The farmer and mechanic. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 18??-19??, 1911-05-09
OF A BACHELOR
continued From Page Fourteen.)

on the vision. very loath to leave it.
aud after my eyes had lost it my heart
lung TO it-there where my
still clings.
AT noon the carriage stopped upon
the hills toward Soracte, which over
looked Rome. There was a stunted
pine tree growing, a little TO one side
OF n road, and 1 sat down under it
and looked back with a strange tumult
of feeling toward the Eternal City.
1 seemed to see Enrica as she had
peen that morning. Her silyery
voice, too, seemed TO float out past
me, bearing snatches of Roman songs
but the songs We're sad and broken.
After all. this is a sad vanity. thoush
l. And Yet il I had then spied some
returning carriage going down toward
Rome will not say but that 1 should
nave hailed it and taken a place and
gone back and to this day perhaps
have lived In Rome. But the vetturino
called me; the coach was ready
gave one more o toward the city
and then we galloped along the road
that leads to Perugia and Lake
Thrasimene. Sweet Enrica, art thou
living yet? Or hast thou passed away
to the silent land where the good
sleep and the beautiful? The vision Of
the past fades.
The morning breeze has died upon
the meadows Of life. The trees lean
toward the brook. but their shadows
fall straight and dense upon the silver
stream. Noon has broker into the
middle sky and the morning of my
life has gone. The noon is short: the
sun never loiters in the meridian nor
dOes the shadow on the old dial in the
garden stay long at MI. The past be-
longs to God, the present only is ours.
And short as it is, there is more in it
than We o4n well nanapn That ~
who can grapple it and measure it and
fill it with his urpos is doing a mans
work; none can do more. But there
are thousands who do less. Memory
presides over the past; action presides
over the present. The first lives in a
a rich temple hung with glorious tro-
ph1eS and lined with tOmbs: the other
has no shrine but duty, and walks the
earth like a spirit. My early friends,
where are they?
I had written to Bella. I had even
told her Of my charming companion of
the ocean voyage and of the strange
dream | had had in which Isabel SEEM
ed to be in England and to turn away
from me sadly ] called her
Garry. At Paris I received a packet Of
letters from Bella in return; it was a
diary rather than a series of letters;
her father was dead and she was dy-
ing. Il would give anything," she
wrote in her first epistle, Ito see the
little Carry you speak about. But do
you know you nave not described her
to me at all? How I would have liked
to be. with YOU on those clear, starlit
nights looking off upon the waters!
But then thiRk hat you would not
have wanted me there-and that you
did not once think OF me, even. This
it should. For l always liked you best
when you were happy, and ] am sure
you We're happy then
And SO her letters ran on until the
one in which she told of her own APP
preaching end. I do not like your
raptures over the Roman girl" she
wrote had written her that also.
BE careful, Paul. But it is because
am SO sad and eifish-sorro is al
ways selfish. l NOW your heart. 1t
is quick and sensitive; and l dare say
that she is pretty and has beautiful
eyes. But Italy is far away, Paul. I
can never see Enrica: she will never
come here. l feel as if Carry was a
sister, now. But | do not feel so
about the Roman girl. I am afraid
YOU will not like this, but L love you
too we'll not to say it.
1T is all over. l am desolate. 1 seem
to live wholly now in the world to
which / am going. ! did hope to see
0 once again-to hear our voice
speaking to me as YOU used to
speak. But l shall not. But
we shall meet know that we
shall meet And with her sweet
image floating before me-the sweet
image OF Isabe1-the moon wares and
the shadows Of evening lengthen upon
the land Of life.
And now it is evening. The future
is a great land. How the lights and
the shadows thrOng it. A man can
go around it in a day; he cannot meas
ure it with a bound; he cannot bind
it's harvests in a single sheaf. 1t is
wider than the vision and has no end.
Out of the future-even hat future
which is the evening Of our life-and
what a fall into %vacuity! Forbid those
earnest forays Over the borders of now
and on what spoils would the soul