St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1895-04-06
W. G. KENTZEL, Editor.

| to him that to neglect them would b
o slight to the wishes of the dead.
He remembered that he must sen,
the announcement of her death to tn,
papers. 1t was horrible to write sucl
lines here where everything spoke he
name-''the dearly beloved VITA o
Paul Weguelin''-he had done it, ant
every year he would send an in me
MORAN notice-every year on the an
niversary of her loss
The child was no comfort to him
The baby seemed to the husbands grie
responsible for what had happened. Ill
left it to the care of the nurse, ant
often, when he returned from the city
and the little chap was asleep, he die
not 60 upstairs to look at him.
Yes, indeed, it had been q love
match, and Paul's heart seemed buried
in E,hel's grave. For months he lived
the life of an automaton, performing
his duties mechanically, thinking Of
nothing, caring for nothing, but the
past which could never be rekindled OF
revived.
Once. when he came home, he found
that the play had been sent back by
the manager as useless to him. lie
scarcely noticed it. He glanced at the
rejection form indifferently, and tossed
the manuscript into a drawer among
the limbo Of forgotten things.
One day was SO like another, the
months SO void of event, and it came
upon him with shock one night to
realize that Ethel would soon have
been dead q year. Was it possible?-
twelve months ago! Yes, on the 22d,
and it was now the 21st. Ho went
heavily to his desk, just where he had
sat before, and wrote the in memoriam
notice lie had vowed to write. 1.-The
dearly beloved wife of Paul Weguelin!
The tears ran down his face. Every
year, sweetheart" he muttered, husk-
lily, ''every year till we meet each other
again."
People commented on his faithful
ness to a memory-so few men are
faithful to the living. In the Office he
was sometimes invited to spend an
evening at a friends house or at the.
ater. He invariably declined. He still
wore deep mourning. Acquaintances
began to call it affectation, but they
wronged him. He had but one relaxa-
ton, and that had come to him rather
than been sought AS the boy grew
an affection that surprised himself
awoke in Paul Weguelin's breast, and
the only hours in which he regained
something of his former cheerfulness
were when he was playing with his
child.
From one step to another. When
the youngster was two years old Paul
came, by chance, upon the play he had
thrown aside in despair. He took it up
and reread it. 1t was good-good. A
little of his old interest in it sprang
into being again. Supposing he were
to submit it somewhere else?
He forwarded it to theater the fol-
lowing day. 1t came back a month
later, but he was in earnest again
now, and he cent it to another house.
The latest management was long
time replying, but when an answer did
come. it was, to some extent, favorable.
Assuming that certain alterations were
made in it, the drama might possibly
be put on.
He was not excited; he was dismayed
ut himself in perceiving how dull and
inert the prospect left him. He con-
trasted his absence of emotion with
what he would have felt at the time
when Ethel was with hina-Ethel, who
had died crying that she would not live
to see the play produced. Neverthe-
less he went to see the manager, and
had the suggested amendments defin-
itely explained. They took several
weeks to effect, and when they were
completed, some changes in the man
agerial intentions left the fate of the
play doubtful still.
1t remained doubtful while summer
merged into autumn and autumn
turned to winter SHOWS. And then at
last it was accepted absolutely. Paul
Weguelin's name began to creep into
the newspapers. The drama went into
rehearsal. The authors pulses beat =
shade more quickly and his fellow
clerks wrung his hand and asked for
''orders" with establishment ''writ
large" on their countcnanccs.
Great Scott, old fellow! You :
You did keep it close. Well,
1 congratulate you, I'm sure. l sup
pose you'll be chucking the city direct
ly and be heavy swell up west?"
1t was pleasant He could not deny
that he enjoyed it; his tobacco tasted
better; he knew at last what it was to
be excited again. The rehearsals,
when he was able to attend them, even
banished the memory of Ethel from
his mind. But this distressed him when
he observed It, and he made a pilgrim
age to her grave which was for the
first time perfunctory.
When the curtain went up on the
first night he stood at the back of the
dress circle with ashcn cheeks and .
heart that thumped as If it would suf-
focate him. His lines-his lincs-were
being spoken on the stage, and the
audience laughed and clapped their
hands at them. The act drop fell; it
rose; the applause grew more vocif-
erous. The piece was a success, an
triumph. He was called
at the end and loudly cheered.
He asked no more of fate; his cup was
full.
Someone insisted on carrying him of
with party to supper. There were
and merriment He made
a speech; it was a witty speech; every
body banged the table. Perhaps he
had drunk little more than he was
accustomed to, but-what did 1t mat
ter? The champagne was good, and
the play was good, too. BY Jove, they
were all good-all good fellows to-
gether. Just as he made the last re-
mark his tongue changed. and with
brief word he sat down hastily.
It occurred to him at this moment
that the date was the c2d. The third
in memoriam announcement should
have appeared that morning and he
had forgotten to send it--F. C. Phil
lips, in st. Paul.
Not So SoFa0ue.
It is related that two persons. one OF
them . wheelman and the other an op-