Litchfield enquirer., 1867-06-20
WAS IT INSANITY.

bracelet on hey white arm gllstened hke the eye of 8 snake, as she held her needle up to the fading light, and inserted the gossamer thread.
 The world generally, confess, uses wo men up in about forty years; they shrivel and grow grim and enervated in it's atmos- phere; forty years in the wilderness do.not leave them like the old Jews, with shoes unworn and step elate, for further trudge to the land of promise.
 But, Madame was an exception; she grew rounder and rosier and plumper eye y year; every year nature seemed to dis cover some unfinished beauty in her which she proceeded with artist hand to ''touch up." There was a sense of color and light and warmth in her stately presence that fascinated me, as well as her younger pu- pils.
 It was after school-hours, yet Madame, who was very conscientious teacher, was expounding to me patiently chapter in Ancient History. A very ancient and pro- found chapter in the story of the world
 How the old heroes met death stoically, yet as the king of terror How the terri ble king held high revel in the bleak walls and gravelike secrecy of the inquisition. How men's lives were wrenched out of them by sheer physical force, and death was made hideous by his association with all that was vile and brutal in man.
 "Those were frightful times!' said I, with a shudder. I'm glad we got over them before was born!''
 ''We haven't got over them, my dear, " said Madame, with her courtly smile. We have arrived at great achievements in med icine, certainly, and great attainments in art. Every year we are conquering the worlds roughness, and making 1t easier to hye-we have yet to perfect the science of death. We are perfecting ourselves in ev- erything-only in this we are barbarous; we let men gulp out of existence brutish- ly.
 'It is a difficult field of study, Madame, . said I, "and dangerous.
 And so,' continued Madame, not noti- cing the interruption, "not a hand is lifted not a voice raised; We die hideously, when the passage might be made dewy and fra grant as 8 walk over land of flowers. We keep our halt. our sick and suffering, hoy ering cruelty on the brink of death, when death IS nevitable, and no one leads them kindly by the hand down the dismal road. They are left to crawl out of life alone, and open the doors of the other world with their own trembling hands, because we are too cowardly to be courteous; we will not venture to usher them in thither while there is better life, and glow and pleasure left-we send them out in the dark"
 Madames voice grew into Q thoughtful whisper, and she looked dreamily out into the twilight, as she said these words.
 looked up at the lady, as she sat there in the flush of the yellow sunset, her silk dress falling about her in shining folds, her dark eye and crimson cheek catching strange luster as she spoke. Yes, she was indeed the model of French woman, we'll dressed, we'll cared for, tasteful and philos- ophic.
 Madame Rosise was my teacher; she was also the teacher of my younger sisters, who during our fathers absence, were left with her in her cottage on the sea-shore.
 The cottages on the sea-shore were very sparse, they were let out to strangers dur ing the summer months who came down to bathe and reinvigorate themselves with the fresh sea air.
 She and her old grandmother a queer half silly, but kindly old lady, inhabited the little white house just beyond the turn of the hills, where they swept off from the shore, leaving the white line of beach-sand for the waves and the bathers. There were one or two other little pupils, from among the summer residents.
 My father thought deal of Madame French; and of her powers of training And Madame thought deal of my father. We had been very happy at the cottage this summer; the sunshiny, breezy days had passed like swift flight of birds thai paused to dip their wings in the radiant waters, and vanished beyond the hills.
 Madame Rosine arose and approached the doorway which looked out on the ia, line of beach and the brimming heavine sea, tinged with the ruddy light of the de parting sun.
 'I believe" said she, grandmother is getting to old to trust with the children"
 A holding, smiling old woman in ret kerchief came, leaning on her stick, up the 1 the gravel path, little child toddling or 1 in advance of her.
 It was little Fanchette, my sister, witt her hands and tiny white apron full o green. shiny seaweed.
 She held the dripping mass up to Mad ames gaze as she skipped eagerly forward. i ''Me dot fower" she cried. i Madame withdrew her silken dress from possible contact; an expression of disgust warped her face. She had sent the little thing out so clean and shining, to be ad mired by the gazers on the sea-shore, ar attractive exposition of her system and he, care.
 But with the self control which she in culcated in her pupils, she checked the ex precision; her face resumed the courteous complacency as the old woman came slowly up the path. ~ ;
 |" think, grandmother, said she. ssthese walks are getting too much for you. The children are too much of charge-I vii accompany them myself next time.'
 It was grandmother's charge to walk witl the little ones on the beach of an afternoon and to take the little day-pupils home. The toddling things liked the old woman we'll she was grandmother by election to the whole of them, and that she sometimes wandered off with them for half a day. O, so, did not discredit her claims in thei, eyes
 ''Rosine" said she, ''thou wilt not de prive me of the little ones!' Her old voice quivered. ' '0'0>
 Madame did not answer. She was bns, disgorging Fanchettes little apron of it: contents.
 The next day, bright and early, Isav the old grandmother, staff in hanG making her swift way toward the gate. he, rufled cap blowing back in the bre ,ze. anc Fanchette, with many furtive glance bacl ward, trudging valiantly by her side