The Madison journal. (Tallulah, Madison Parish, La.) 1888-current, 1889-05-04

lage stores. and finally the beadle of
the village, accompanied by crowd OF
men and dozen or more trembling
women, went over TO the cottage.
The beadlc forced his way into the
house. while the people waited breath
lessly outside.
Five minutes passed, the beadlo was
seen to open the door and beckon to
his deputy and tho door was closed.
The excitement now was intense. That
something unusual had transpired
within the house was certain.
At length the door again opened, and
the beadlo rcappeared. his face wear
ing graver expression than was ever
seen there before.
What is it, beadle?" said half a
score in terrified whisper.
The beadle waited until tho question
ers were silent, and replied: "Our
editor is dead"'
Ellis wife, where is she?" asked the
multitude, when the shock of the an
nouncement no longer held their utter
ance
dead" said the beadle.
"And his son?"
Dead" said the beadle, who, Sc
lecting six of the leading citizens,
pulled them inside, at the same time
waving back the crowd that would
have rushed il.
1t was at the moment the beadle Sc
lected his jury that | approached the
cottage. Being 4 comparative stranger
in the place, and rs there were no rail-
roads to the village. and it being located
so deep in the vale that few had learned
of its existence. n stranger received
considerable attention, from the very
fact of his being stranger. and each
was anxious to tell all he knew about
the deceased.
An old lady told how, twenty years
before, he was lively, energetic. and
was everywhere; his young wife was
the light of every party; but of late
years they had shrunk from public
gaze, and his son took his place at
news gathering. The paper had grown
apparently in circulation every year
since it started. 1t was her opinion
their property had made them proud.
Over two thousand papers were issued
weekly. Most everybody read the Ga
zette, she guessed. She had taken it
since It started, and was intending to
run in that very day and settle. She
had received bill, stating that she
owed ten years subscription, but she
had kind O. needed the money, and the
| bill didn't amount to much to an editor
with so big business. mo need of
their having been so proud, if they did
run q paper" was the uncharitabie re-
mark of a bystandcr. Tho editor was
misery, too" chimed in another; ''he
did his own work, and almost always,
of late. has refused to subscribe when
a paper is handed around"
.'IIe is probably worth $50, 900; hivcd
it up; $1,000 received annually for sub
scriptions, to say nothing of advertis-
ing" figured he-xillago schoqlaasier
81 have taken his paper for fifteen
years, and a while 40 he sent me o
bill for $50. 1t would have been pub.
lic-sprited of him to send his paper
free. / being n ublic servant. His
business was good, so l have not hur.
ried about the money"
Probably murdered for his money"
volunteered another. "Why there's no
end of money these editors make.
Only few days ago he sent me bill
to pay tea dollars owed him for five
years subscription. Anxious to put
the money in the bank, | suppose. A:
| needed it just then, l delayed.
don't believe in folks being piggish il
they are professionals.
Just then the beadle and the jury
appeared.
"How is it? how is it?" asked the
multitude in breath.
Gentlemen. gasped the beadle
fhey starved to death"
"Irposslb!c," exclaimed all.
ut is even So" continued the beadle
"Mr. Foreman, tell how it is"
The foreman mounted \ box, anC
taking out my note book by force o
habit, l took down his words. They
were rs follows:
"Citizens of Klmnersolthal: Never
until this hour. has the truth OF the rec
legend been established, and never unit
this hour has there been more reason Il
call our place Kummersolthal, or sor
rowing vale. On the floor at his mother
bedside lies the dead son, and on thu
bed the starved mother. On the stool
bent forward on his case. is the edtol
himself, with the stick, the implemen
of his profess on, in his hand, and thu
last word set, gentlemen, was Kun
mersolthal.' The last leader he set wa
his farewell to'you, citizens of the towr
of his adoption. Yes, gentlemen, hi
native town; | read you, now, the copy
taken from the case of the deceased.
To the citizens of Kummersolthal: hi,
farewell. One hour ago my wife died
starved. One half hour after my sol
followed, and before the clock strikes four
my edition, too, will be run off and tn
forms closed. Our depleted wardrobe an
swers charges of pride. You thought u
rich and we would not beg-except for on
just due.