Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1896-08-22
NEVER DESPAIR.

VINO mas not noarQ or read aDOuU LON
don bridge, that famous thoroughfare Of
England's busiest center Of traffic, Of it's
endless stream Of humanity, constantly
passing to and fro in its daily pursuits,
of innumerable tales of woe, Of lives lost,
misspent and forlorn, of tragedies, occur
ring only to be at once forgotten and fol.
lowed by more startling crimes, the inevi-
table result and outcome of everyday life In
the English metropolis-the seat Of untold
wealth and of untold misery-that unrolls
before us the depths of human nature, only
too often in their most revolving formp
1t was on dark and foggy evening.
The hour when the tired toilers seek the
comfort of their Preside, when everybody
goes to his home-provided he has home
had come and gone. Suddenly two Pc
destrians approaching from opposite direc-
tions came to q sudden and rather un-
pleasant collision on the bridge One OF
them, young and dressed In the height OF
fashion, had come from the aristocratie
regions of the west end, while the other,
who had approached from the laboring
districts of Southwark, was much older
and was poorly clad. Their heads had felt
the effects of the sudden contact, and both
had come to full stop, each feeling the
injured member with his hands and nurs-
ing it, while the compliments they ex.
changed were anything but polite
"Thunder and lightning, STRIP ex-
claimed the younger of the two "Your
Uranium is not exactly bolstered up with
springs, assure you'll BOUNDS! Why
could you not get out of my way when
YOU saw me approachP''
The other, evidently laborer, shrugged
his shoulders and threw q longing look
across the railing to the dark waters Of
the Thames below.
"Where were you going POSTMASTER con-
tinued the first speaker, noticing the
mans detected attitude.
"There'' came the hoarse answer,
pointing down to the river.
"Theres Well, my man, our road is the
same. Take me with your
The poor laborer cast surprised look at
the we'll dressed young man.
"You?" he said. "You to 20 down
therep Imposslblel What has put such
dreadful thought into your h6adP You
are surely not suffering from want; you
cannot possibly know the sorrow and the
misery that is the poor mans portion
You look like rich man. You have youth
besides; consequently you are happy and
to be envied."
Wrong, my friend, altogether wrong
Wealth Is not always akin to happiness, !"
responded the young man. Come rouse
yourself. can see things also have gone
wrong with you. Walk with me short
distance and let me explain"
CtranOot Hara vuaro fuo ,,orcopc xuhO
had not even known of each others exist
ence five minutes before, but withal they
felt themselves drawn toward one another
by that sympathetic flash which SO often
influences our destinies.
Peacefully and contentedly they walked
side by side, while the rich man poured
his heart out to his poor companion, tell
ing him with impulsive words that he led
anything but happy life, although pos
sessing everything that usually goes to
make life worth living. He was bachelor
who had inherited great wealth from his
uncle. He had drained the pleasure cup
of all kinds of amusements, had kept serv-
ants, horses and carriages, numberless
friends had congregated at his splendidly
furnished apartments and in his country
residences, he had even wildly speoulated
without rhyme or reason In Lombard
street, but won In spite Of his folly, he had
travelled, he had celebrated orgies, lie had
lived like sybarite and thrown away his
money with both hands, and now he was
tired Of life, satiated and blase in spite
Of his youth. Melancholy, remorse and
misanthropy troubled him necessarily and
he could not help repeating to himself that
his life had been an utterly useless one.
Therefore he had finally come to the DELHI
crate conclusion to end his worthless exist.
enoe in the waters Of the river Thames.
The laborer was dumfounded. Never In
his life had he listened to such queer
tale.
Elbow incomprehensiblel he exclaimed.
"My life tells exactly the opposite story.
I am very poor, have an ailing wife and
seven children, and, alas, no food fol-
themi Thus far have honestly and tire
lessly tried to make the two ends meet, In
] q manner, by hard work, but few days
ago lost my place in the factory on 40
count Of the dull times. cannot witness
the misery at home any longer. 1t tears
my heart to look at my starving loveG
ones, and though my poor, suffering Wifi
|
courage, bidding me not to despair, SCI
no escape. have no hope left and am re-
solved to put an end to my miserable OK
istence. May God, in his infinite mercy
have pity on my familyln
/ "Poor fellowl'' The rich young man.
oountenanoe was full OF deep felt pity, ant
unbidden tears gathered In his eyes. Sucl
tale he had never heard, never dreamed
Of amid the affluence Of his surroundings
"Now know that there are people ii
this world who are great deal more un
happy than considered myself to be, foo
that was," he reflected.
"But cheer up, man. There Is help Ii
| case like yours. Come lead the way
Take me to your house. guess can en-,
your troubles, and, a. far as the--the-
jumping into thu Thames Is concerned,
think there 10 no special hurry about 1t
Do you'll"
| A cab soon brought the two former can
didates for self destruction to the dirty
narrow lanes Of the workingmen's quar-
ter in Southwark, where 1t stopped ii
front Of tumble down cottage. Povert,
and want stared at them from every nooi
and corner az the master Of the house an,
his young companion entered small blu
tidy and scrupulously clean room.
group Of children Of q pronounced blon,
type had hardly recognised their fathe
when they ran up to him and pitifull
begged for bread. Her eyes red and swoi
len from crying, her body emaciated from
want and sickness, the mother painful
tried to rise from her work az soon az Oh
~ Ahn "a l~.~