A Long Slumber.

Western Star, Issue 1339, 23 March 1889, Page 1 (Supplement)

A Long Slumber.

Continued. I assisted biro—he was evidently very weak—into the library, and installed hina in an easy ohair, into which he sank with a sign of pleasure. Then I lit the gas, and he eyed me curiously. • I see that, too,' he mnttured to himself. ' Guy and I were talking of this new project of lighting London by inflammable air—gas, they called it. Tbat accounts for it. But the friction matches ! However, if I can remember tbe process and the materials when I wake up, and if it works in reality as it does in a dream I shall be known as a famous inventor. But the queerest thing is, that while I know it is a dream, I have to keep on dreaming.' ' Shall I order supper ?' I said. ' You have had nothing but milk.' • Milk !' he replied. •If there be anything T detest it fis milk. Order what you like.' I I rang the when the, servant came, ordered supper to be served in tbe library. "When Peter—who, impassive as he generally was, displayed by a look his astonishment at the stranger's presence—had gone out, John Trelawney said: p • That's another of the dream people. I never saw him before, and when I wake up, won't see him again. But what — what tbe deuce is tbat ?'

A mingled look of terror, doubt and amusement went over his face as he lifted the end of his long, white beard which he now observed for the first time. He passed his hand upward and traced the beard to his ohm, and then he gave it a sharp tug. * Of all the farrago of nonsense which comes in a man's head in dreams, this is the most absurd. A long white beard on me, a man of 28; and heavens !' he continued) as he oaught a glimpse of his face in the mirror over the mantel, • there's white hair, and wrinkles to correspond. This matches the thin legs. I shouldn't wonder if I turned to an old woman next, with a black satin dress and a lot of falbalas.

H ere he burst into a loud fit of laughter. ' "What is the, matter with my voice, I wonder ?' he eiclaimed ; • it's of a piece with my beard, and my wrinkles, and my legs. If I were and looked like this, and talked so, I should think I had got to be 80 at least. Won't I have a fine tale to tell to Guy in the morning.' Peter came in with a tray bearing plates, dishes and eatables, and John with the tea service. When they had spread the cloth on the library table and arranged everything, my rather stately housekeeper. Mrs. Lang, sailed in. * Mrs. Lang,' r said, * let me present you to Mr. John Trelawney, who remains with us, and to whom every one in the house wity pay as much deference and attention as to me. Uncle John, this is the housekeeper, Mrs. Lang.' Mrs. Lang was evidently mystified, but she waß equal to the occasion. She performed an elaborate courtesy. Uncle John, as a polite old young gentleman, rose and bent ibis body in acknowledgment. ' Now,' I said,' no one need wait, as we are to have some conversation on family matters. I can even dispense with your attendance, Mrs Lang.' The housekeeper sniffed faintly, but departed with the others. ' Now for the feast of the Barmecides,' said Uncle John, gaily. 'No 1 the tea tastes as natural aB though it were tea. These chops, too, what is the matter with my teeth ? Why, hang it 1 they're half gone. I see, all in keeping—sans teeth, sans everything.' ' Uncle John,' I interposed, * you must excuse me if I caation you to be careful about your eating. As your stomach has been accustomed solely to liquid food for over eighty-four years, solid matter might' . ' Liquid food 1 eighty-four years !' he burst out. ' Now what could have led to such a mental vagary even in a dream ? And knowing this to be a dream, why can't I wake myself?' . The eupper passed off, though Uncle John would pause occasionally and tap his head and smile. He evinced signs of fatigue shortly after, and I led him to a chamber, where I assisted him to disrobe, and left him. §

The next morning, finding he was very weak, 1 had chocolate served to him in bis room. The servants were evidently! puzzled, and I could fancy the below! stairs parliament in active session. But; they were well drilled, and evinced no surprise in our presence, and made no inquiries as to how and when this newly found relative had come to be a visitor. About 11 o'clock my guest rose, and I assisted him to the library, where we had breakfast. "While we were eating he was startled by the screams of a steam whistle —the railway passing within 200 yards of the houßO. •Wha-whatisthat?'

' Oh, nothing,' I said, • but the train. We have a railway crossing. over the estate, and a station within a quarter of a mile from the bouse. This was an out train, and the engineer always salutes me.' • Railway ! train 1' The servants were listening, and. I changed tbe subject by finding fault with an egg which was overdone. When vve had finished I took Uncle John into tbe library, got bim an easy chair, and banded him one of the New York morning papers. He looked at it in amazement, and repeated its title. ' Why, I never heard of it before,' he said: 'and the type is so small that I can't read it. Ob, I seel White hair, wrinkles, thin legs, weakness, poor teetb, and so failing sight is in keeping. I wojder I am not deaf.' I took grandfather's spectacles from a drawer. * ' Try these,' I said. He put tbem on, but shook bis head. 1 Perhaps you were n*ar sighted when you were young,' I said. ' Waß! lam near sighted.' 1 Try these, then,' and I handed him a pair used by my father. 4 Ab ! these do nicely. Let me see ! July 19, 1884. That's funny. 'By telegraph, London, July 18. The queen received the American minister at Balmoral, to which he had been specially invited.' Balmoral 1 the queen ! Queen of England, I suppose. But why not the king ? Balmoral! where is that ?' 'lt is Queen Victoria's seat in tbe Highlands.'

