OCR Interpretation


The Hartford herald. (Hartford, Ky.) 1875-1926, March 17, 1875, Image 1

Image and text provided by University of Kentucky, Lexington, KY

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn84037890/1875-03-17/ed-1/seq-1/

What is OCR?


Thumbnail for

AOVEKTISIKG ItV'riiH
THE HARTFORD HERALD.
"I COME, THE HERALD OF A NOISY WORLD, THE NEWS OF ALL NATIONS LUMBERING AT MY BACK"
One iqore; one jniert on y f lpa
One iqaare, each additional insertion. 50
One iqnare, one year.-. . 10 00
One-fourth column pf j- , , , 30 00 a
One-third column, per year 40 OS '
One half column, pr ytr ..J. SO.m' V
One column, an -jr .,..,. 1D0 00
Por shorter tfme, at proportionate ratci! !
One inch of iptee cnuititatri tqnare.
The matter of yearly adrertt'erornu changed" ,
quarterly free of charge. For farther partlcu- '
Ian, aJilrejM
J.vo. P. BlIKETT Co., PnbliiWt, i af
.One copjy ne Ttar - Oo
Ten copiet, one yer....... ' jj
Twenty copies, one year... SO 00
An additional copy, free of charge, to the
getter-up of a dab of ten or twenty.
Ai we ere compelled by lew to pey pottage
in advance on paper tent outside of Ohio
county, we are. forced to require payment on
fabacriptions'in adrance.
All papcn will be promptly itapped at the
expiration of the time subscribed for.
All letter on buiintii matt be addrenei to
Jo V. BiEXETT Af-o., PnMishfn,
VOL. 1.
HARTFORD, OHIO COUNTY, KY., MARCH 17, 1875.
NO. 11.
SUBSCRIPTION H-A.TES.
wamxa.
"Fire yeart to watt!" Don't do" it.
My innocent blue-eyed maid;
Por the yeari may last a lifetime,
While your youthful roies fade!
While your eyes are red with weeping,
And watching the tie xherous sea;
t.W you ting the song of the lone one,
"lie never came back to me."
Fire years to wait, while others
Are dancing the dance of youth,
And. the one, perhaps, yon are trusting
Is breaking his vowf, forsooth!
' "I shall wait for my lore, my darling;
Who has sailed far over the tea,
Fire years, or ten, or twenty,"
Said the bine-eyed maid to me.
So she wrote her lore-letters;
Or tended ber garden flowers,
Or watched the restless billows
On the beetling cliff for hours;
While she turned her suitors pining
Away from the cottage door,' '
And-waited, patiently waited,
One long year or more.
" Tis Tery weary waiting,"
Said the blue-eyed maid to me,
And she glanced at her last new- suitor
And then at the restless sta;
And she glanced at the roses fading
In her garden fair and bright,
Twice come, twice gone since he left her,
Two years before that night.
And she married her last new suitor
Before the winter rpedj
And she wrote to her absent lorer
On the day that she was wed,
"She hoped he would not suffer,
That the shock would soon be o'er,"
And the answer soon informed her
lie had married a year before.
LED ASTRAY.
TBAXBLATED rnOM TBI rKtXCB or
OCTAVE FEUILLET.
V.
28ra Settehdcr.
I had tlie satisfaction of discovering in
the library of the marquis tbe historical
documents 1 needed. They form, indeed,
a part of the ancient archives of the Ab
bey, and have a special interest lor the
family of Malouet It was one William
Malouet, a very noble man and a knight,
who, about the middle of the twelfth cen
tury, with the consent of Messieurs his
eons, Hughes, Foulgues, John, and Thom
s, restored the church and foundexi the
Abbey in favor of the order of the Bene
dictine monks, and for the salvation of his
soul and of the eouls of his ancestors,
granting unto the congregation, among1
other dues and privileges, the fee-simple o(
the lauds of the Abbey, the tithe of all its
revenues, half the wool of its flocks, three
leads of wax to be received every year at
Mount Saint 'Michel -on the-eea; then the
river, the moors, the-woods,- and the mill,
t molendinum in eodeum situ. I took
t
ileaeure in following through the wretched
atin of the time the description of this fa
miliar landscpe. It has not changed.
The foundation charter bears date 1145.
Subsequent charters show that the Abbey
of Rozel as in possession, in the thirteenth
century, of a sort of patriarchate over all
the institutions of the order of Saint Ben-
-dicl that Were 'then in existence in the
jrovinoe of Normandy A general chap
ter of the order was held there every yenr
prefided over by the Abbot of Rozel, and
ut which some ten or a dozen Other con
vents were represented by their highest
dignitaries. The discipline, the labors,
the temporal and spiritual management
of all the Benedictines of the provioce
were here controlled and reformed with a
severity which tbe minutes of these little
councils attest in the noblest terms. These
Fcnes,Teplete with dignity, look place in:
that Capitulary 11 all now so shamefully
defiled.
Aside from the archives, this library is
very rich, and this is apt to divert atten
tion. Moreover the vortex of worldl v dis
sipation that rages' in the chateau is not
without occaaiooally.doing some prejudice
lo my independence. Fiually my worthy
hosts frequently take away with one hand
the liberty they have granted me with the
other, like many persons of the world,
they have not a very .clear idea of the dc
gree of connected occupation which de-i-erves
the name of work, and an hour or
two of reading appears to them the utmost
extent of labor that a man can bear in a
day.
