Waterbury Democrat., 1900-12-17

k IL day long the ovation had last "A ed; banners had waved, drums had beaten and the swarming masses of humanity, gathered from all parts of the country, had shouted them selves hoarse as the great general had passed through the streets in his handsome carriage, lowing to right and left or chatting pleasantly with the president of the United States, who sat by his side. And now the night was bringing a more brilliant repetition of the days festivities.
 Best of all, no envious voice was raised in all the multitude. For not only had the great man saved the honor Of his country by his intrepidity in moment of peril, but he f1attered the national pride because he realized in every way the highest and finest type of American manhood. Then, too, he wore his laurels with a quiet dignity and modesty that the people, tired of blatant heroes, appreciated; so, in return they loved him, and as national love can only be expressed by badges and parades and illumina- tions, and much speech making, all these things had their places in the swiftlymoving panorama of the day.
 The finest feature of all, at least in the eyes of the ragged street gam ins, was to be the great dinner that night, when under canopies of rare flowers and to the soft accompani- meat cf beautiful music, the men of highest position, and the fairest la dies of the land were to welcome their returned hero.
 In the meantime the object of all this adulation had been driven quick ly to the hotel for an hours rest be- fore the banquet, and after reaching his apartments had thrown himself into an easy chair in utter exhaus- tion of mind and body.
 Don't call me until I have barely
 time to dress, Matthew's" he said to his valet, and the man, after careful ly attending to the few wants of his master, left the room. Then the gen
 eral, left to himself, walked slowly to the window and looked down into
 the street, where his name was still being shouted, and where remarkable presentments of himself in electric | lights had begun to flash across the darkness of the sky.
 Evening papers!" rang out the | shrill voices of the newsboys; "all | about the great gen'ral," etc.
 Some one slipped copies of the late editions under his door and he arose
 and glanced at their glaring pages. But he soon threw them from him | and sought the refuge of his chair. l Then he looked around him. The room | was radiant with flowers sent by
 countless admirers, and the soft light | gleamed upon pictures of himself over | which the national colors were draped.
 Highest pinnacle of fame! Every
 thing within his reachl' The absurd headlines contained in the afternoon | papers rang consistently in his ears.
 He shrugged his shoulders a little
 wearily. Yes, people must think him | a happy man, he said to himself. He | could put himself in the attitude of | the toilers of the work-a-day world,
 to whom no prizes fall and could re- | alize that the heights to which he | had climbed might seem to them the
 summit of all earth-born ambitions Well-fame, honor, wealth, all had come to him at last, but, after all, was he the happy man which, accord
 ing to all known precedent, he should | be2
 l Again he picked up newspaper. He moved restlessly in his chair, glanc-
 ing down it's columns. Then he gave
 low exclamation and sat with star
 ing eyes looking at the page before him.
 | Two roughly-executed wood cuts had caught his eye, taken from two
 old photographs which some enter l prising young reporter had unearthed
 one of the general himself, in his young manhood, and the other of his girlish wife, taken soon after their
 marriage-the merry, patient little
 wife, who had always believed in his
 coming greatness; who had stinted l and saved that he might have the op- | portunity to develop himself, and who had slipped quietly away into the Unknown Country long before there were any signs or portents that the world shared her convictions con- cerning her husband. The poor. little
 picture brought back what the great general had been trying to put away from him all day-the thought that l he had at last accomplished all that
 she in, her love had dreamed of; and
 now she to whom the credit of what
 ever glory he had won was due, was l not there to share it with himl The world had never known-how could iit know-that in the hszrt ok the man