The Xenia sentinel. [volume] (Xenia [Ohio]) 1863-186?, 1865-02-03
Ghe 2epia Sentinel
SETH W. BROWN, EDITOR.
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1865.
A Singular Story.

A few weeks since a man, only some
ive-and-thirty, or eight-and-thirty years
old, went into the cafe Anglaise, Paris,
and said to the mistress 4 wish you
would retain No. 13 for me this evening.
Lag plates for eight and have dinner on
the table at seven o'clock precisely. ]
leave the selection of the dinner to you. =
/ Give Us a dinner of four dollars ahead,
wine included Here is bank note for
$40; four times eight are thirty-tWo; the
change, eight dollars, is for the walters
At q quarter before seven he returned;
he was shown into No. Is. He asked for
pen, ink and paper. After he received
them be tore sheet of paper into eight
several parts, wrote something on them,
and placed one Of them on each plate
When the clock struck seven, he said to
the waiter: 4 Wdl wait till halfpast
seven,' Atthe appointed time he took his
seat at the table and said to the astOund-
ed waiter 'seryethe dinner just the same
as if all my guests we're present. The
waiter obeyed, and placed dish of soup
on each plate managing while doing 50 to
read the names Of the plates.
He found nothing on the bits of paper
but re, me, IA, la, 81, do. When he went
back to the kitchen, he told the servant the
old guest be had No. 13 The rumor
reached the ear of the master of the house;
heatonca suspected something was wrong
How Is the gentleman dressed p he ask
ed the waiter He is dressed in black.
When be went into the room he took
off his overcoat and placed it on the piano,
where it still remains. Bring me his
overeoat. 1t doubtless contains letters or
visiting cards, and we shall find out what
sort of guest wo have. Act cautiously
and be quick The waiter soon returned
with the overcast fIaster and servant
instantly searched the pockets; they found
neither letters nor visiting cards but they
discovered two small pocket pistols which
we're capped and loaded. The master
drew the charges, left the caps on the nip
pies, replaced them in the pocket, and
made the servant carry the overcoat back
to the private room. As be was eating
desert tue waiter asked him I mean this
strange guest, if he would take coffe.
Yes How many cup 2 Eight of
course. The eight cups were filed. 'Now
leave me, when want you I will ring
the bell The waiter, retired shut the
door, and put his eye to the key hole to
see what was going to take place.
As soon as the guest was alone he heav-
ed deep sigh, rose, went to the piano,
opened It, played an air from one of Yer
DIS operas, and tried to sing it,-in vain.
His voice was completely gone. His
hands fell into his lap, and the tears cours-
ed down his cheeks. He murmured, "All
is over IT'S hopeless my voice is brok-
enI I shall never again be able to OBJ
tain another engagement. Ny career is
at an end 1 am a dead man 7 Then be
added, with a hysterical laugh, God !
wasn't it devilish ingenious notion I had
to give a farewell dinner to my notes;
parting banquet to those poor notes which,
last year, were so brilliant and so pure IN
my throat Artists alone can conceive and
execute such ideas. Ahl poor fellow, the
gams is up with you nothing is left you
but to die He put his hand in the pock-
ct of his overcoat, took out the two pistols
placed the muzzle of each of his ears, and
pulled the triggers. The caps exploded,
and the poor fellow fell senseless on the
carpet.
The keeper Of the restaurant, who was
hard by, ran into the room, and, aided by
his servants, iftedup the would be suicide.
The usual restoratives were applied, and
when consciousness returned it was found
impossible to convince the guest that he
was still alive He insisted upon it that
be was dead He had gone crazy. BE
raved: 'NoW that I am a dead man don't
care who knows who was when was
alive. Nine. George Sand has told my
history in one of her novels. Ny name
is Alpen Gerbier-Albany is my stage
name. I was on the eve Of singing q
magnificent engagement with the manager
of the Italian Opera, when that rascal
Fraschini cut me out. / fell sick and
lost my veice.--Fortunately, my pistols
did not snap. I did not miss the vital or,
gans, and l ana dead. Garry me to Pere
Ia Chaise, if you please. The master of
the house sent for the police, and the Ill
starred wretch was Immediately carried to
a lunatic asylum.