* And who the—l beg your pardon, but who is Queen Victoria ?' ' She is the present reigning sovereign, and succeeded William IV forty-seven years since.' 8 Oh, she did, did she ? and who wi William IV ?' ' He Was Prince William Henry.' •What that midshipman who got trounced in Boston? But where was the Prince of Wales ?' ' He succeedod his father, you know, as George IV and died without issue.' ■ No, I don't know. But' by telegraph.' What does that mean, and how do you get news from London in a day ? Am I expected to believe that ? Tin dream grows queerer and queerer.' I explained the action of the electric telegraph, but he did not seem to comprehend it.

' The fantasies are wilder and wilder. The lightning is made a courier ; by and by it will be bottled up for lamps, and the sun will paint our portraits.' ' All that has been done long since,' I replied. * Bat the intrain is nearly due, and with his field glass you can see it from the balcony. There—l hear it in the distance. You needn't rise, I'll wheel your chair to the open window—so.' The train soon came in sight, dashed on, turned a curve, and we could hear it slow down as it approached the station. Uncle John's hands shook, partly with weakness, partly with excitement, but he seemed to have had a good sight of the engine and oars. He sat there reflecting. How was I to impress him with the fact of his real condition ? It would have to be done, sometime or other. But would it overturn his reason? I mused over it. ' Well, Nephew Guy, as you call yourself, what are you thinking on r ' Pray,' I returned, * do you remember M. DelUle !* ' Yes where is he ?He tried to put me asleep, but failed.' ' Uncle John, he did not fail. He succeeded.' «He did, you say. That is a little hard to believe, even in a dream.' ' You have been asleep ever since, and were so until I awakened you.' • And for how many hours, pray ?' 1 Bighy-four years. You fell into an hypnotic slumber in 1800, and this is 1884.'

Uncle John broke into a fit of laughter; but seeing my serious face, paused, and then deliberately bit his finger. ' I shall be awake presently,' he said, looking at bis finger. ' And yet this pain —tell me all about it.'

I told him all, as I have written it, but with more detail. Then I added :• Look at yourself in yonder glass. You have grown old during your artificial slumber. Action has been suspended, but not the processes of life. Eead the journal you have thrown down, and you will see that the world has moved and you have not. Clasp my handr—there, is that not flesh and blood—real and not visionary ?' ' And Tom Jefferson has not been just elected, and the country ruined ?' ' Mr. Jefferson, after serving two terms, died many years since ; and the country, after going through two foreign and one domestic war, is now at peace and prosperous, with its territory extending from the Atlantic to the Pacific' ' And brother Guy ?' I took down the family record and showed him the record from Guy V, born April 3,1770, to Guy VIII, born May 1, 1856. The truth seemed to possess the old man's mind. He looked at his hands and feet, felt his beard, and his countenance assumed a look of extreme terror. Would he go mad ? Suddenly he burst into a flood of tears, and I felt relieved. 'This—this is cruel,' he said, at length, with a sob. ' We did all we could, Uncle John,' I pleaded. 'Yes, I know—l know. But to keep mem a living grave, to wake old, decrepit —it was better to have let me die while I was unconscious. lam weak—l would like to lie down.' ' Do so, Uncle John ; you will be better by dinner time.' I assisted him to his chamber, where he lay down on a lounge, and I left him to his repose. Just before dinner I sent Peter to his room to bid him prepare for the meal. The servant came hack. ' The old gentleman seems a little out of his head, sir. He told me to put a tinder box on the mantel shelf.'

I hurried to the chamber, where I found the old man muttering to himself. I spoke to him, saying that dinner would soon be ready. ' Ton are there,' he said ; * and you come to tell me this is no dream, and I am a hundred an dtwelve years old.' Then he stared vacantly, and worked his fingers in a convulsive way. I sent at once for Dr. Quitman, our family physician, while I managed to persuade the old man to get to bed. When the physioian came, and before he saw hie patient, tbough I gave him none of the previous facts, I stated that this was my great-great-granduncle, and that he was 112 years old. Dr. Quitman looked surprised at the relationship, and the gleam in his eye showed that he doubted the age given. He went with me to the chamber and made the customary examination —Uncle John answering his questions in monosyllables, not always as though perfeotly understood. ' Well, doctor ?' I inquired, when ho had come out.

1 He is certainly very old,' replied the physician;' he may be close upon 100. There is no disease—the powers of life are simply giving way. By a careful administration of stimulants—l should recommend Huxham's tincture—and by judicious nourishment, you may prolong life a little; but he will probably peaceably fade out in a very few days.' And he did. On the third day, growing weaker, and apparently without any feeling of pain, he passed away. I had my finger on his pulse. It was very weak and slow. As I stood there he muttered, and I stooped to listen. He murmured : ' Guy, it was as real—you can have no idea' Here he stopped. I pressed the artery, but it had ceased to beat.—Thomas Dmm English in The Independent.