OCR Text |
Show POOR CHESTER. Poor Chester Nason. His was a hard struggle. He walked about for years, death staring him in the face, casting its Bhadow between him and the sunlight, hanging over his pillow at night, visible in the darkness. Yet the bravo youth was always cheerful, always kindly, always seemingly hopeful, though the specter was always before him. He loved life; he loved the sunshine and flowers; he loved his friends and the world was much to him. His prospects were all bright; he could see before him increasing prosperity, high promotions, an ever-broadening company of friends, if he could only live. And all the time he knew that he was doomed; that he would never see middle age, and counting his own pulses and noting the deepening ashen hue of his face, he. whispered softly to himself: "It is coming nearer near-er and nearer", and then with smiles told those who loved him how well he was. Poor Chester. May his sleep be sweet. |