The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1901-09-04
SAVED BY THE BELLS

Gerald Wykham was a struggler in
literature. He had grown tired Of
hearing the postman come down the
hallway with refusals Of his produc-
lions and was convinced that luck was
against him. Men must have a scape-
goat, and when theie energies fail Of
accomplishing some desired end, pos
sibly through their own blindness or
mismanagement, they attribute their
failure to luck.
SO Gerald sat and thought of his
prospects, and it did not require much
effort to cover them all. He cast up
his accounts mentally and balanced his
assets against his liabilities. OF the
latter, thank God, there were none to
amount to anything, and of the former
well, the account balanced nicely.
His watch was silver and old at that.
His lawboOks were not numerous, and
old lawboOks are a drug on the market
at any time His furniture was rickety
and cheap. SO there was nothing to be
gained in trying to sell that. He threw
out his hands in a sort Of deprecating
appeal to the world as he sat there in
the darkness. What was there to live
for? There was nothing in life that he
could see. He had no intimate friends
he had been too much wrapped up in
his business to make them.
He had many pleasant acquaintance,
but they are rarely friends. A friend is
one who is willing to give something
for nothing, and Gerald knew that
there was none such among the men
who greeted him pleasantly day after
day. He had no family save a distant
cousin or two, who would regard it as
a blessing, perhaps, if he were out Of
the way. "Out of the wayr That
J phrase woke a train of thought in his
mind. He dropped his head upon his
! hands and thought of getting rid of his
miserable life. He sat there and heard
nothing. The colored ianitor shufled
down the hallway and closed the stair
case window, grumbling the while
about the weights being too heavy and
the windows being likely to open them
selves 'jes' when theys a showah an
mebbe a bluzzard a-ragin."
But Gerald did not hear him. The
room was growing darker and colder at
the time, but the mans heart was so
much darker and colder that he felt
nothing He was thoroughly discour-
aged, and when a man gets thoroughly
discouraged; when, like this one, his
funds and his prospects are all gone;
when the streets, and the factories, and
the newspapers, are all filed with
forms and names begging for employ
ment, and the discouraged man knows
no trade or profession save the one
which has failed, then comes the desire
to sleep-to die-to end the futile strug-
gle for existence anyhow, to stop think
ing. 1t goes further than q discussion
of the question, is life worth living"
and it becomes merely a bald state
ment, death were betterw
Gerald reached for the drawer in his
desk, where his revolver, loaded with
ball. lay close to his hand. 1t would be
quick way out of the difficulty-a
momentary twinge of pain, then bless
ed oblivion.
The 6 o'clock bells were ringing, and
the man rose with q bitter SMILE The
hooking bells rang on, merrily, merrily
chasing the tones up and down the
scale. He looked at the pistol, cooked
it. Hark! There came in through that
hall window, which must have opened
itself again, the strains of Corona
ton" The bells had ceased their
mockery and were ringing out the old
hymn tunes-the tunes his mother used
to play on the old melodeon and sing
to him. He stopped, and the pistol
Slowly fell by his side Then the air
changed, and the chimes rolled the
grand strains of "Adeste Fideles'-
Oh, come, all We faithful
Was he faithful to himself? Was he
faithful to his manhood?
Joyful and triumphant
Was there nothing at all in life worth
living for? Had he not advised dis
consulate friend to cheer up and make
one more step out to better things?
The pistol dropped from his hand on to
the table, and the air played by the
bells was now one of comfort
to the mercy seat,
Fervently kneel.
Through the snow laden twilight the
notes of the hymn sounded
Here bring your wounded hearts
Here tell your anguish
The memory of the little old church
at home came back to hm-tAe menu
DRY of his mothers death and how the
hymn comforted his childish heart.
Earth hath sorrow that heaven cannot heal.
There came shuttle on the door OF
the hallway, and the light of Il lantern
shone over the transom. a knock on
the door; but the man within stood
with his face buried in his hands and
needed it not. Then letter was slipped
through and fell with a soft tap on tho
bare and dirty floor.
The bells We're silent as the man
stepped forward. picked up the letter,
and with bitter smile read the stamp
on the corner He knew it so we'll!
Another polite refusal, or request to
send postage. He tore 1t open. What!
A thin piece of paper-"We should be
| nIoa IN 500 ynOra Of x-ot1r x.rOrIx MI