"Confider yourself wholly .free," Mon
sieur de Malouet tells me every morning;
'go 'up to your 'hermitage; work at your
ease.
An hour later he is knocking at my
door;
"Weill are we hard at work?"
"Why, yes, I am beginning to gel into
it."
"What! th'e deuce! Yotr have been at
it more than two hours! You are killing
yourself, my friend. However, you are
Jree. By the way, my wife is in the par
lor; when you nave done you 11 go and
keep her company, won't vou?"
"Most undoubtedly I wi'lL"
"But only when you have entirely done,
of course.'' " '
And he goes of? for a hunt or a ride by
the seaside. As to myself, preoccupied
with the idea that. I am expected, and sat
isfied that I shall be unable to do any fur
therwork of value, J. soon resolve to go
andjoin Madame de Malouet, whom I find
deenlv en raced In conversation with the
parish priest, or with Jacquemart (of Bor
deaux). She has disturbed me, I am in
her way, and we smile pleasantly to each
jjiucr.
Such is tbe manner in. which the mid'
die of the dav usuallv passes off.
In the morning, i ride on horseback
with the marquis, who is kind enough to
spare me the crowd and tumult of the gen
eral riding parlies. ,In theevening, I take
a hand at whist, then I chat awhile with
the ladies, and 1 try my best to cast off at
their feet iny bear's skin and reputation:
for I dislike lo display any eccentricity of
mrown, this one rattier more bo man any
other. There is a grave disposition, when
carried to the pointofstifiness and ill-grace
toward women, something coarsely pedan
tic. that is unbecoming in great talents
and ridiculous in lesser ones. I retire af
terward, and work rather late in the li
brary. That s the best of mv dutr.
The society at the chateau is usually
made up of tbe marquis' guests, who are
always numerous at this season, and a few
persons of tbe neighborhood. The object
or these entertainments on a grand scale
ip. above all, to celebrate the visit of Mon
eieur de Malouefs only daughter, who
comes every year to spend tbe autumn
with her family. She is a person of stat
uesque beauty, who amuses berself with
queenly dignity, and who communicates
with ordinary mortals by means of con
temptuous monosyllables uttered in a deep
bass voice, bhe married some twelve
years ago, an Englishman, a member of
the diplomatic corps, .Lord A , a per
sonage equally handsome and impassive
as herself He addresses at intervals to
his wife an English monosyllable, to which
the latter replies imperturbably with a
French monosyllable. Nevertheless, three
little lords, worthy the pencil of Lawrence,
who strut majestically around this Olym
pian coaple, attest between the two natures
a secret intelligence which escapes the
vulgar observer.
A scarcely less remarkable couplecomes
over to us daily from a neighboring cha
teau. The husband is one Monsieur de
Breuilly, formerly an officer in King
Charles X.'s body-guards, and a bosom
friend of the marquis. He is a very live
ly old man, still quite fine-looking, and
wearing over close-cropped gray hair, a
hat too small for his head. He has an
odd, though perhaps natural, way of scan
ning his words, and of speaking with a de
free of deliberation that seems affected,
le would be quite pleasant however,
were it 'not that his mind is constantly
tortured by an ardent jealousy, and by no
less ardent apprehension of betraying his
weakness, which, nevertheless, is a glar
ing and obvious fact to every one It is
difficult to understand how,with such a
disposition and a great deal of common
sense, he has committed the signal error
of marrying, al the age of fifty-five, a young
and pretty woman, and a Creole, 1 believe,
in tbe bargain.
"Monsieur de Breuilly!" said the Mar
quis, as be presented "me to the punctilious
gentleman, "my best friend who will in
fallibly become yours also, and who, quite
as infal!ibly,"wifl cut your throat if you
attempt to show any attention to his wife."
"Mon Dieu! my dear friend," replied
Monsienr de Breuilly, with a laugh that
was anything but joyful, and accentuating
each word in his peculiar style, "why rep
resent me to this gentleman ns n Xorinan
Othello? Monsieur may surely 'Mon
sieur is perfectly free to betides he
knows and cm observe the proper limits
of things. At any rate, sir. here is Mad
ame de Breuilly; suffer me to recommend
her rayeeirto your kind attentions. '
Somewhat surprised at this language, I
had the simplicity, or perhaps the inno
cent malice, of interpreting it literally I
eat down tauarelv liv the side nl Mndume
de Breuilly and I began paying her marked
attention, while, however, "observing the
proper limits of thincs." In the mean
time. Monsieur de Breuilly was watching
us from a distance, wifli an extraordinary
countenance. I could see his little graHjJsabrcaU neck-chase, which she conducts
gray eyes sparkling like glowing asheo; he jwith frenzy; a reckless game, in which
was laughing loud, grinning, stmiipinz.
and fairly disjointing his finger? with sin
ister cracks. Monsieur de Malouet cime
suddenly to me, handed me a whist card,
ana lamng me aside:
"What the deuce has got into vou?" he
said.
"Into me? why, nothing "
"Have I not warned you? It quite a
serious matter. Look at Breuilly! It is
the only weakness of that Gallant man;
every one respects it here. Do likewise, I
bee oi you.
