Marshall County Republican. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1856-1878, 1877-03-01
WHY KITTY DID NOT KILL HER.
SELF.

Miss Kitty Gibson, aged 10, eyes blue,
complexion peachy, health perfect, had
made up her mind to die.
This decision had been reached after
much deep reflection, some sharp twinges
Of regret, and a fierce conflict with con-
science; nevertheless, it had been
reached with unalterable firmness. Per-
haps a physiognomist would haze de-
clared that firmness was not quality
of mind possessed by Miss Kitty Gibson.
and by 50 declaring he would have
proved simply the absurdity of his own
science What though her chin was not
square and angular, after the manner of
Joan of Arc's--did that indicate lack of
courage, sef-reliance, or determination
May not blue eyes sometimes look out
from as fathomless depths as black
And may not fixed resolution form it.
self in the breast of pretty, peachy-
checked girl of 10 as well as in the ma
turer bosoms of aquiline- -nosed maidens?
Thus would Kitty Gibson have reasoned
with any physiognomist who might have
intruded his obnoxious arguments upon
her, as she sat, on q certain winters day
gazing out of the kitchen window.
The question of a speedy death had
been settled beyond all quibble or doubt.
add it remained now only for this young
lady of suicidal proclvities to determine
bat means she should employ to con-
Dummate her design. A pistol would be
quick and effective, but there wasn't a
p1ptol in the house Poison, particularly
stEychnine, presented itself to her mind
as Mecca for all death-coveting maid
ems i; but there was the difficulty of pro-
curing the drug-of reaching the Mecca.
What would Hiram Griswold think if she
were to go to the village store and ask
him for an ounce of strychnine ? And
would one ounce be enough? She might
hang herself in the barn, but that was
more properly masculine method of
self-destruction. She might cut her
throat with Uncle Randolph's razor. but
for lingering recollection of the diff
Guilty she had experienced in sharpening
lead-pencils with that venerable instru-
ment. Besides, such plan would dis
figure her dreadfully, and she desired,
above all things, to be a neat and comeiy-
looking corpse. There was vet another
way open to her, and that was the river.
This impressed her more favorably than
either pistol or poison, rope or razor.
Even such sensible heroines as those
who figure in George Eliots novels were
given to watery graves, and drowning
seemed at once the simplest, the most
agreeable, and the most romantic method
Of putting an end TO her burClensome ex-
istence. The river it should be---the
broad, swift Connecticut, which flowed
within half a mile Of Uncle Randolph's q
house, and which seemed at the precise
moment, to Uncle Ranlolph's pretty
niece, designed by Providence to afford
her moist and peaceful exit from this
dry and warning world She would drown
herself just as soon as the ice melted.
And, this weighty question having been
decided, Miss Kitty Gibson rose up from
her seat, filed the tea-kettle with water.
and replenished the fire with stick of
wood
Except they be insane, girls of 10,
with comfortable homes and good di-
gestions, do not make up their minds to
drown themselves without cause. 1 will
not say without sufficient cause, since
that might plunge me into defense of
suicide under possible conditions line
Of argument which no Christian story
teller would care to follow. Kitty Glib
won Wdo uOt luSdfiC, Dut sf1t DtltNcu tnaI
circumstances rendered excusable the
step she was about to take, that is, a
step into the Connecticut river. Called
upon to analyze and explain these cir
cumstances, she would have brought
forth as the result of her self-searching,
first, love unreciprocated next, pride
deeply wounded; and last, heart
which she believed to be broken 80
hcpelessly that not even the magic of
times cement could mend it. A month
before, Kitty Gibson was the happiest.
as well as the prettiest, girl in the State
of Connecticut at least that is what
everybody who knew her said, and no
doubt that is what Kitty herself thought,
although she did not, of course, acknowl-
edge the fact to others. A month be-
fore, and she was counting the days until
spring, until the dawn of that blossOmy
MAY, when she was to be married. What
was it that had turned the thoughts OF
this young lady from bridal wells to poi
sons, pistols and other horrible sub
ietts? What could it be, except quar-
rel with Jack? Obviously, nothing.