Lawrence democrat. (Lawrenceburg, Tenn.) 1884-1925, 1890-10-31
not man knew any thing of the dead

His belongings were searched for O
a clew as to his relatives, but their re-
ward was meager for only portion of
a letter was brought to light and in
this nissive, written in fine feminine
hand, the writer had addressed the de-
ceased Dear st. Fleur," only.
"Was it mother, sister, or sweet
hearth" they questioned, sadly
"Swateheart most loikely," moaned
TORY McCorman, "fur we see-she writ
the dear 'thout the brother or SON
rilative wud be after putin to it. An
Olive kilt her, too, woe be the day!'
After the burial every one seemed to
reverence the name of St. Fleur, and
the lonely grave under the weeping will
lows had been faithfully and tenderly
watched. And one day Tory McCor-
man carved the name of ST. Fleur on a
rough pine slab and put it at the head
of the grave, with the remark that
"twould be huff aisier to pint than to
tell the whole ov it." Little did he
realize then what he did afterward, that
the telling ov it." would be more sor-
rowful and tfagical than ever his great
Irish heart had believed.
In early autumn came beautiful,
balmy day, and with it the closing feat
ures of the incident as related to me.
The sun had almost set, when carriage
drove up the rugged road and stopped
at the lumbermen's hut
foir uonnp oir1 +1,y nj o1;ubt >
ed and came forward expectantly. Pres
emily Tory McCorman's face became
CHASTITY, and he whispered with white
lips God help me; it's her as writl"
He grasped his hat and hurried out of
the rear entrance, disappearing instant
ly in the gloom.
She had by this time stepped inside
the hut, and, in a gay tone, said:
"Good-evening, gentle""n. Is st.
Fleur Fuller in? Is this his abodc""
As the questions fell from be" lips each
one of the group uttered an exclamatio
Of panied surprise. Then all eyes fell
on the expectant, but somewhat fright
ened, face of the girl before them, but
what man of them could utter syllable
concerning the death of prince Ear
nest?"
She saw that something was woefully
wrong instantly by the panied, hushed
expression on each mans face.
"Oh, speak-what is it; tell me what
has happened to him and where is hep
she cried, nervously clasping her gloved
hands and gazing at the proprietor with
an attitude pitiable to see
With blanched face William Stanhope
answered in low, unsteady tones:
Madam, suppose st. Fleur is very i'll
| ~
"Oh, take me to him, then-quickly~
she interrupted, with quivering lips.
"Please take me; he needs mel'
Not man stirred, but every eye was
fixed on the proprietor, and every ear
strained to catch his reply.
Madam" he began, in a husky,
faltering accent, Madam, If st. Fleur
could not recover"
'Oh, are you mad? In Heavens
name take me to him-I beg of you not
to say such cruel things" she answered,
imploringly.
"St. Fleur is dead -dead and buriedp
The words came slow, as If the weight
of each one was fatal burden to him.
His tones were strange and unnatural.
Stunned by this terrible intelligence,
she gazed at him vacantly for few
moments; then deathly pallor swept
over her features, as she slowly COM
pretended what his words meant.
Each one present feared for her
reason, and the horror deepened as she
kept repeating to herself: dead, dead,
st. Fleur deadw No tears came to her
relief, and not soul present could
bring himself to offer one word of SYM
pathy as she stood there, repeating the
fateful words: Dead, dead, deadl'
Suddenly wild cry proceeded from the
girl, and she fell PROSTATE at the feet
of the proprietor
With the silent assistance of the men
she was quickly restored to conscious
ness. The dry, hot eyes glared for an
instant about her, then she walled
pathetically: Take me where you
have buried him. must see him once
more-I can not bear it--oh, obi"
Gently supported by two of the men,
they led her away, out along the moon
lit shore, for the moon had risen and
her gentle beams fell lovingly on the
rugged mound and its little rough slab,
turning the letters of the name st.
Fleur to beautiful silvery hue.
Presently the agonized nourner
stretched out her hands over the CLINT.
ing waters by the side of the grave, and
cried in tone of despair, never to be
forgotten by the listeners: ooh, cruel,
cruel waves! TO rob me of my hearts
best and dearestl Oh, st. Fleur, st.
Fleur' Ha, ha, hal No-no he is moi
dead-he is coming to me over there
don't you see him-yes-" Another
wild shrek escapes her, the eyes dilate
with strange terror, and before one Of
the amazed group can dash forward she
again drops heavily to the ground. She,
too, had passed from this room to the
next"-the victim of broken heart
And it was so that the wall of a
broken heart going forth DER the moon,
lit deep on this sweet September night
gave the lake its present suggestive
name. Chicago Daily News.
Trees ESQ Feet Tall.
Prof Fred G. Plummer, the civil en-
gineer of Tacoma, saws; 81 have beer