From tbe weakness of that gallant man.
it results that his wife is condemned in so
ciety to perpetual quarantine. The fight
ing propensities of a husband are often but
an additional attraction for the lightning,
but men hesitate to risk their lives with
out any prospectof possible compensation,
and we have here a man who threatens
you at least with a public scandal , not only
before harvest, as they say, but even be
fore the seed has been lairly sown, buch
a state of affairs manifestly discourages
tbe most enterprising, and it is quite rare
Madame de Breuilly has not two vacant
peats on her right and on her left, despite
her nonchalante grace, despite her plaintive
and beseeching lookr, I hat seem to be ever
saying, "Mon Dieu! will no one ever lead
me into temptation
You would doubtless think that the ev
ident neglect in which the poor wife lives
ought to be, for her husband, a motive of
security. ot at all! His ingenious ma-
nla manages to discover .in hat lact a fresh
motive of perplexity.
"Mv friend. he was saving yesterday
to Monsieur de Malouet, "jou know that
I am not more jealous than any one else;
but without being Orosmane, I do not pre
tend to be ueorge jJandin. well! one,
thing troubles me, my friend; have you
noticed that apparently no one pays any
attention to my wife?"
"Parbleu! if that's what troubles you "
"Of course it is; you must admit that it
is not natural. My wife is pretty: whv
don't they pav attention to her as well as
to the other ladies? I here is something
suspicious there!"
Fortunately, and to the ereat advantage
of the social question, all the young wo
men who reside in turn at tbe chateau arc
not guarded by dragons of that caliber.
A few even, and among them two or three
Parisians out for a holiday, display a free
dom of manner, a love of pleasure, and an
exaggerated elegance that certainly pass
tbe bounds or discretion. You are aware
that I have not the highest opinion of that
sort oi behavior, which docs not
answer my idea of the duties
of a woman of the world; neverthe
less, I take side without hesitation with
these giddy ones; and their conduct even
appears to me the very ideal of truth and
sincerity, when I hearnightly certain pious
matrons distilline against them, amid low
and vulgar gossip, the venom of the basest
envy that can swell a rural heart More
over, it is not always necessary to leave
Paris in order to have the ugly spectacle
of these provincials let loose against what
they .call vice, namely, youth, elegance,
distinction, charm in a word, all the
qualities which the worthy ladies possess
no more, or have perhaps never possessed.
Nevertheless, with whatever disgust these"
chaste vixens inspire me for tbe virtue they
pretended to uphold (O virtue! how many
crimes are committed in thy name!), I am
compelled, to my great regret, to agree
with them on one point, and to admit that
one of their victims at least gives an ap
pearance of justice to their reprobation
and to their calumnies. The Angel of
Kindness himself would hide his face in
presence of this complete specimen of dis
sipation, of turbulence, of futility, and ff
nally of worldly extravagance that bears
Uie name of Countess de Palme, and the
nickname of the Little Countess: a rather
ill-fitting nickname, by the way, for the
lady is not email, but simply slender and
lithe. Madame de Palme is twenty-five
years of age; she is a widow; she spends
the winter in Paris with her sister, and the
6ummer in an old .Norman manor-house,
with her aunt, Madame de Pontbrian.
Let me get rid of the aunt first
This aunt, who is of very ancient nobil
ity, is particularly noted for the fervo.- of
her hereditary opinions, and lor her strict
devotion. Those are both claims to con
sideration which I admit fully, so far as I
am concerned. Every solid principle and
every sincere sentiment command in these
days a peculiar respect. Unfortunately,
Madame de Pontbrian seems to be one of
those intensely dxvout persons who are
but indifferent Christians. She is one of
those who, reducing to a few minor obser
vances, of which they are ridiculously
proud, ail the duties of their religious or
political faith, impart to both a harsh and
hateful appearance,- the effect of which is.
not exactly to attract proselytes. The
outer'forms, in all things, are sufficient
for her conscience; otherwise, no trace of
humility. Her genealogy, her assiduity
to church, and her annual pilgrimages to
the shrine of an illustrious exile (who
would probably be glad to dispense with
the sight of her countenance), inspire to
this lad such a lofty idea of herself and
such a profound contempt for her neigh
bor, that they make her jiositively unso
ciable. She remains forever absorbed in
the latrain worship which 'she believes
due to herself. She deigns to speak but
to God, and He must indeed he a kind and
merciful God if He listens to her.
Under the nominal patronage of this
mystic duenna, the Little Countess enjoys
an abolute independence, which she uses
to excess. After spending the winter in
Paris, where she kills off' regularly two
hcrses and a coachman every month for
the sole gratification of waiting ten min
utes every niaht in half a dozen dif
ferent balls, Ma lame de Palme feels ihe
n 'ccssity of seeking rest in -turl peace of ru
ral life. She arrives at he aunt's, she
jumps upon a horse, and she starts at full
gallop, it matters not which way she
goes, provided she keeps going. Most
generally she comes to the chateau de
Malouet, where the kind-hearted mistress
of the house manifests for her an amount
of predeliction which I can hardly under
stand, familiar with men, impertinent
with women, the Little Countess offers a
broad mark to the most indescreet homage
of the lormer, and to the jealous hostility
of the latter. Indifferent to the outrages
of public opinion, she seems ready to as
pire to the coarsest incense of gallantry;
but what she requires above all things is
noi6e, movement, a whirl, wordly pleas
ure carried to its most extreme and most
extravagantfury; what she requires every
morning, every evening, and every night,
cue iiii.jr uican hue wauiv, nil uiiuiiuicu
German, which she leads until dawn. A
stoppage of a single minute, a moment of
rest, of meditation and reflection, would
kill her. Never was an existence so busy
and so idle; never a more unceasing and
more sterile activity.
