THE HORRORS OF THURSDAY.

Press, Volume LXV, Issue 13376, 18 March 1909, Page 8

THE HORRORS OF THURSDAY.

«. ~ (srr.fJ.M.I.Y WBITTEX FOR "TIIE TRESS.") "Let us think, also, o: cur heme life. . »t i.r««M:t perhaps, two m-embers of tb_ •-arriiy are home or. Thursday, and the ethers "on Saturday. That means that en those two days their homes are practically broken ni> Thro is no exchange of confidence; _•') bearir.sr of one another's burdens. The mother is denied thc pleasing -poctaclo of -ic'lhv nor* and biocmirq daughters sitting-to-ether at the dinrcr-t.-10. . . For him r.iio Thur.day man) there a.ro no openings for heroic achievements on tbe ,ie.d of mimic warfare. No matter how ho yearns ft.- oatbiir.t.. of app'au'-e from thcusands of thr:at«, he must tor.ter.t himself with iumrniiicance. And, ap»-.i-iir.? he doe«n't care for active sport, why should he be prevented from cyciir.s; into the country on Saturday a.-.-oriiot.n. and ja.ur.terir.sj »lo_zs.ue the brr.ck as it jrurfflc. its way to tho sea. ii.t--,:ir._r to the twitter of the birds ilk. -they f! .- about in their leafy bowers, and cor.----t. m;>lat:r.:r Nature in all her srlory? He i.s <!»>:.:ed these, pleasures at present because of his circumstances."—Extract from a now I»tcriju3 letter in "The Press."

It nas Thursday! There was not the slightest, doubt about that. Wors*> than this, it was Thursday afternoon ! ALi Xature whimpered in vague affright as though at thc impending of ynme awful cataclysm. Tlie grocer had if .used to groce. The widow's mite crept furtively to the damaged gate to meet the broken-hearted mother who had been driven from work and was returning to the little home, bearing her toil-worn fingers, her eyelids h<-avy and red, and something frugal for lunch. No longer did the butcher butch. There were moans and anguished tears as hopoless shop assistants were torn Irom their beloved tasks and huih'd into outer darkness. Those who could do so, without risk of gnashed their teeth. The carpenter retiallied to carp. I'Vxr the pall of Thursday afternoon had settled down upon the affairs of men.

Tiie domestic hens, poised perilously upon a single stringy leg, moped and fc.uay<>d uneasily like dingy craft at nnulior. No eggs wore to be delivered to-day, and so tiiey drowsed impatiently until the morrow, when they might lay-to, or even more. Tho watchdog yawned vacuously and tottered to his candle-box, for the bottle-man and th© boot-lacr. pedlar had gone tho way of all Thursd.vy flesh and wero bitterly, awaiting the resurrection of Friday. Mankind thought of its home life and put on sackcloth and ashes. For tho draper had ceased to drupe. Family ties were -snapped in tthe open streets, and strong men ruthlessly broke up their homes in the suburbs. One another's burdens were left to be called for by their rightful owners. Patient moth ens sighed regretfully as fond memory ranged over the unforgettable Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays, when their sturdy boys and their bomiy girls sanctified tho dinner-table by their presence. And now Thursday was here, and they were gone—gone afar off into the wilderness, starving maybe, nnd desolated. For this was Thursday, the occasion of fasting ami tribulation. A modern Hercules stood forth—a very king among men. But the populace fell upon his Sandowed neck, and cried with a loud voice, "Away with him! Lot go his starboard biceps; unleash his bounding calves, for he would break tho Thursday!" What then is left? His bicycle' will not carry him into tho country, and the country closes nt ono on Thursday. The rolling green landscape is rolled up, and will not be shaken out again and dusted until Friday. Tho gurgling brook is taken in out of the wet, and the birds have put away their last week's threadbare twitter in view of the usual change of programme, with a matinee on Saturday. Even tho leaves have left leanness severely alone. Nature has her hair in curlers and a bag apron on, for this is Thursday—weepy, washy, wailing Thursday, when life squelches along in a soggy morass of pestiferous nothingness,..and when the dank and dismal hours drag their gibbering victims to one common arena set apart for tbe grisley gambols of the grim and ghastly goblins of despair.