The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1896-12-26
PART I.

1t is a bad thing to be overtaken by !
sleeplessness, unless your life is so
smooth and free that you can ailord 10 !
lie still and look at ii. Even then there
will be crumpled rose leaves; such as d
death watch that tricks monotohousiy
until every beat is Il hammer TAP tap
ping on your brain; or dog that hoWlS
in the distance at intervals, so that
you are held in all the throes OF sus-
pense when not in process of active tor
turc. But when the grim brotherhood
OF care and regret and sorrow steal ~ |
through the night, magniticd by the
darkness into BrobdingnaSian pro-
portions; when they paint the past ana
the present--ay, and worst of all the
hereafter-in their own grisly hue, then
comes the fun burden of misery You
try the right side first and the ortho-
doX observation-disclosures up to chin,
right ear well in pillow, knees slightly
bent. eyes shut. What happens? Hoid
the covering over so tightly, in slips
Care To he your bedfelloW. And then
what a record of trouble he breathes
into your ear, The debts that must
be paid. the children that must be fed,
the promotion that never comes, the
strange symptoms that you fear means
the beginning of disease-Whichsoeve
is appropriate to your case he lays be-
fore you. Turn on the left side now
and try again. What of wasted oppor-
tunities, of the crisis in which you
failed, of the moment when you might
have been Il god and proved yourself
less than man? What of the youth
that slipped by with never an unseiilSh
impulse, the childhood that lost its in
nocence so much too sOOn? That is re-
grct Whispering and nasging AZ your
helplessness. Another effort, and turn
upon your back, with your knees max
ing n Mount Sinai of the bedciothes
Sorrow now-sorroW for the dead race
You can never see again: for the lost
love that will plead for hearing; TOR
the touch that thrilled you so much
once that to think OF IL now is agony.
And thus on through the night, until
the dawn steals in To shame Your not
eyebals, and start You forth to wait
for the next bedtimc--and repetition.
Charlie ESdaile knew most of these
things lie had tested them by the liEnt
or the blackness--.of experience for a
succession of nights, and he was sick
to the inmoSt soul of WearineSS. lie was
far out in camp, with no doctor 10 hSip
him, and with no friend 10 rout out al
sweet sleep by way of company. lie
had tried the three positions aforesaid,
he had lit the lamp and read all the al
vertiscments in the Pioneer and he
had lain with the light I'm and studied
the shadows that hung about tine tent
corners. lie was camping i'll Il clearing
in the forest, away out and beyond the
headquarters of his district. Back and
at either side stretched the forest land,
thick and almost trackleSs, but fun Just
now of strange far-aWay noises. Before
and below SWirlrd the Gangcs, very mar
row and swift lust there, Snarling over
the rocks and heavng itself into rapids
and cddeS; beyond that again came
jungle and hills, all wild and bare of
human habitation, and here. perchcd
on the high bank, sat the modest pair
of tcnts--;L Swiss cottage and II 'shul-
dari"-that Esdaiie had had assigned to
him by right of his calling in life, which
was that of superintendent of police in
Timli district Mrs. Esdaile and the
children We're at Timli, whence came
every other day Il runner, jogging out
of the forest at a long. lOuping trot,
with basket of meat or vegetables at
each end of a sticE,and Il letter from the
''mcm safib," full mainly of domestic
details, sticking out Of a bunch of mari
Eolds and hedge-rOses. When the
sddliWaia' went back, he used to take
with him fish caught that morning,
Queer-shaped stones or imprOvised toys
for the babies. and return letter
breathing all chcerfulnesS. and begin
ming: My precious Pattie,' without
word of the sleep destroying devil. Mrs.
Esdaile had her own troubles. and Es-
daile was Englishman enough To tuck
his away when he could. He was lit
tie dried-up man of Norfolk Squircarclfy
breed, born and schoOed in India, but
British bulldog and sportsman to the
hearts core. To the hereditary tastes
he had added q knowledge of the many
strange things Of the east acquired
from the time he had hearkened to his
ayah's editions of folklore onwards.
He knew what the village patriarchs
talked of when they squatted together
inside the mud huts of winter evenings,
and the smoke from the dried dung fuel
made them cough wheezily. He knew
what had happened behind the scenes
when his constabes came to tell him
of the dead man found i'm Ram DasS'
ARA patch; and it was not Ram Dass