Thus she goes through life hurriedly
and without a halt.graceftil.cateless, busy
and ignorant as the horse she rides. When
she reaches the fatal goal, that woman
will fall from the nothingness of her agi
tation into the nothingness of eternal rest,
without the shadow of a serious idea, the
faintest notion of dutv, the lightest cloud
of a thought wortyy a human being.having
ever grazed, even in a dream, the narrow
brain that is sheltered behind her pure,
iniling and stupid brow. It might be
said that death, at whatever age it may
overtake her, will nnd the little (Jountess
jnst as she left the cradle, if it were pos
sible to suppose that she has preserved its
innocence as well as she retained its pro-
lound peurility.
Has the madcap a soul? The word
nothingness has escaped me. It is indeed
difficult for me to conceive what might
survive that body when it has once Tost
the vain fever and frivolous breath that
seem alone to animate it
I know too well the miserable ways of
the world, to take to the letter the accu
sations of immorality of which Madame de
Palme is herd the object on the part of tbe
witches. as also on the, part of some of her
rivals who are silly enough to envv her
social euccess. It is not in that respect
at you may understand, that I treat her
with so much severity. Men, when they
sho.v thcinscves unmerciful for certain
errors, are too apt to forget that they have
all, more or less, spent part of their lives
seeking to brjng them about for their own
benefit. But there is in the feminine
type which 1 have just sketched some
thing more shocking than immorality it
self, which, however, it is rather difficult
to separate from it And so, notwith
standing my desire of not making myself
conspicuous in anything, I have been un
able to take upon myself togoin the throng
of admirers whom Madame de Palme
drags after her triumphal car. I -know
nut whither.
"Le tyran dam sa cour remarqua mon absence."
I am sometimes tempted to believe it,
from the glances of astonishment and
scorn with which I am overwhelmed when
wc meet; but it is more simple to attrib
ute these hostile symptoms to the natural
antipathy that separates two creatures as
dissimilar as we are. I look at her at
times, myself, with gaping surprise which
must be excitedjn the mind of any think
ing oemg oy the monstrosity ot such a
psychological phenomenon. In that way
we are even.
1 ought rather to say we were even, for
we are really no longee 60, since a rather
cruel little adventure th'at happened to
me last night, and which constitutes in
my account-current with Madame de
Palme a considerable advance, which she
will find it difficult to make up. I have
told you that Madame de Malouet.through
I know tot what refinement of Christian
charity, manifested a genuine prcdiliction
for the Little Countess. 1 was talking
with the marquise last evening in a cor
ner of the drawing-room. I took the
liberty of telling her that this prediction,
coming from a woman like her, was a bad
example; that I had never very well un
derstood, for my part, that passage of
the Holy Scriptures in which the return
of a single sinner is celebrated above the
constant merit of a thousand just, and
that this had always appeared to me very
discouraging for the just
"In the first place," answered Madame
de Malouet, "the jusf do not get discour
aged, and, in the next place, -there are
none. Do you faucy yourself one, by
chancer
"Certainly not; I am perfectly well
aware of the contrary."
'Well, then, wheredo you get the right
of judging your neighbors so severely?5'
r do' not acknowledge Madame de
Palme as ray neighbor."
"That's convenient! Madame de Palme,
sir, has been badly brought up, badly
married, and always Spoilt; but, believe
me, she is a genuine rough diamond.''
"I only see the roughness."
"And rest assured that it only requires
a skillful workman I mean a-good hus
i i i . . i i i ii
uanu iu cut anu ponsn 11.
"Allow me to pity that future lapida
ry." Madame de Malouet tapped the carpet
with her foot, "and manifested other sins
of impatience, which I knew not at first
how to interpret, for she is never' out of
humor; but suddenly a thought, which I
took for a luminous, one, occut-3 in ,my
mind. I had no doubt that I had at last
discovered the weak side and only failing
in that charming old woman. She was
possessed with themania of raatch-mak-ing.aud,
in her Christian anxiety to snatch
the Little Countess from the abyss of per
dition, she was secretly meditating to hurl
me into it with her, unworthy though I
be. Penetrated with this modest convic
tion,! kept upon a defensive tha t seems
to me, at the present moment, perfectly
ridiculous.
"Mon Diettl'' said Madame de Malouet,
"because you doubt her learning! ."
"I do not doubt her learning," I said;
"I doubt whether she knows how to
read."
"But, in short, what fault do you find
with her?" rejoined Madame de Malouet
in a singularly agitated tone of voice.
I determined to demolish, at a single
stroke.the matrimonial dream with which
I supposed the Marchioness to be deluding
herself.
'I find fault with her," I replied, "for
giving to the world the spectacle, su
premely irritating even lor a prolane like
me, of triumphant nullity and haughty
vice. I am not worth much, it is true'.
and I have no right to judge, but there is
in me, as well as in any theatrical audi
ence, a certain sentiment of reason and
morality that rises indignation in pres
ence of personages wholly devoid of com
mon' sense or virtue, and that protests
against their triumph."
Ihe old lady s indignation seemed to
increase.
"Do you think that I would receive he.
if she deserved all the Btones which slan
der casta at her? '
"I think it impossible for you to be
lieve any evil."
"Ualu I assure you that you do not
show in thin case any evidence of pene
tration, inese love-stories which are at
tributed to her are so little like her! She
is a child who does not even know what
it is to love!"
"lam convinced of that, madame. Her
common-place coquetry is sufficient evi
dence of that I am even , read v to swear
that the allurements of the upajrination
or the impulse of passion a're'wholly. for
eign to her error), which thus remain
without excuse."
