The Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1865-1903, 1894-11-03

IONS upon MS UlbdW tGAub lHEQtTf
which had brought about an undyinE
hatred between the two, terminating at
last in the pitilnl seeno l had witnessed
In Chelsea hospital yard.
I sat beside the old fellow for mora
than halt Of that day. / listened TO bis
brave tales Of yAlofous deeds; his objpr.
cations upon the life ct Chelsea, an
endless repetition Of meauness and Gun
ming, petty Injustice and burning dis
content; his stealthy condolences Of
other pensioners weaknesses, brayado
and coWardiee. and his own wondrous
days and ways; aud, more pitiiul than
all, his eyer-recurring querulousness,
childishness and helplessless, now sincs
his last cotnrade on earth was gone.
AA sat and listened ! built nv story
over and over: OF the two old pension
ers, rivals In youth. comrades 10 arms,
still comrades In the touching quest for
the woman they both had loved, com.
rades in the wilder, fercer battles OF
their last companionship, with the final
deadly hurt which drove them apart
until the lips of one were forever still,
and then the old man groyeling upon
his knees beside the coffin and the pail,
Just before the saddeniug cortege moved
away, as its climax OF hopeless pAthos
and grief; until It all moved within me
from beginning to end With tumultu.
ous, impetuous tread.
Then pressed upon the old fellow
some coin for comforting tobacco aud
ale, saw him back TO the pleasant hos.
pital grounds, and, bidding him hearty
goodbye, started to turn away.
Holding his rough old hand for mo-
ment, was thrilled with a sudden aud
convincing thought. It took expression
in my parting words as l looked in his
doleful face.
Uncle Billy, / believe something will
happen to relieve your loneliness up
there in Ward 10, since Mike has gone
away"
"0nly one thing could 'appen now,
sir;" he replied with a startling groan.
l knew what he meant; but that was
not my thought,
mo, no; it will not be that, Uncle
Billy It Is something better. brighter
than that. You have not shown me
yet your wife is dead. / belieye-1
Enow-she will yet DO found to take
Mikes place through many sunny
daysp
The old man wrung his hand fiercely
out OF mine. Ho staggered back against
the stone pillar OF the gateway, and
would have fallen, had not the old PEN
sloner sentry come to his support.
My last glimpse Of him, as turned
and almost fed, was picture that will
never leave my heart. The old PEN
sioner's face had turned from bronze to
deathly white, and l felt that unutter-
able maledictions were struggling from
his lips for the false hopes / had 30
cruelty raised within him.
But in some wild, needless, unaccount-
able way, 1 had stubborn belief in
what had felt aud said. 1t possessed
me over aud above-every impulie to-
wards my own remorseess task.
"That woman is alive. here in Lon
don. shall be instrumental in bring
ing these two strife-beaten old souls
together" came flashing and whirling
in upon me again and again as has
tened back TO the city and my work. l
did not reason .his out. could not.
It followed mo even when l stole into
the National Gallery, and for added in
SEPARATION in my story-making, stood be-
fore Herkomer's great painting OF the
Chelsea pensioners at yesper service.
Yes, there they all were, grimly and
awfully real and true. Not very !eyer-
entail, these old war dogs Of other days.
You can see they are uneasy as children
in their pews. You almost hear their
feet getting into complications with
wooden legs, canes and crutches; and
one cannot but listen for strange smut:
filings, clearing Of threats and hard
asthmatic breathing. But the mighty
master piece-almost history, In sug-
gestiveness, OF Britain's imperial con-
quests and her thankless niggardliness
to tho broken lives that had been cast
remorselessly aside-does not one whit
exasgerate tho wondrous pathos OF their
collective and individual aspect The
painter has told all the wretched, heart
breaking story in these white heads and
battle-scarred, bent frames bowed In
groveling, protective silence at the time
Of benediction aud prayer
In o half hour more l was back at my
desk, my window shutters closely
drawn aud hiding the dreary Tapping OF
a ghostly London fog, my fire and light
burning brightly, aud everything in
readiness for my inspirated task. Then
the one thought flashed over me that a
master had told iitimitibly moro on
canvas than could ever be revealed in
words. But fought this down, and
still essayed to write.
Again and again I began, but 1t seemed
like contemplate plagiarism, yes, al
most like literary aacrilege. TO even
tread on ground go incomparably ira:
versed before me. The entire fabric OF
the day began to vanish like phantom
OF the night. saw first, Herkomer's
great painting; then the wretched face
OF the poor old man ! had left half faint.
ing at Chelsea Hospital Gate; and then
tho face, or outlines OF face, my
dogged persistence in IN apparently
hopeless fancy was slowly conjuring
out OF the misty depths OF visionary
clouds.
For hours l sat thus wordless and
ellortless before my desk and papers. l
had long before flung my pen from me
and 1t hal rebounded from tho desk
and fallen with one end resting across
the huge glass inkstand. With my
head held tightly in my hands, / was
gazing vacanlly at both, seeing neither
fairly from stress OF mental excitement
and distraction.
Suddenly within tho curves, protru.
sions and indentations OF the ornR.
mental glasa OH the outer surface OF the
inkstand the half caught lines Of n
woman's face arrested my attention.
More startling still, 1t was the Identical
face which my fancy had evolved from
the strange aud pathetic incidents Of the
day, aud il now took on definite form
nnd inalnta In the old glass inkstand