The Lakeland evening telegram. (Lakeland, Fla.) 1911-1922, 1915-05-27

the fog Of sleep; but now something
arose within me, and wished to speak.
Again the spectres came together in
a single group and formed a confused
cloud, wherein saw eyes of all colors,
the eyes Of my characters, which look
ed upon me with anguish. grew
more and more distressed and
ashamed under those looks, so dull
and lifeless.
The tempest ceased to roar, and all
noise died away with it. 1 no longer
heard the monotonous ticking of my
watch, nor the rustling of the snow,
nor the voice which had spoken to
me. There was perfect silence, and
the vision hung in the air, and seemed
to be awaiting some mysterious signal.
And l also waited, passionately. with
all the strength which remained in
my weakened soul.
This lasted for long time. and /
could not withdraw my gaze from the
vision, until l cried out at last:
my God! Why is this? What
does all this mean?"
Then the slow, passionless voice
was heard again:
Reply yourself to you own ques.
tions. Why did you write all those
things? Without contenting yourself
with real troubles, with the tangible
and visible misfortunes of life, why
have you invented new tortures and
told them to people. forcing yourself
to depict your woeful fancies as
though they had really existed?
What do you wish to do? To destroy
the scant remnants of courage still
left to men, and to deprive them of all
hope of better things by showing them
only the evil? Are you, perchance, an
enemy Of brightness and hope, and do
you take pleasure in creating the
blacklist and the saddest things, in
order to add, without respite, to the
disenchantment Of the human race?
Or do you, indeed, hate to live by rep
resenting existence as an ordeal with.
out end? What is your purpose?
Speak,"
was dismayed. Strange reproach.
es, were they not? Everybody uses
the same method in writing, especially
when Christmas stories are in Ques-
ton. One takes a poor little boy or
a poor little girl, and makes them die
of cold, no matter where, under the
windows Of some fine house where the
lighted tree is shining. 1t is a Gus.
tom; ! have followed it-that is all.
felt justified and decided to explain
the meaning of my Christmas tales.
Listen" l began; Il do not know
who you are, and 1 do not wish to
know. You have asked me some
question: Very well, 1 am going to
answer them: and afterwards l hope
that you will not longer deny me the
right to sleep in peace for the remain.
der of the night. In portraying these
miseries and agonies l only think OF
| awakening in others sentiments OF
compassion and humanity: try to
| soften hearts which, alas, are often
dry and hard.
A strange alarming movement took
place among the shadows. looked
at them, stupefied, without understand.
ing their meaning. They turned about
in a silent round, as though a sudden
attack of fever had seized upon all OF
them. They writhed. as If struggling
in a whirlpool which threatened to
carry them away, to tear them to
pieces Again the tempest hOwled
whistled, laughed, and moaned. And
the spectres trembled; their lifelesf
eyes were still as cavernous as before
although the faint outlines Of their
faces were contracted by horrible
phantom-like grimaces. The blue phos
phorescent light wavered under this
silent, incomprehensible dance of the
spectres.
A cold sweat broke out upon my
body, and my hair stood on end.
"They are laughing" said the pas
sionless voice.
AT what?" asked in q voice
scarcely audible.
AT you"
"Why?"
Because Of the Stiffness of youl
childish talk. by depicting imaginary
troubles you wish to awaken good
feelings In the hearts Of men for
whom real troubles are a sight only
too common! Reflect! II the miser
able reality fails to touch men. and
does not wound their souls, will youl
Idle fancies enlighten their con
science? And you think that you car
succeed? And you cherish such q
hope?"
The grinning spectres continued
their merriment. 1t seemed to me
that 1t would never end, that should
see It, filed with terror, until the
day of my death The tempest. also
laughed cynically, and deafened me
and still the soulless voice talked. ant
talked.
strove to escape from the obses
sion. ! wrapped myself in darkness
full Of grief and rage.
And, suddenly, rolling from my bed
l was cast head-foremost into a darl
abyss. In which / swallowed, suffocat
ed by the swiftness Of my fall. The
pitiless laughter Of the spectres pur
sued me. Through the shadows they
seemed to gaze at me, flxedly.
At dawn awoke with violent pail
m my head. and sense Of distress
My first action was to seize the page
in which l had described the adven
lures Of the blind old man and hi
companion. I tore them up withou
rereading. threw the fragments on
of the window, and they were scat