Capital journal. (Salem, Or.) 1893-1895, 1893-09-22
STORM SHADOWS.

Last June and July l had been tax
ing too much out of myself Beside
the ordinary drudgery at the museum
was in hurry to get my novel fin
ished. l don't know how it is with
men who spin their brains habitual-
ly, but after hard days work the
effort of creation (save the mark,
though it is pleasant at the time and
does not seem to cost me anything,
leaves all my nerves jarring.
In July we went down to the cot
tage on the river, and / wrote harder
than ever till l got into morbidly
irritable and unreasonable state. ]
was always nursing some grievance;
expecting Lucy to divine wishes /
never really felt, and deliberately 81
lent on things l wanted done, that /
might fancy grudge because they
were not seen to without my asking.
She, poor soul, was wonderfully pa
tient, but naturally it depressed her,
and now and then she broke down.
That always brought me to my
senses, and there would be redinte
CRATIC amoris. Still it was strained,
unhappy sort of time.
On Sunday, July 20, l had been
writing all the morning, and not to
my satisfaction, so that was very
respondent about things in general.
In the afternoon Lucy suggested that
we should go to service at st. Peters
school, which is near us, and where
they have a reputation for their sing
ing. The day had been sultry and
lowering, and at o'clock when we
went in a thunderstorm was obvious
ly coming up. l remember well a
curious, heavy effect of sunshine on
the blue mass of vapor.
Lucy went up into the gallery, and
was put into the stalls on the north
side. Next to me was one OF the
masters. His face struck me as he
walked up the aisle. l never saw so
fine a human being, Very tall-two
or three inches, probably, over the
six feet, and with that look of sup
pie strength that man gets from
constant athletic games. But the
head was the thing-a long oval face
with olive tint, long, straight hair as
soft as a woman's and silky black
mustache. He might have walked
out of LEONARDO picture, if LEONARDO
had ever painted a Hippolytus, for
this young man looked as if nothing
had ever occurred to disturb the su-
premacy of cricket and football in
his mind.
But was in that overstrung tenn
per when one cannot command ones
thoughts, and mine flew off in self
criticism. had staked all my hopes
on succeeding with this novel, and
the more reflected the more l was
convinced of my own futility I'm
potent ambition that recognizes its
own impotence is very pretty pur-
gatory, and to indulge in unpleasant
meditations in not church on sui
try July afternoon, with no prospect
of liberation for an hour, is an indul'
gence I commend to no one.
The storm was coming up fast, and
the day had grown fearfully dark
while the air, heavily charged with
electricity, became more and more
oppressive. The thunder was growl
ing away in the Thames valley, com
ing nearer with every roll. Opposite
me was a row of stained glass win
dows. remember their stupid sag
greens and thin reds and blues 81
well. But they were open at top u
catch a breath of air, and ] lookeC
out on to the leaden sky.
was in that nervous, twitchinl
frame of mind that makes you heal
steps in a house by night, and fol
the first time in my life ] began tt
speculate on the possibilities of dan
ger. Suddenly there came a really
awful fash and burst just above M
Il saw the reader start as he wai
walking up the aisle to begin the
lesson Lucy is timid about thunder
and I looked up toward the gallery
to see that she was not fainting Al
raised my eyes there came another
fash across the open window, 80 In
tense and forked and wickedly onv
ering that it dazed me and printee
itself en- the eyeball that saw notn
ing c Sc.
Suddenly - quicker than eoul'
saw it-came the thought that ! wa
blinded. Iput my head on my han
to ease the pain in the eye-we wer
sitting Of course while the lesso
went on-and cold fear took mol
of me. supposed that the thermon
eter was at 100, but shiyered VIII
chill running down my spine, an
the sweat on nay forehead was eol
10 NV hand. Before ] yentured
look up ] knew that the sight W