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Updated: May 21, 2025
One dark night in midsummer a man waking from a dreamless sleep in a forest lifted his head from the earth, and staring a few moments into the blackness, said: "Catherine Larue." He said nothing more; no reason was known to him why he should have said so much. The man was Halpin Frayser. He lived in St. Helena, but where he lives now is uncertain, for he is dead.
Young Halpin was of a dreamy, indolent and rather romantic turn, somewhat more addicted to literature than law, the profession to which he was bred.
"Are you aware that his farm has the right of way through yours?" "No, sir." "Such, however, let me assure you, is the case. Mr. Halpin has no other avenue to the public road." "That's his misfortune; but it gives him no license to trespass on my property." "It is not a trespass, Mr. Bolton.
Bolton had observed the wagon of Mr. Halpin pass. The gate opening upon his premises was at one end, and now, for the first time, he discovered that there was a gate at the other end, opening from his farm to that of Mr. Halpin, while the ground was cut up with numerous wheel-tracks. "Upon my word, this is all very fine!" said Mr. Bolton. "The right of way across my farm! we'll see about that!
"You have been into the city," said Mr. Halpin, after a brief pause. "Yes, I had some business that made it necessary for me to go into town." Another silence. "You have a beautiful farm. One of the finest in the neighbourhood," said Mr. Halpin. "Yes, it is choice land," returned the unhappy Mr. Bolton. "The place has been a little neglected since the last occupant left," continued Mr. Halpin.
Entering his mother's boudoir one day Halpin Frayser kissed her upon the forehead, toyed for a moment with a lock of her dark hair which had escaped from its confining pins, and said, with an obvious effort at calmness: "Would you greatly mind, Katy, if I were called away to California for a few weeks?"
The English live in another direction down the Halpin Road, or out by the Royal lakes, and I have really grown too lazy and careless to go among them. Besides, what is the good? My friends return to England, new people come, but as for poor me I stay on for ever." "And, of course, you would like to go home, Aunt Flora, would you not?" "For some things, yes! But how can I leave Karl?
I shall leave them a record and an appeal. I shall relate my wrongs, the persecutions that I endure I, a helpless mortal, a penitent, an unoffending poet!" Halpin Frayser was a poet only as he was a penitent: in his dream. Taking from his clothing a small red-leather pocketbook, one-half of which was leaved for memoranda, he discovered that he was without a pencil.
HALPIN Well, I cannot be prevented thinking it. Now, I will refer to a subject which I may be allowed to speak upon. You will recollect that I had addressed a letter to Mr. Price, asking him to furnish me, at my own expense, with two of the morning papers the Irish Times and Freeman's Journal.
I am sure some arrangement, satisfactory to both, can be made. Mr. Halpin, if you take him right, is not an unreasonable man. He'll do almost any thing to oblige another. But he is very stubborn if you attempt to drive him. If he comes home and finds things as they now are, he will feel dreadfully outraged; and you will become enemies instead of friends." "It can't be helped now," said Mr. Bolton.
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