The Washington bee., 1902-01-25
SAD END.
by TOM d. MORGAN.

stories, the sort which sometimes cheer but
never inebriate, and MS productions never
brought the blush of shame to the cheek of
khe most delicate fabric. He entertained
/ many and harmed none, wherefore, l eeR-
tend, tkat he deserved q better fate THAI
| that which befell him. | fancy he was more
slnned against than SHINING when he got
/ himself entangled in the meshes OF the
! speeial-dAy story, and thereby eventually
! became q slave Of the subsequent.
/ The special-day story, dear reader, is
/ tale appropriately favored for publication
near unto q certain time or day of the
year. Tkere are numerous varieties Of il,
| VIZ. The immaculate WashingtOn's Birth
/ day story, the mellow st. Patrick 5 -Day-in-
ths-mOrning- -bedad story, the hugely -humor-
/ Gus April Fool story, the Fourth of July
story, the Thanksgiving story, wherein the
! repentant prodigal renigs on husks and re-
turns for pie and lOng-deferred glee, and
most of the rest Of us are thankful for what
| didn't happen to US. Last, but by no means
| least, comes the joyous, full7stomached fes-
tai occasion wherein everybody comes home
TO listen to the grOaning of the board and
! to get forgiveness and Indigestion, and so
on. This 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 70 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 rlme-frInged whiSkers OF the belated
Wayfarer; and the Christmas tale, with it,
/ trimmings OF sleigh bells and arctic winds
| elawlng IN impotent rage at the stout oaken
door, while the flaming yule log beats the
/ battied cold back with tropic heat, is writ
/ ten IN summer by a copiOusly perspiring pen,
which Wearily waves a palm leaf fan in one
! hand the while it earnestly wishes for rain
/ with the other.
! Thus it 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 aR
! equal length Of time ahead of his surround
| tngs. If he don't feel what he Is writing,
/ he is that far in arrears; and If he Is Of the
sort who live in the midst of their creations,
J he is TO that extent aIead of himself and cor
/ respondingly prior.
! Now, Adelbert j. Peuworthy was a con-
! scientiOus party and an emotlonal-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
J to feel, he would feel that he must force
himself to feel as he felt it necessary for him
to feel in order to make his characters feel
as they ought to feel. As it Is well 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 sensIuveness 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, a 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
20 enable him to feel what he felt he must
feel; but after long practice it became al
most second nature with him to throw 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 Penworthy's fancies became
realities TO him, and realities only faEcies.
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 tell
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 he thought ne was, or
whether where he thought he only thought
he was was really the correct date and he
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
dav was next Wednesday and next Satur-
day was really last Monday. 1t bothered
him to find last nights or tomorrow night $
moon shining at midday, and he couldn't
sleep well 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-
joyment on Chrietmas. Presently he TOOK
10 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 sll the way that at four
n m. the clock had struck nine and eight
-bsr - vas only Ii a m. and that he had