Mountain Democrat. [volume] (Placerville, El Dorado Co., Cal.) 1854-1860, 1859-09-17

CAthSG Sth4AAt0SSA wv 01oAbSCS VI WGls~
to-dO 0wber0iste, 10 the town Of CsrcassOne, IN
the south Of France. Lucille Montaigne had
beauty and money, and Henri Du Barre had
wit and talent; but these latter were no fair
equivalent for the former in the misery eyes
Of the purse-pFoud father, who declared that
no daughter Of his should marry poor man.
| though he were blessed with the wisdom Of
| Solomon.
Now Lucille loved IIenri-at least she told
him s0-but she was too prudent to elope with
him and risk diGinheTitance; for, after all,
what WAS love without money ?---pOverty,
coming in at the door, would send it flying
through the window.
Pour Henri was in despair. lie really did
love Lucille, whether she did him or not
loved her madly; and his was one Of those
dark, fiery natures which makes love o wild,
terrible passion.
How much money was necessary to make
him her equal in the eyes Of her worldly
father! The Guberyisfc named the sum. II
was large, and Henri sighed and felt more de-
spair at his heart than ever. Suddenly he
frightened up with the recollection that he
had youth and genius, and that in some large
city, Paris perhaps, where the latter would be
appreciated, he might acquire both fortune
and fame.
| l1uk WOuIO W1tLs- w ell, 1gueIlIe YVES
willing to wait awhilc-just then, a. she ad-
uittod To- horEelf, she could think of no one
she liked better than the poor artist but ev.
ery.Ihing earthly must have limit, and the
fair coquette thought her patience ought not
To extend beyond year.
| A year is q very short time for man to &C.
quire fame and fortune, with the latter depend
ing on the former; but Henri was young. and
youth is sanguine, and at all events he would
make . trial. hoping for great things, and
knowing he could do no worse than fail.
So he finished his engagements hurriedly,
declined any new ones, sold the few pictures
on hand, for moderate SUN, gathered together
his scanty effects, bade his friends and Lucille
adicu, and, with q hopeful but heavy heart,
set off for the great metropolis Of France.
Il was long, long journey from CarcassOnc
to Paris, in the slow conveyanccs Of the period
when Henri Du Barre made it; and it was
nearly two weeks before he reached the gay
capital. And then began his struggles with
poverty; which clung to him, in spite Of his
hopes, his exertions and his prayers, for six
weary months; when he gave up in despair,
and secretly left the city, to beg his way back
to Carcassonc, zee his Lucille once more, bid
her an eternal adieu, and end life no longer
Of any value to its possessor.
| Henri Du Barre set out from Paris aioot and
alone, depending solely upon the charity Of
French peasants for food and lodging. He
had six sous in his pocket when he started,
and these he invested in . deadly poison,
which lie carried ~ . derhier resort, deter
mined not to suffer beyond what nature might
reasonably bear, but which it was his hope
to retain till he had again seen Lucille.
In this manner he reached and passed
| haoa1 1aNavh Gnnk pAA mmENE ENtA
heartened.-an object in indeed for commisscr.
alton. Twenty leagues beyond Lyons, In
passing through long, dark, lonely wood, he
met Jew, carrying . heavy pack on his
back. The poor artist asked the Israelite for
charity; his appeal was answered with few
coins, for which he thanked the giver, and
then offered to carry his pack for him.
"Oh, not Is nOthing-it is nothing-a
few old clothes only I" returned the jew, huT-
riedly-SO huniedly, and with such evident
uncasineSs, in fact, as to awaken suspicion in
the mind Of the young artist that 1t contained
something Of great value
Then II was that wild, vague, underlined
desire to possess it first took possession of the
man who was now going home to die wretch.
edly. but whom two thousand francs might
yet bless with life and happiness. When the
mind Of man takes highly criminal bent, il
seems ~ il some evil demon, whispers In his
ear the most plausible reasons for q wicked
course to happiness.
Henri Du Barre, who had never before
thought Of harming human being, now
glanced iurtivcly and almost shudderingly
around him, with the dark and wicked thought
in his BRAIN that If this old man were dead,
and he tile pOSSessOr Of his pack, he might
yet have bright and glorious future. Itwas
. dreary dismal spot in the thick wood where
they both stood, and 10 human eye save theirs
waS looking upon the scene. Why should
this old man be cmmbered with wealth, which
could not bring him one 1.-THE Of the joy that
1t might him who coveted its possession -
lie could not live many years, that old man
at the most, and he might die any minute,
and his valuable effects become the heritance
Of strangers What mattered few years,
more or less, to him--a wandering and despised
old JcwI And why should he, the poor,
miserable artist, hesitate between the Jews
life and his own? Were not all living Great.
ures bound by the inner law of their being to
act in seIfdefense, even TO the taking Of life
when necessary to sustain their owny And
would he not die should the Jew live? and
would he not live should the Jew then and
there dici And even should the secret be
discovered, would it be anything worse than
death at lasty lie had bought poison for him.
sell, and why should not another take it for
his salvation Pin which event he would have
the means TO procure more, and could always
as now carry his life in his hands.
The Jew had biddcn him good day, and
was trudging onward, at slow, steady pace,
while these wild, wickOd thoughts were c0urs-
ing through the brain of the latter, with all
the plausibility Of truth.
Suddenly the jew stopped, produced little
6ask, and raised 1t to his lips. Ahi that flask I
The devil was tempting young Du Barre to
crime, and here was the opportunity.
my good friend, called the artist to the
Jew, am very faint; will you give me Q
few drops Of that winer"
II will give you half" said the Israelite
hating.
The artist advanced tremulously, produced
the poison, and concealed It in his hand as he
approached his victim, and, under pretence
OF wiping the mouth Of the flask, dropped Il
in. Then he pretended to drink, and handed
It back with thanks, begging the Jew to drink
his health ct their final parting. Isaac com.
piled, and they separated, each going different
wsyG
As soon e Henri was out Of sight Of the
Israelite, he entered the wood, and returned In
an 0blique direction, until he came IN sight Of
his victim, who was now writhing In the ago-
mics Of death and grOanIng for mercy. l. tsw
minutes more aid he was Still--the dread work
was done.
Dragging the body from the road, and con.