
do you know that this village life, as the
e :, hafn mn anar m ND
absolutely flls me with sense of fear. oflonli-
ness indispensable. of monotony insuferable
You cannot understand that, perhaps because
you have ever stood apart-+tbe picture has
no background for you. But to Newell.
will paint you the picture as l see it, because
want you TO understand me entirely. One
does not ncs 4 10 use many colors in picture
like this; il is almost entirely in monotone.
Here is the picture A country village in
a Western State that has long since ceased 10
be called new and has settled down TO the
slow, dreamy life of New England hamlet.
only ineffahiy drearier because tie land is not
vet the gardenlike place that New England is,
and the people are still crude in a dull sort
of way. Il is tie County seat The inevita-
bic square contains all of the feeble daily
life that constitutes the business of the village.
There the same firms hold fosth year after
wear; the same customers come in and shop,
and gable. and shop. The same feet have
trod that wooden sidewalk around the square
as far back AS one cares to remember. The
same farmers come in from the country, with
the same errands, the same smali-talk, and the
same everlasting complaints about the crops. 1t
is one gray. leaden mass of monotony. Every
one is, or urefends TO be, religious, and the
ehurchbells ring on Sunday effectively as
the dinnerbell at a city boarding house. Nor
is this mur to be wondered at. The only
social life hinges on the churches. You 60 to
chnrch-ihe Pastor shakes you sravely by the
hand-you are erome a member of the vii
lsge society IL one is yonng, there are the
Sunday -scbons the young peoples prayer
meetings, and suchlike distractions to intro
duce one to the comparatively hilarious pleas
IRE Of the sAtrch sociabies- And everywhere
il is the same faces that one sees, the same
voices that one hears, the same loves and
hates, aud the same quarrels and joys, the
same oppr, ssIvc goodness, the same routine OF
life, world without end, amen!
:" Is ii any wonder that occasionally. in such
village neral escspade suddenly startles
the community with all the force of light
ming from clear sky? 1t is merely an escape
from the terrifying sameness OF the moral,
iDtellectusl, spiritual atmosphere. ! can imag-
inc an unreasonable spirit committing a
crime in suc. place out Of mere wish FOR
relief from he monotony. Such a village is a
cemetery Of hopes. 1t is a place for old men
TO end their days in; for young men to fee
from as they would from temptation.
The gbasiiy silence Of the streets, the
sluggish iEertmess of even the very hub of its
life oppressts with underlined dread.
II is. TO me. a veritshe city Of eternal night.
And yet. only two years ago. that was my
life. ! wss one Of the antomaions on this
stage Then 1 went away as you know, into
the larger, more complex and swifter current Of
city life that ] am now become so entirely
part of. st what precise moment the two
pictures OF the city life and the village life
confronted each other in my mind is obscure
TO me. But the contrast never flashed upon
me so strongly as now that have seen the
old place again.
- have lried TO picture to you the village
life that fills me with such painful sense of
loneliness ard drear. To be jnst 10 myself
should confess 10 you the glamours of the other
life; but its omprehensiyeness appalls me.
The varied scenes, the verchanging crowd OF
faces the diverse ends Of all those strivings, the
swift ebb and flow in the streets, the COM
psnionship of those thoroughfares and again
their sweet soliinGes, the dazzle and the glare
of life by day and by night-all those things
are bone of my bone-l am become part and
parcel of all that, and belong to all that. You
cannot know-how could you what ii mean,
10 me- all that ! did not know myself, until
] came back here. Something OF vague
tenderness always tineed my memories of tn,
village, a half forgotten picture takes on al
the dimness and gentleness of times kind half
tones. But now that the whole intense bleak
ness of the vision has forced itself me
the dim. pale, and. as i now see fanciful pic
ture ia my memory is curtained forever. Only
the still spirit-annihilating sameness Of thu
place will cling 10 me in after years"
The light was fast fading out of the day
Through the no longer white curtains the dim
ness Of the outer air became intensified in thu
room. The fire in the CRATE sent up fitfu
fickers of light, that Swallowed the room Will
grotesque einis and shades.
He put his hand neryously up to his under
LIN, twitching at il in fierce sort of way.
He almost wished something tragic woult
happen to break the stillness-almost tina
she would speak. His eyes. as he furtiyel.
allowed them TO stray across the room to wher
she sat, rested for an instant on q passive. tens
face whose eyes had panied look in thei
violet depths as the glimmer Of tho fire floode
them with light.
IL have told you all this" he began again
his voice signalling an added effort at repres
sion, " SO that you might better understand wha
j am going 10 say now. You know whs
friends VIC were in those old days. 1t was,
have thought lately. the influence OF assocatio
more than aught else that threw US two S
much together. When / went away, two year
ago, | suppose there was a similar II yagu,
idea 10 both our minds that we werewolf, q
good as engaged. There was nothing said, TO b
sure. 1t MAS erely a thing understood. An
the idea has not lain dormant in either of u
in you it las shown itself-oh, unconsciOusly
\ know in vour written and shaken word