"Old mon Dieu!" exclaimed Madame
de Malouet, clasping her hands, "do
hushl she is a poor, forsaken child! I
know her better than you do. I assure
you that beneath herappearance-most too
frivolous, 1 admit she possesses in fact
as much heart as she does sense."
"That is precisely what I think, mad
ame; as much of one as the other."
"Ah! that is really intolerable!" mur
mured Madame de Malouet, dropping her
arms in a disconsolate manner.
At the same moment I saw the curtains
that half covered the door by the side of
which we sat shake violently, and the
Little Countess, leaving the hiding place
where she had been confined by the exe-
gencies of I know not wbat game, showed.
herself to us lora moment in theaperture
of the door, and returned to join the group
of players tbat stood in the adjoining par
lor. I looked at Madame de Malouet:
"Wbat! she. was there!"
"Of course Bhe was. She heard us,
and, what's more, she could see us. 1
made all the signs I could, but you were
off 1"
I remained somewhat embarrassed. I
regretted the harshness of my words; for,
in attacking so violently -this young per
son, I had yielded to the excitement of
controversy much more than to a s enti
ment of serious animadversion. In point
of fact she is indifferent to me, but it's a
little too much to hear her praised.
"And now what am I to do?" I said to
Madame de Malouet
She reflected for a moment, and replied
with a slight shrug of the shoulders:
"Ma foil nothing; that's the best thing
you can do."
The least-breath causes a full cud to
overflow; thus the little unpleasantness of
mis scene seems 10 nave lniensuiea tins
feeling of ennui which has scarce left me
since my advent into this abode of joy,
This continuous gayety, this restless agi
tation, this racing and dancing and dining,
this ceaseless merrymaking and the eter
nal round oi festivity importune me to the.
point of disgust I regret bitterly the
time I have wasted in reading and inves
tigations which in no wise concern ray of
ficial mission, and have but little ad
vanced its termination; I regret the en
gagements which the kind entreaties of
my hosts have extorted from my weak
ness; I regret my vale of Tempe; above
all, Paul, I regret you. There are cer
tainly in this little social center a suffit
cient number of superior and kindly dis
posed minds to form the elements of the
pleasantest and even the mostlevated re
lations; but these elements an" fairly sub
merged in the worldly and vfIgar throng,
and can only be eliminated from it with
much trouble and difficulty, and never
without admixture. Monsieur and Mad
ame de Malouet, Monsieur de Breuilly
even, tvhen his insane jealousy does not
deprive him of the use of bis faculties,
certainly possess choice minds and
hearts; but the mere difference of age
opens an abyss between us. As to the
young men and men of irfy own age whom
I meet here, they all march with more
or less eager step in Madame de Palme's
wake. It is enough that 1 should decline
to follow them in that path, to cause
them to'manifest towards me a coolness
akin to apathy. My pride does not at
tempt to break that ice, though two or
three among them appear well gifted, and
reveal instincts superior to the life they
have adopted.
There is one question I sometimes ask
of myself on that subject: are we any bet
ter, you and I, youthful Paul, than this
crowd of joyous companions and pleasant
vivcurs, or are we simpiy uiuerent iruui
them? Like ourselves, they possess hon
esty and honor; like ourselves, they have
neither virtue nor religion properly so-
called. So far, we.nre. equal. Our tastes
alone and our pleasures differ; and all
their nrebecunations turn to the lighter
ways of the world, to the cares of gallant-'
ry and material activity: ours are almost
exclusively given up to the exercise
of thought, to the talents of the mind, to
the works, good or evil, of the intellect.
In the light of human truth, and accord
ing to common estimation, it is doubtful
whether the difference in this particular
is -wholly in our favor; but in a more ele
vated order, in the moral order, and, so to
speak, in the presence of God, does tbat
superiority hold good? Are we merely
yielding, as they do, to an inclination
that leads us rather more to one side than
to another? What Ts in the eyes of God
the merit of intellectual life? Itseems to
mesom'etimesthatwe possess for thought
a species of pagan worship to which He
attaches no value, and which perhaps
even offende Ilim. More frequently,
however, I think that He wishes us to
make use of thoughts, were it even to' be.
turned against Him, and tbat be accepts
an homage all the quiverings of that no
ble instrument o(joy and torture which He
has placed within us Is not sadness, in
periods of doubt and anxiety, a species of
religion? I trust so. We are, you and I,
somewhat like those poor dreaming
sphinxes who have been asking in vain
for so many centuries, from the solitudes
of the desert, the solution of the eternal
riddle. Would it be a greater and mori
guilty folly than the happy carelessnes of
the Liittle uouutess? We shall see. In
the meantime, retain, for. my sake, that
groundwork of melaifcholly upon wbich
you weave your own gentle mirth; for,
thank God! you are not a pedant; you
can .live, you can laugh, and even laugh
aloud; but thy soul is sad unto death, and
tbat is only why I love unto death tby
fraternal soul.
Continued next week.
MURtiER AT GLASGOW.
Kllllne of A. I- Hawkins and Attempt
ed Suicide or J. 91. Bastaam.
Prom ths Glasgow Timet, 11th.
One of the most appalling and unex
pected tragedies occurred in this place day
before yesterday, about four and a ball
o'clock, p. m., that has ever stained the
record of our county's history, resulting
in the almost immediate killing of Mr. A.
L. Hawkins, of Glasgow Junction, by a
pistol shot inflicted at the hands of Mr.
John M. Basham, of this place,and tbe
subsequent immediate attempt of Basbam
to commit suicide.
