The people's journal. (Pickens, S.C.) 1891-1903, 1896-09-24
A Journey For Love.

IL is not necessary TO journey to the
Latin quarter Of Paris to find living
romance, stories of unfultilled ambi-
tiOns, empty cupb0ards, flat purses and
sometimes starvation itself. Now
York city, that Mecca for American
genius, is filed to Overlooking with
ambitious mon ana women who flock
there with high hopes and beating
hearts. and who, once lost in the city's
struggling mass Of humanity drift
lover and lower, aud finally seek oc-
cupation in the most humble and Bit
ter paths OF life. Such creatures of
misfortune were tho tenants Of a small,
shaky structure in lower Now York,
a building that had so outgrown its
usefulness and decent appearance that
it was known as The Kuins," which
namo was most significant when one
considers the financial condition Of the
old houses occupants.
I'VE lived in THE Ruins" Tom
and |, pegging away at our pictures
and praying for that blissful day when
fame and fortune would come, when
Ruins" from our feet and journey away
TO some delightful spot beyond tho
reach of bill collectors and out of tho
prosdic sound OF vegetable carts and
coal wagons. 1t was this thought Of
coming wealth that kept us on our
foot, that buoycd our sinking spirits
and madc us laugh when our hearts
were crushed under load of sorrow.
Wero We unhappy? No, for we had
each other, and the love of man and
woman is healing balsam in times of
misfortune. TO be sure, each grieved
to sec the other in want Of those little
luXuries which make life worth the
living, but had we not each others
Inspiring words of hope to cheer the
way and make the rough places loss
sharp and painful? Had Tom been
alone, had beon alone, the dreary for
Sakenness and the agony Of unceasing
disappointment would have been be-
yond all human endurance and-well,
who can tell what fate would have
been ours? 1t is narrowing thought,
and foolish one, but women are wont
to dwell on what might have been,"
even If it makes them miserable.
Our neigh bors, the other tenants OF
ourselves. Like us, too, they wore
shabby clothes and turnover shoes and
supplied the wants Of the "inner man"
by buying articles Of food at the corner
grocery and cooking them over the
blaze of a smoky gratc fire or an ILL
smelling sputtering OIL stove. There
wore six or seven Of them, our neigh
bors, and every week or two one would
disappear, no doubt to go into cheaper
lodgings, while new face and an un-
familiar but equally shabby figure
would take his or her place. We saw
little Of the other tenants, meeting
them only in the dusty, bleak Railways
or on the creaking, unsteady stairs.
Sometimes they would murmur good
morning or we would exchange growl
Cf hatred for the landlord Of the crum
bling "Ruins," but more frequently
we passed in silence, sinking hurried
~ along as if ashamed Of our parcels
Of provisions or our three-season gar
ments. This had been the condition
Of our social affairs until one gloomy
April day, when there came q timid
knock on our door, which knock |
answered with no great feeling Of
happiness, fearing an un-lOokedfor
visit from the uncongenial landlord.
My apprehensions were groundless.
1t was the little German governcss
who lived in checrleSS back room on
the floor above.
81 heard your husband go away and so
took the liberty Of coming to see YOU"
she stammorcd in broken English as
Il pretty blush Of embarrassment Grim
soncd checks which we're usually Of &.
cold and unhealthy whitcncss.
have waited to como for such q
long, long time. 1t is very lonesome,
this New York, is it not: think one
could die and not be found for years
unless it was by the landlord whom he
comes to collect his fees each week
The landlord, one is only sure OF him !;
he never fails, he never forgets, he
comes each Wednesday with hand held
out for the money and his wrinkled
old face is all pinched and puckcrcd
with dvaricc. Ach. | hate him, the
landlord"
She paused for breath. | took Tom S
palette, covered with paint from the
one comfortable chair in the room and
begged my visitor to be seated.
You and your husband are both
artists" shc continued, talking fast
and never waiting for replies to her
questions" you must be happy. Yes,
you are happy, for hear you singing
sometimes, and when | see you and
your husband on the street he is always
holding your arm as if you were a
piece Of rare porcelain You are the
only person in this drcary placc-this
ruin, as they call it-who ever smiles.
The rest-ah they so about like
ghosts, creeping up and down, up and
OO"u, utlC SGdlfS aS ~ Gloy u QlC aC So
much as the sound Of their foUtste ps.
OF, this America, it is awful-it is
terrible. | think sometimes | shall
die. | think sometimes that | can live
no longer in this vault, where people
are neither dead nor alive. If only |
had moro work, if only | could earn
more money and get little more room
somewhere in the fresh air, and get
where can see trees and green
things. And this noise this endless
roar Of wagons and clenging Of street
car bells ! All, I fear am going mad
that my brain is ill"
1t was the Same old story-little or
no work, wretchedness OF heart and /.
desperate lack OF money. pitied her
and felt that strong sympathy which
only one woman can have for another.
How much richer was |, l thought
than this poor, fricndless woman alone
in IL foreign country. How could
complain after that?
She told me her history her Grim
soncd cheeks grow brighter as she con-
tinued and her hands moved ncrvously
as if she were i'll.