The Chanute times. [volume] (Chanute, Kan.) 1897-1913, 1897-01-01
Welcome the Coming Speed the Parting Guest.

end of the year, so that he may pass
out satisfied with his sojourn here ant
be able to carry n good report int
eternity. But, alas! | fear he vii
meet with the same fate that has be
fallen the rest, every one of us, so far
But, see here; look at this package
This is labeled 'cigar-bundle.' You
swore Off when first knew you, and
the spell lasted just three days. You
see, l had to begin with many of my
bundles the second day after my arriv
al among you, ana they increased ev
cry moment from that time until my
poor, aching back almost refused to
carry its burden. / am glad l am al
most ready to shuttle off; only one hour
more, and | shall be at rest"
The gray head falls lower down
upon the faintly-heaving breast, and
the weary lids close over the sunken
eyes, as though too tired to ever lift
again.
'Is there nothing-nobody that the
parting from gives me pain, you ask2
"Oh, yes! There are many little chill
dren, and few grown-up children, n
very few of the last-named, who are
so dear to me that it almost breaks my
heart when L think of leaving them.
Those who have faithfully lived up to
their vows-kept their New Years
promises, they are my own dear chill
dren, and | only wish l might take
them with me into eternity"
The tears are running down the
cheeks of the Old Year as he talks of
those he loves, and my heart Is filled
with pity, remorse and disgust for my
own miserable failures, and a mental
promise that thS~a oming happy child
shall not carry any of my broken prom
lses or unkept vows. no matter what
the struggle may cost me.
II suppose you haven't time to show
me any more of my bundles of broken
promises, have you?" l asked as he
sits gazing meditatlvely into the fire.
II will show you just one more" Is
his answer, in very weak voice, while
his head droops lower and lower as the
moments go by. Here it is-your
promise to write every week to your
lonely old mother, who grieves and
watches for your letter that never
came, wondering what has happened
to you and worrying herself half sick
over your long silence"
"But isn't that rather small offense
to make such great bundle out of"
I ask, trying to find some excuse for
fact | know only too well is true.
"Small! small! do you call neglect Of
your mother in any way, no matter
how small it may sound or appear. l
say, do you call it small offenseT
He fairly shreked these words at
me, and l was really afraid the old fel-
low would fall in fit, instead of dy-
ing natural death.
DO you know, yC ung man, that
these are the heaviest loads that re put
upon me-the things you mortals call
trifles and such things. Yes, sir! it is
the little things that make these great
bundles for me to carry every day in
the year"
He became silent again, for his voice
had grown so faint and weak that l
can scarcely hear hear it.
And now the clock begins the mid
nigh stroke! Ore, tive, three, four,
five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven,
twelve. All! what was that! A sound
as of something falling! I rub my
eyes and look again, but the closest
scrutiny fails to reveal the old year.
Surely, 1 saw him fall off the table as
the last stroke rang out, but he has
gone-gone with his burdens and sor-
rows--his load of broken promises and
false vows-his broken hearts, his fail
ures and shipwrecked voyages.
l sit alone once more-but the room
has grown suddenly cold-the rosy
light has turn. to a faint, sickly vel
low-and wonder whether have had
a vision or a dreamI Which would you
think, dear reader?