Argosy, Vol. 1 (December 9, 1882) — page 138: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

~ BONAPARTE. | 131 What had happened after he had opened his library door and staggered back, halt stifled by the dense smoke. He remembered the numbing suffo- cation that crept over him, the fight to the door of his room, there to sink down overpowered, his last thought that Daunt might feel some pity if he knew. The rest was all a part of his delirium. Of course it was a dream, a dream of heat amd smoke, a strong arm dragging hom downward, and Daunt’s face above him, blackened with soot and set. with pain. There was a gentle humming sound in the room, and he turned his eyes wistfully from the unfamiliar wall paper to see what was. the cause cf it. A cheery fire blazed on the hearth, and Daunt Ramsey sat rear it reading. “What is it?” asked Chris, weakly, struggling up in bed. Daunt got up, spilled the cat off of his lap, and tossed away his book. ‘“ Ah, you are better!” he said, advancing to the bedside. “I’m awfully glad, old man!” : Chris looked at him wonderingly. There was. a glow af-color in his cheek, which was Itke frealth to hts once faded drunkard’s face. Then Chris’ fever cleared eyes wandered down to the bandaged’ hanJ that Daunt was trying to conceal behind hina. He indicated it by 2 gesture, for hts voice had feft hrm. : “That? Oh, that’s all right!” Daunt said, with elaborate indifference ; “ doesn’t hurt now.” “Why did you ?” the weak voice wavered to a witisper. “ Oh, to settle the account,” said Daunt hastily,, “ that’s all.” The room was very still. Then a sound throbbed in the silence, and ane other, ard another, and another. : It was weakness, of course—Daunt understood that; and the doctor under- stood, too, for when he came to the door of the roam five minutes. later, he listened a moment, and then stole quietly away. There are some things. witich even doctors do not meddle with. | BONAPARTE. He loved the fray as petrels love the sands, And wave worn rocks, and ocean’s stormy waste;. It was his own calm home, wherein he traced Vast empires he should found in puissant lands. Unblanched, while flashed a thousand levin brands, Would he survey the battle’s frery haste; And wheresoe’er with visage stern he faced, He pointed victory there with fateful hands. What though he walked an exile on the shore Of far Helena, a world conqueror he! In the tumultnous thunders of the sea,. He fought new battles; and his kindling gtanee Saw allted nations. crushed, enslaved,, and o’er Them. all the lifted sword of v:ctor France. Henry Jerome Stockard. GOH GoOOO ‘SS COLNT