Raftsman's journal. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1854-1948, 1859-08-10
a STRANGE RETRIBur1oN.

had beauty and money, and Henri Du Barre
had wit and talent but these latter were no
fair equivalent for the former in the eyes Of
the purse-proud father, who declared that no
daughter of his should marry poor man,
though he were blessed with the wisdom of
| Solomon.
Now Lucille loved Henri-at least she told
! him so--but she was too prudent to elope with
him and risk dsinherritance for, after all
what was love without money ?-poverty,
coming in at the door would send it fly ing
through the window.
| Poor Henri was in dispair. He 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 a wild.
| terrible passion.
| How much money was necessary to make
| him her equal in the eyes of her worldly
| father? The aubergist named the sum. 1t
was large, and Henri sighed, and felt more
despair 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.
But would Lucille wait 2-Well, Lucille
was willing TO wait awhle-for just then, as
she admitted to herself, she could think of no
one she liked better than the poor artist but
everything earthly must have limit and the
fair coquette thought her patience ought not
to extend beyond year.
A year is very short time for man to ac-
qure fame and fortune, with the latter de-
pending on the formers but Henri was young,
and youth is sangnine, and at all events he
would make trial, hoping great things, and
knowing he could do worse than fail.
So he finished his engagements hurriedly,
declined any new ones, sold a few pictures on
hand, for moderate sum, gathered together
his scanty effects, babe his friends and Lucille
adieu, and, with hopeful but heavy heart,
set off for the great metropolis of France.
1t was a long, long journey from Crcassone
od when Henri Du Barre made it; and it was
nearly two weeks before he reached the gay
capitol 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 dispair,
and secretly left the city, to beg his way back,
to Circassone, see his Lucille once more, bid
her eternal adieu, and end life no longer of
any value to its possessor.
Henri Du Barre set out from Paris afoot 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 invested in deadly poison, which
he carried as a dernier resort, determined not
to suffer beyond what nature might reasona-
bly, bear, but which it was his hope to retain
| till he had again seen Lucille.
In this manner he reached and passed thro'
Lyo ons, foot sore, ragged and disheartened-
an object indeed for rcOmmisseration. Twenty
leagues beyond Lyons, in passing through
long, dark, lonely wood, he met Jew, carry
ing a heavy pack on his back. The poor ar
tist 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.
ooh, not is nothing-it is nothing
few old clothes only! 20 returned the Jew, hur-
riedly-so hurriedy, and with such evident
uneasiness, in fact, to awaken suspicion in
the mind of the young artist that it contained
something of great value.
Then it was that wild, vague, underlined
desire to possess it first took possession of the
man who was going home to die wretchcdly,
but whom two thousand francs might yet bless
with life and happiness. When the mind of
man takes highly criminal bent, it seems as
if some evil demon whispers in his ear the
most plausible reason for wicked course to
happiness.
Henri Du Barre, who had never before tho't
of harming human being, now glanced fur
| lively and almost shudderingly around him,
with the dark and wicked thought in his brain
that if this old man were dead land he the pos
SCISSOR of his pack, he might yet have bright
and glorious future. 1t was dreary, dismal
spot in the thick wood where they both stood,
| and no human eye save theirs was looking
| upon the scene. Why should this old man be
CumDereQ With WeGili, WHICH COuiu DOI DTIDR
| him one tithe of the JOY that it might him who
| coveted it's possession? He could not live
| many wears, that old man, at the most, and he
might die any minute, and his valuable effects
| become the inheritance of strangers What
mattered few years, more or less, to hm-a
wandering and despised old Jew? And why
| should he, the poor miserable artist. hesitate
| between the Jews life and his own? Were
| not all living creatures bound by the inner
law of their being to act in self-defence, even
| 10 the taking OF life when necessary to sustain
ltheir ownl And would he not die should the
| Jew live and would he not live should the
secret he discovered, would it be anything
| worse than death at last 2 He had brought
noison for himself, and why should not anoth-
| or take it for his salvation in which event he
would have the means to procure more, and
could always as now carry his life in his hands.
The Jew lad hidden him good day, and was
| trudeing onward at slow, steady pace, while
these wild, wicked thoughts were coursing
through the brain of the latter, with all the
plausibility of truth. ,
Suddenly the Jew stopped, produced little
flask and raised it to his lips. All! that flask,
The devil was tempting young Du Barre TO
| crime. and here was the opportunity.
seMy good friend'' called the artist to the
Jew. ssI am very faint; will you give me
few drops of that wine 7''
81 will give you half" SAID the israe'i'e'
The artist advanced TREMENDOUSLY, produced
the noison. and concealed it in his hand as ne
n,,,rpooched his victim, and, under pretence OF
M;p;pg the mouth of the flask, dropped it IN:
Then Ttp'e he pretended to drink, and handed i
hack with thanks, begging the jew 10 drink
his health at their final parting. Isaac com
Liza and they separated, each gong differ
ss soon as Henri was out of sight OF the Is
.,al;.e he entered tho wood, and returned IN