The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1878-09-19
A ROMANCE OF CRIME.
The OBSERVATION-DISCLOSURES Tragedy-What
Might Have Happened in venice, pus Dld
Happen in Kentucky.

OF the many crimes committed on the
sacred soil of Kentucky there never has
been one for romance of incident, chiv
alrv of motive. tragedy Of ending, equa
to that of the Beauchamp affair,
Though transpiring many years ago, Its
details have lost none of their freshness,
and the high standing of the families
and their persistent efforts to suppress
everything relating to it, have tended tc
perpetuate it's remembrance, and render
It q romance that even at this late day
all Kentuckians love to talk Of and won
der over. The murderer, or infatuated
avenger of another's wrongs, was j. 0.
Beauchamp, the son OF q respectable
farmer near Bowling Green. He was a
young law student of unusual promise,
whose talents and address had attracted
the favorable notice of the afterward
murdered Solomon P. Sharpe, at that
time Attorney General OF the State.
Young Beauchamp was of ardent tenn
permanent, entertained exalted ideas OF
woman's purity, and once upon his va
cation CHANGED to meet Miss Ann Cooke,
beautiful young lady, who, during his
absencein the pursuitof his studies, had,
with widowed mother, taken up her
residence near bis fathers farm.
It was a case of love at first sight. Miss
Cooke was melancholy as lovers lutte,
lived in great privacy, and her mysteri-
GUS movements and intentional with
drawal from society threw around her a
halo Of mystlfcation that fired the ardor
of the law student and made him a
willing slave at her feet. He called
upon her, actually forced himself into
her presence and borrowed books of her,
simply to afford him an excuse to call
again. she repealed his advances in a
manner that only lured him on. He per-
secuted her with kindness and haunted
her with attentions. He proposed, was
rejected she would never marry. He
persisted with an excess of passion and
ardor that induced her to tell him her
story, and wiring from him promise of
revenge.
She had been betrayed, she said, by
Col. Sharpe. Her case was peculiarly
sad one. Col. Sharpe had been raised
in her fathers family. The sacred rites
of hospitality he had repaid by flching
the daughters virtue. And she, like
many another, became mother ere she
was a wife. She had been famed for her
beauty, yet her disgrace had withered
it's charms and crippled it's powers. Her
family had been wealthy, but adversely
had overtaken them. Her father and
male relatives were all dead. There was
no one to avenge her wrongs. Beau
champ, tied to her fate by the silken
cords of a desperate love, as well as by
the romantic notion of chivalric tenn
permanent that urged him to wash out by
assassination or challenge the wrong
done, readily took an oath to hurl
Sharpe to the doom he deserved.
"Sharpe will not fight" said Miss
Cook, when Beauchamp announced his
intention of calling him out "he is
too great coward" That was in 1921.
The Legislature was in session at
Frankfort. Beauchamp readily found
Col. Sharpe at the Mansion House.
The Colonel recognized him cordially.
GIVE come to Frankfort to see you on
important business" and Beauchamp
took him by the arm, saying, "Let us
take walk"
They went to retired spot by the
river side. The bell at the Mansion
House rang for supper.
Beauchamp turned upon Sharpe with a
nervous manner and eye sparkling with
anger. EDO you remember the lost
words Miss Cooke, whom you ruined,
spoke to you?"
Sharpe stood as If transfxed.
ct am the avenger whom, in the
spirit of prophecy, she, the last time
you ever saw her, warned you would
right her wrongs" ' A 's>' " ~@ ~'@ s@
Sharpe stood still, deigning no reply.
"Will you fight duel with me p g
"My dear friend" cringingly spoke
the Attorney General, CT cannot fight
you on Miss Cookies account"
"Defend yourself, then, coward and
villain that you are," shrleked Beau
champ, drawing an enormous dirk.
7" [ have no weapon but a penknife. :"
Beauchamp threw him Spanish
knife.
"My dear friend, I cannot fight you,"'
still urged Sharpe. + s VI 81 =
"You ---- villain, what do you
mean by that? That she is not worthy
you should fight her friend and aven.
ger?"
"My friend, meant that I never can
fight the friend Of that worthy, injured
lady. Had her brothers murdered me,
would not have raised my hand to de-
fend myself. And, if you are her hus-
band, | can never fight you
81 am not her husband, but her
friend and avenger. She sent me to
take your life. Now, - villain, you
shall die"
He raised his dagger. Sharpe ran.
Beauchamp seized him by the collar.
Sharpe fell upon his knees and begged
for his life. .f t- NH. aTT.
"Take my property; my whole estate
is at your command, but, oh let me
ive," he cried. " 81. .y.alg
Beauchamp released his hold, slapped
Sharpe's face, and kicked him as he
arose H(Tot No. Won coward. T'l7 Duh-