Waterbury evening Democrat., 1893-04-27
ANeLo-AMERlcAN VsNcoT1A.

Handed Down for everaI &c erAtions, It
Has the Usual Terminate II.
The prologue is the Kings Bench
prison. The time is 1879 or there
abouts 1t is summer evening. IL
one of the cheapest rooms a man OF
about 40 lies dying. The foul air. rri-
.ation, disappointment and imprison-
ment have xii. ed him: By his bedside
sits his wife weeping. There also stand
two boys, aged fifteen and thirteen,
awed and silent
Take them away, Lucy" says the
dying man. 81 shall be gone before
acSursed country. Take them to Amer
lea. Teach them to hate England.
Teach them to remember the man who
sent me here and kept me here to die
like rat. Teach them to take revenge
upon his children and his grandchil-
dren.''
In this fine Christian spirit the inn
prisoned debtor departed this world,
and now lies buried in the churchyard
of st. Georges, Southwark, under the
windows of the Marshalsea and close
to the body of Bishop Bonner.
a hundred years later his great
grandson, the first of thu line who has
ever got on, for bad luck was in the
blood, has made some money, and has
come over to see the old country. His
grandfather, the boy of IS, never for
got the deathbed scene and his fathers
last words. He would fain have crossed
the water himself to execute that re-
venge. But circumstances were toe
strong for him He invented revenges
which he could not carry out. He i'm
agin d himself hunting down his enc
my, pursuing his enemy's children. But
he could never muster up money enough
to leave the little town where he worked.
And so he died unrevenged. His son
inherited the vendetta, together with
the papers connected with the case.
But with him the desire for revenge had
become feeble passion Perhaps he
would have done a bal turn to his
grandfather's enemies if it had involved
no trouble. But like his father, he
could never afford to leave his native
town. So he in turn died. And still
that great injury remained unavenged.
Then the great-grandson inherited
the papers and the duty of revenge
But by this time the desire for ven
| geance had dwindled down to a very
mild emotion indeed. This great-grand
n, however. broke the family record
| of ili-lucll. He became a lawyer ant
an orator, and made enough money
| while still young man to make a visi
to the old country. OF course he wa
an American through and through, anC
he regarded Great Britain with mixe6
feelings of contempt and envy TIL
latter he did not acknowledge, but il
was there. The contempt he avowed
We have house of lords, you seal
profiigate; and a church rolling il
riches. 1t was at this time that mad
his acquaintance He told me abou
the cherished and hereditary vendetta
asked him what he proposed to d
] when he found out the descendants o
I his forefather's enemy. He laughed
He said that he didn't know what h
could do, but he should like to fin
them out if he could. He spoke vaguel
of a coming fight
saw him no more for six month:
when met him walking along Picca
dilly. He was not alone, There wa
with him a young woman, and ther
greeted me with friendliness when h
laughed. II told you all about the ven
delta, didn't n" he said. 'Terribl
thing having family vendetta, isn't it
Well, 1 settled our old vendetta. di
exactly what had been taught to dc
hunted them down. l followed ther
up. found them out And this is on
of my enemies. Let me Introduce 20
to Miss Florence-I call her Florris
And / have taken the most awful-th
most terrible-the most earthduak.na
experimenting, shuidering gliaStlv r.
veuge you ever heardoE For Tvs mi
the enemys only great-Eranddaughta
premise 70 marry meI'' -Eoudsn Qseaz