The origin of the deplorable calamity
is traced to Bash am' s conduct as sheriff
during the past two or three years,during
which time he has been defaulter to tbe
State and to individuals, in his official ca
pacity, to an amount variously estimated'
from twenty-five to forty thousand dol
lars. His securities, comprising a num
ber of th'e most substantial and best citi
zens of this county, have recently been re
duced to almost penury by the sacrifice
of their property as security for Basham.
Mr. Hawkins, who was one of the suffer
ers, had become so outraged over the ca
lamity that had befallen him in his old
age, that he had taken legal steps lo have
Basbam prosecuted for embezzlement,
and Qn Tuesday was here for the purpose
of looking after the settlement of the mat
ter if possible, or to insist on the prosecu
tion in case of lailure to obtain satisfac
tion. Basham failing to adjust the mat
ter satisfactorily, be was arrested by our
town marsbai, Mr. James Murrell, and
he, Basham and Hawkins were resting
for some purpose in the portico of the
county clerk's office. Basham aod Hawk
ins were engaged in a quiet conversation
about the matter, and were apparently
entirely free from unusual' excitement
Mr. Hawkins sat down on the bench on
the outer'edge of the portico and was lean
ing forward without a suspicion of harm
or violence, and Mr. Murrell had turned
With his face momentarily away from tbe
parties, and hearing tbe sharp click Of a
pistol, whirled around only in time to see
Basham fire, the ball striking Hawkins a
little above and behind tbe left ear.
Hawkins without a murmur fell slowly
forward and without an effort sank to the
floor. The report of the, pistol attracted
the attention of our people at once, and a
great crowd rushed for the court-house
from every direction. Basham after firing
the fatal, sjiot, immediately made a de
monstration of warning to Murrell, and
leaped off the end of the portico to the
ground, a distance of five or six feet, and
began to make frantic efforts to shoot him
self, but made several failures to discharge
his pistol. He continued to run in the
direction of his home at the Shirley
House, and on reaching the pavement al
most immediately in front of the lower
portion of the Shirley House, on Wash
ington street, he again put his pistol to
bis head apd fired, falling heavily on the
pavement He was picked up and car
ried into his bed-room and medical aid
summoned, but he persistently refused to
allow a minute examination, and theex
tent of the injury was unknown. A shot
hole was discovered penetrating the scalp,
but further than tbat nothing was known.
Mr. Hawkins was carried to the Glas
gow House, and expired in about an
hour, remaining in a perfectly uncon
scious state itntH he died. The nature of
Basham's wounds being unknown, a
guard was placed at his house, and up to
nine o'clock he was resting quiet!y enough,
with no evidence of serious injury, farther
than was manifest, in the obscurity of the
diagnosis, from his continual refusal to
have his wound examined.
Early yesterday morning one of his at
tending physicians called professionally a
little after sunrise, and discovered that he
had eluded the vigilance of his guard and
had escaped. He immediately informed
Sheriff" Pace, who was at the Shirley
House, of Basham's absence, and without
delay parties were summoned and dis
patched in all directions to secure Bash
am's arrest It is not within our prov
ince to forestall public opinion by invo
king vengeance or adverting to the le
gal consequences. We have discharged
our duty in a simple recital of the terrible
affair.
Mr. Hawkins, who was so suddenly
hurled into eternity, was about sixty years
of age, and one of the best citizens of our
county. He was quite unobtrusive and
honest, and was universally esteemed by
all who knew him.
THE COURT-HOUSE TAX.
Pertinent and Timely Nnffjreiitlonn for
of Ohio County.
Editor Herald: I ask the people of
umo couniy u mey nave not paid the
court-house tax long enough? There has
been collected from them, up to last Jan
uary, the sum or $5 1,824 II for court-house
purposes, under a aner.ial tni-law Tk
court has assessed a tax for this year of
io cenia on me ?.iwj worth or property,
and 50 cents on the head, which will bring
5 I . A frtt tf.O AAA n.. . ...
inuuouti,vuvor$o,uvu. iniswill brio
theoggregate up to near $60,000; andeven
then our court-house tipht mill nut Ko M
for the county has bonds outstanding to
the amount of near ?17,000. A part of
these bonds, however, is for the road and
uriage aeoi; out a tax is also levied under
a special tax jaw tor roads and bridges,
and this is 10 cents on tbe.?10Oin addi
tion to tbe court-house tax.
The duty of the county court was to ap
point a Commissioner and establish a sink
ine fund, and renuira lh ShprifT
year to pay the court house tax.money in
to nis uanas, ana let mm either redeem
the bonds or put the money at interest;
but instead ot llnintr thin !liv snnlrl 1.,
large amounts lay over in the Sheriff's
nanus irora one year to another, without
interest For instance, $1,176 21 laid
from .lanunrv ISfiS tn .Tirnm-i lafio
without interest; the next year, $2,052 42;
the next, S4.6-19 75; the next. $8,282 43;
and the next $11,439 17 thus losing to
the countv. SI 655 fU In
cent, and tbe result is the county baa now
uuuuauu.ng oonas on winca fine is paying
interest at tbe usurious, ruinous rate of
10 per cent
I aak the)eople of Ohio county, in all
earnestness, to turn their Alt pntmn I a thotr
COUntv finanM nnrl Cttont OUaTi man Ins
-. j - waw OMVU l I.U 'J 14 O
A? 1 T-k Ml
uce? oi me reace as win endeavor to bring
UD the credit nf thi rnnntv ontliaf tr Bt.A
has to borrow money, s,he can get it for
6 Per cent, and not ha rnmnllrl in i-mfV
n it,. in . .- ,
IntDfaat Ian w J. T 1. nTT .1 .
