The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1895-02-23
=, ssssssss . 81
:,{|4G1ERAR}
"IS LIFE WORTH LIVING"

western sky was all aglow with a warlille
crimson, that, away above his head. soft
ened into rosy pink. But the Professor
was not thinking of the sunset. His finely
moulded features wore an expression of
WEAKNESS and his intellectual blue eyes
looked out from under his luxuriant brown
curls with settled melancholy
He was young-n fact, just twenty. six
but his dress gave him the look of a much
older man. His coat did not fit him and
his whole attire was cal eless and old-fash-
Toned.
Behind him stood his desk, from which
he had just risen, covered with papers,
pencils and ponderous volumes in many
languages. In his hand he still held the
last sheets of thesis he had been writing
when the sunlight had deserted him. 1t
was entitled, SIS Life Worth Living?" and
was designed for popular magazine that
had requested something from his pen. In
it he had proved concuSively. quoting
freely from classic and German authors,
that this life of ours, taken all in ALL is
decidedly not worth the living
He felt quite satisfied with his efforts.
His arguments seemed to him soundlv
drawn and unanswerable. He read the last
sentence over twice with evident approval:
And love, the fairest bubble mortals
ing but vain deceit"
He hattered himself that that was rather
well put, and he jottcd down some ideas in
continuance of the thought, which he
would elaborate that evening That he
hastily donned his ovcrcoat, and, as it
looked like rain, gr,sped an umbrella I'M
fashionably large and went out to his din
ner which he took at a cafe near.
He ate his dinner in solitary silence. I'M
needing the laughter and jests of rrepessbla
students at tables all about him. They
observed him with a respectful stare, for
they knew that this young Professor WAS
already famous in the intellectual world
and they felt a personal pride in the hon
orary degrees that other people wrote after
his name, although he never did
They knew that his pamphlet on "Phc-
nomenality of Spirit has been translated
into fourteen different languages and had
revolutionized modern thought on that
subject
The Professor sat idly drumming with
his fingers on the table, waiting for his
dessert. He felt half pity, half contempt,
for people who could laugh foolishly in
such an empty world But Norman
BrOkaw's life had been strange one.
Early deprived of father and mother, he
had been brought up by an uncle, man
divorced from his wife.
Proud of Norman's bright intellect his
uncle had lavished money on his education,
but the love and cherishing that are the
inherent rights of childhood the boy had
never known. After graduating and tax
ing masters degree at Harvard he had
gone abroad and spent two years at a Ger,
man university. His life had been dest-
tute Of social pleasures. He had scarcely
known woman. save the old house
keeper
His uncle, embittered by his own sad
experience, had warned him against the
whole sex as foes to mans happiness.
On his return to America he had been
rendered professoIship in the large uni
versity where he now was. His uncle's
death while he was abroad had left him an
independent fortune, and now, at twenty
six, rich, famous and in perfect health he
found life only an immense an unnecessary
atfictiOn.
He finished his dinner and strobe out
again into the chill November night, his
fine figure and firm tread followed with
admiring eyes by woud-be aspirants for
college athletic honors. His abused mus
Giles pleaded for exercise tonight, and he
struck out into brisk walk down one of
the quiet streets. Clouds had been gather
ing while he was at dinner, and soon big
rain drops began to fall. He hurriedly
opened his wide spreading umbrella. Just
then an explanation of dismay fell on his
ears.
He turned and saw crossing the street,
in the full glare OF the electric light, a
young lady in the prettiest of fall costumes.
She had no umbrella and the rain was beat
ing ruthlessly down on her large velvet
hat with its mass of waving plumes. As
she caught sight of the Professor her face
frightened and with an impulsive bound
she stood beside him under the umbrella.
She raised appealingly IA face so captivat-
ing in its girlish freshness that even the
Professors grave features, shaded by the
umbrella, softened into smile. Long
lashes yelled pair of the loveliest hazel
eyes that ever lighted upa vertable rose
bud face. Perhaps the features were not
quite regular-the nose had little indie
pendent style of its own, but the lips were
very red, and the little auburn curls Just
showing under the wide hat brim COM
peted tout ensemble that was bewitch-
ing.
The Professor suddenly recollected him