The Washington bee., 1902-02-22
ADELBERT'S SAD END.
By TOM b. MORGAN

stOTles, the sort which sometimes cbaar b,+
never lnebrlate, and his productions never
brought the blush of shame to the cheek OF
she most delicate fabric. He entertained
many and harmed none, wherefore | con-
tend, that he deserved a better fate than
that which befell him. l fancy he was more
slhhed against than SHINING when he got
himself entangled in the meshes of the
Epeciai-day story, and thereby eventually
became a slave of the subsequent.
Ihe speeial-day story, dear reader. is a
tale appropriately favored for publication
near unto certain time or day of the
year. There are numerous varieties of il.
/ VIZ; The immaculate Washington's Birth.
! day story, the mellow st. Patrick s-Day-in-
ths-mornng-bedad story, the hugely-humor-
Gus April Fool story, the Fourth of JULY
story, the Thanksgiving story, wherein the
/ Fepentant prOd'gal renigs on husks and re-
turns Tor PIE and lOng-deferTed glee, and
most OF the rest OF us are thankful for what
| aldn happen to US. Last, but by no means
ledsI, comes the joyous, full-stomached fes-
TAI occasion wherein everybody comes home
10 listen to the grCaning of the board and
| 10 get forgiveness and Indigestion, and so
| on. Ihls latter, and the greatest favorite
OF them all, Is the Christmas story.
BE 1t understood, that the special-day
story IS usually written about six months
| PRIOR 10 the date Of its publication, and
therefore, IN radically different weather
and an entirely antagonistic season Of the
| year. For instance, the Fourth of July
story, with Its hectic midsummer warmth
and patriotism, is penned when the boreal
blasts are signing and soughing through
the rme-trnged whlskers of the belated
Waytarer; and the Christmas tale. with its
trimmings OF sleigh bells and arctic winds
elawlng IN impotent rage at the stout oaken
door, while the flaming yule log beats the
DaIIed cold back with tropic heat. is writ
ten in summer by copiously perspiring pen.
which wearily waves palm leaf fan in one
hand the while it earnestly wishes for rain
with the other
thus 1t comes to pass that the author is
either six months behind the time O year
and the climatic conditions he is endeavor-
ing to portray, or else his imagination is an
equal length of time ahead of his surround
lngs. II he don't feel what he is writing,
he IS that far in arrears; and if be is of the
sort who live in the midst of their creations,
he IS to that extent ahead of himself and cor
respondingly prior.
Now, Adelbert j. Penworthy was a con-
scientiOus party and an emotional-he felt
that he must feel all that his characters
were supposed to feel, and when he felt
that he wasn't feeling as he felt they ought
TO feel, he would feel that he must force
himself to feel as ne felt il necessary for him
to feel IN order to make his characters feel
as they ought to feel. As it is we'll known,
this thing OF feeling is largely, if not wholly,
a matter of temperament or imagination. If
we are sufficiently emotional and possess
the required sensitiveness of Temperament.
We can feel almost any way we desire to, or
feel that we should feel If we can only
convince ourselves, for instance, that we
are happy, why. We are happy. When We
feel that we feel cold or hot, we are cold or
hot, just as the case may be. 1t is all a mat
ter of feeling
Thus, goodly portion of the time, Pen
worthy was living, with the assistance of his
fancy, fully half a year distant from the
actual date. In winter he was projecting
himself into the subsequent summer, and
writing Fourth of July stories, and feeling
them as he wrote; and in summer he was
penning Christmas tales, and in Imagination
suffering from chilblains. At first it re-
quired all the strength of his Imagination
to enable him to feel what he felt he must
feel; but after long practice it became al
most second nature with him to .hrow him
self forward SIX months and into the midst
of surroundings and weather entirely diff
ferent from those in his immediate vicinity.
And at last he couldn't help it.
Presently PenwoTthy's fancies became
realities TO him, and realities only faRcies.
He fancied that his fancies were facts and
the facts were only fancies, and thought
that what he thought was reality was only
what he thought was real while the real
reality was what he thought was only what
he thought. He got so that he couldn't ien
whether what he thought was really what
he thought or only Just what he thought he
thought. Sometimes he thought that what
he thought he thought was only what he
thought he thought he thought, and then
again, he didn't.
In natural sequence, he became unable to
determine whether the time and season of
the year then on hand was the past or the
future, or only just the present. He didn't
know whether now was really now, or
whether he was dwelling in fancy six months
ahead of where ne thought he was, or
whether where he thought he only thought
llC was NdS ANdllg tlAN NOAANAG uOSS oAAN- liz
was actually six months behind the times.
He couldn't tell whether to-day was really
to-day, and he only thought it was tO-mOr-
row or yesterday, or it was some other day
and he was merely fancying it was to-day.
He didn't know whether this month was
next month or last month, and whether he
was behind time and had arrived a good
while ago or was yet to come in on the last
load. When he received a letter he some
times laid it aside in the belief that he had
answered it SIX months before, and when he
got up from a fit of sickness he was just be-
ing taken down. He ate pie for breakfast
and often went without his supper, thinking
he had had it. He began to think last Thurs
day was next Wednesday and next Satur-
day was really last Monday. 1t bothered
him to find last nights or tomorrow nights
moon shining at midday, and he couldn't
sleep we'll because the eastern sun shone
brightly all night.
He caught a violent cold and froze one Of
his ears on the Fourth of July, and read the
Declaration of Independence with keen en-
ioymept on Chrictmas. Presently he took
to stepping high over obstacles that weren't
there. and trying to pull his trousers on over
his head. Then they took him to the asylum,
solemnly declaring all the way that at four
n. m. the clock had struck nine and eight
!