, JUCtl.
Soap and Water.
If all deadlv fevers wrre mlltvl hv (Viol
old-fashioned name, "the plague," we
stiouiu more readilv realize the rinnoprart..
sing from the neglect of sanitary preveu-
t .1. - ijji. i . .
uuns. in iue miuuie oi me lust century,
London was alarmed by tha rumor that
tne piague had broken out in a certain
hospital. Physicians, immediately pub
lished a denial of tbe report, bat, in the
meantime. TrniilnnerA hnA nivMl in.m.
selves with disinfectants, and the demand
fir rtIA tknA vmm wnsi in Pnitnl
market on one morning advanced the pri
ces oi tuose articles almost nity per cent.,
and the frferdnra darrAnla vara ttrrrnrt A
all the' day in carrying those commodities
to market. A similar paDic with regard
iv auu uijjiuchu, n.uii; pcacubuuic,
might not come amiss here in the New
World. A like rush for soap and scrub
bing brushes would probably prove, in the
P n rl a V9TV )iAlMAma "nAT.o " PaniM
of course, are at all times to be deplored!
but a moderate panic tbat will alarm the
peopie into greater cleanliness, a more
stringent sanitary law, and a closer regard
tn fianltarv mensnrpa. in nt nil lima lionc
flclal and advantageous.
A Ncarlet'BaU
Says the Bichmoud (Va.) Whig: "Yes
terday morning, early, aalTr. Pane, city
gas inspector, was going mto his office. at
tne city nan, he was surprised to see wbat
looked at first like a red bird. Upon,
catching it the creature gave him. a. se
vere bite upon the hand, which caused him
to drop-it with a feeling akin, to disgust.
It proved to be a crimson-colored bat.
something .which no man in this part
of the world ever saw before. The color
of the batexcitedsurprise, but upon closer
examination Mr. Page was astonished to
discover that it had but one eye, and
that in the center of tne forehead. He
placed it in a box, and, strange to sav. it
does not appear to be friehtened, in its
new, home. Many persona called to see
it yesterday, among them several gentle
men well versed in ornithology, and all
averred that they had never seen.or heard
of auythiug like this. bat. It ia the inten
tion of Mr. Page to send it to the Smith
sonian Institution at Washington.''
A'ebleBoy!
This is. the latestschoolboy composition;
VI eo to school to learn to read and rite
and sipbor to slide on the ice and.traid off
an old nife jf I have one, in summer to
pick wild flours and strawberrys and to
get out of work hot days, some boya has
to go to school to get out their mother's
road, but I would rather stay in winter
than to go too miles and set by a cold
stove and freze my toes. I like to go to
school to see the teacher scold the bis girls
when they cut up. borne goes to school
to fool but I go to study when we are old
we can't go to school and then we feel sor
ry that we, fooled when we wasyoungand
went .to school. I don't get no time to
fool anyway fori have enough lo do when
jt cornea to my geography.
Hon. J. B. McCreary, who is seeking
tbe Democratic nomination for Governor
spent a few days in this place Tuesday
looking up mends and lorming new ac
quaintances. He is the shrewdest elec
. f .i i . - i ..
uoneerer oi any oi iue guuenaionai canal
dates. Gen. Williams is too outspoken;
and Col. Johnston is carrying the "press,"'
whilst McCreary is quietly going over the
field knocking the persimmons. Gallatin
Neiqs.
A Rome (N. Y.) girl worked over two
hours digging a path through the snow to
the parlor door from the gate, and then
her chap did not come. She keeps a ket
tle of water boiling on the kitchen stove
now, proposing to give him a warmer re
ception than usual when he does come.
American astronomers state, as a result
of the observations made at the late tran
sit or Venus, tbat the sun is 88,443,726
miles from the earth, or 6,926,274 miles
less than previously estimated
At Palermo, Sicily, recently, just after
the execution of a man lor murder, a quar
rel broke out between a father and son
who had put up the scaffold, and the son
stabbed his father to the heart.
A young man who knew all about it
atntpn tliflt h?R pxnprienpp hnA tmifht tilm
that a flirt is a fool who delights in fooling
tools, and the tool who is fooled by such
a fool is the foolishest kind of a fool.
For the DartforJ Ilerol J.
DANCING.
The Other Hide or the QneMlan. i
Ma. Editor: In the last issue of the .
Herald (March 3) there is a "Short prac- ;: '
tical sermon," which we wish to call.
your'attention to. The text is true, it U'
a lamentable truth that there are men, '
and women too, who aic guilty of the sm '
of bickering and strife; and I Jook. oiv,'' .
them as almost the chief of eTnnera. . .. ;j t
The thrust against bigotry in that dis'.
course ia well timed and suiu our lati.V "
tude as well as some other places we
k,now of. As to the animal referred. to,rj
we are not well enough acquainted with' j. . ,
it to know of ils claim to superiority oyer ' ,
other, quadrupeds, but we would suppose
that if the claim exists, it is owing to the.
beautiful noise which it makes in singing'
rather than to the length ol-his eari
But the next paragraph. "Id dancine .
per te, there is no harm under heaven.
Ho where in his word does God denounce
it as Bin. The war upon it is a silly and, . ,
senseless war.' To this we object. It ii. .
true that nowhere in the lids of the Bible
IS it written, "TAcu thallnol dance," jet& ,'
claim that modern dancing is antagonist .
tic to the teachings of that blessed boot. .
Such dancing was not known in these ,
times, and we think is harmful and leads , .
to harm. Dancine. is not now most as
suredly what.it was when Solomon wrote, '
"A time to dance."" There wan a. tim'n' ' '
then to dance. David danced then "with"-'
all his might" when he brought up the.
ark oi Oodfrom the house of ObedEdom;
it is not presumable though that be per'
formed the silly curveting, bowing, seraph
ingandattitudizfngof the modern dances.
.uancing was also performed at funerals. ;
If the light-footed dancers of the present
day will dance as they did then, there will
be.no barm in it. But will theydo.it?
Let's see. When tbe Lord had brouiht '
the Israelites through tbe Bed sea, Moses
and the children of Israel sang asong un
to the iyord saving: "X will sing unto the
Lord. Ac" and by the, time they had sane ' .
a stanza and were ready for the chorus,
the spirit of the Lord came upon Miriam,""
and she "Took a timbrel in her handjand !
all the women went out after her with
timbrels, and with dances." No promts-' '
cuous dancing here. And so it was in all
the dancing which I now, remember hav- .
ing noticed in the bible,- tbe men danced '.'
by themselves and so did tbe women.
There is, certainly, one case oTdancing"" J
mentioned" in the book of God which' ire-' '
suited in harm. J refer to the dance'df
the wicked Salome, daughter of tbeVtin '
more wicked Herodias. It wa8Her&i-. '.
ring which caused the beheaduigat John'
the Baptist, of whom Christ sajdi'Tflere,"
has not risen a greater than he.
But "cenmtional clergymen use it aa a
scapegoat at which to burl anathemas ,
coined of indignation, etc," As-Iam nota .
clergy man, I will cot, attempt to clear theta"
of the charge, if they do so It is very ugly "
in them; I. am, however, not acquainted ,
with.any.cf .Ihatjclftaov X.tlbklthatj'r
a rule, clergymen are'as pure, .even as.
dancers:, and we should not fall out with
them for saying that sin Is Bin; nor think,
because some other sins are blacker than
that of dancipg'that therefore they should '
say nothing against it. These flings at
ministers, Mr. Editor, whether editorially
or in Jeclures.are, to say tbe least ofitv in
bad taste; indeed we think they smack
considerably of the very sin others- axe
charged with' in this same short sermon. ..
iiut to proceed, "ihe men and woaen
who dance, never (the italics are rciael
tramnle the life, tne hanninesA- the' Terr"
soul of their neighbors to eternal destiueA
: l .1--n 31 1 y i j iJ'.ii
nun, uv lucuiKures ui iue uaacesnu to ut
cadence of merry music"' There it ""'
Members oi the church are tbe ones aeld ,
up to our view as slanderers, originates .
and perpetraters of church bickerings and
quarrels, peddlers of liquid poison, mur
derers of character, eta ; but the dancers,,'"
Oh! the dancers are the pure mlmded of
earth, they are never guilty of such crimes,
they are the ones who, by their godly
live84 conversation, sad acts are lifting -'
mgu the banner or tne cross above the
beads of poor church members and saying
"Follow me, as J follow Christ," Dqtbey 7
I have not seen it We think in fact
that when "The fiddle squeaks; and th'e ,
dancers trip their merry rounds," they do'
'toffend God,"' especially if the merry T
rounds are made up of the waltz and kin-'
died dances. ' ..
But I am making this article too lohg
and will close by concurring heartily with
one sentiment found in the last jiaragraph
of tbe above mentioned sermon; "Let us,
each and all, guard our tonges (may e
not addlour pent) from evil and damaging ''.
speech
tiAKTFOEtD, .hvr, Jkiarch o.
Yonthful BlpIomaeTV "
A little aix-vear-old eirl in Monroe' 1
went, into & store where her father wi7
the other dav. andslvlvannroachin? him.'
said; "Papa, won't you buy me a new '
dress" "What, buy you a new dress.
Susie?"', ,rYes, papa, won't you?"
"Well, 111 see; I'll Bpeak to your mother
about it.'' Elongation to' an alarming
extent rapidly spread over thatlittlejcou'n-
tenance, but a thought suddenly struck "
bei, and. with a smile Bhe looked up into"" '
her father's face and said, "Well,' papa,"
if you do speak to mamma aboutit, doit
easy, or she may want the new dress her-' ' '
self!" Tbe father at once saw the point,
and the new dress was purchased. Lit- '
tltton Mass.) Republic
"Mr. Smithers. how can you sleep so7
The sun has been up these twb'faoufsl"
"Well, what it be basr said 5 mi tn era.
"He goes to bed at dark, while I'm up till '
after midnight." '
A rinnnv fnther at WnAnaruVat R1ijva
j- . . . .
Island, is described as harine- been ere- '
sented with "twenty-seven pjunda of '
twins."
Francis Guerin found a diamond valued
at 7,000,000 franca in an abandoned mine
at Devil's Table, in Africa, and has taken
it to Paris.
.
Greatness stands upon a precipice, and
if proajjerity carries a man ever so. Hula,
over his poise it overbears and dashes t
uiui iu picvca.
A man and a woman at - Hartford.
Conn., have just finished a series of 1;000
games of cribbage, begun in October, and .,,
the woman won aic ot tuem. ....
A petrified butterfly wait found in a
Dubque quarry the other diy, and alt the
delicate outlines were aa perfect as in lite.
a

xml | txt