Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1895-07-11


ton Is the best way-the only way. 1t
is clean, and safe. Why should there
be any prejudice against it? Surely it
is better to give the remains of what
we loved Tor pretended to love- to
cleahsNg fire and pure air than lay
themih cold vault of stone. or down.
downfin the wet and clinging earth.
For l6athly things are hidden deep in
the mould-things foul and all unname-
able-long worms-slimy creatures
with blind eyes and useless wongs--
abortions and deformities of the insect
tribe born Of poist nous vapor-crea-
lures the very sight of which would
drive you. U delicate woman, into tit
of hysteria. and woul provoke even
you. . strong man. to a shGdder Of
repulsion. But there is a worse thing
than these merely physical horrors
which come of So-called Christian bur-
ial-that is the terrible uncertainty.
What, if after we have lowered the
narrow strong box containing our
dear deceased relation into its vault
or hollow in the ground-what. if at
ter we have Worn seemly garb of
woe. and tortured our faces into the
fitting expression of gentle and patient
melancholy-what. l say. il after all
the reasonable precaution to insure
safety. they would actually prove in
sufficient? What-if the prison to
which we have consigned the deeply
regretted one should not have such
close doors as we fondly imagined!
What if the stout coffin should be
wrenched apart by fierce and frenzied
fingers! What. if our late dear friend
should not be dead. but should, like
Lazarus of old, come forth to challenge
our affection anew? Should we not
grieve sorely that we had failed to
avail ourselves of the secure and clas-
steal method of cremation? Especially
if we had benefited by worldly goods
or money left to us by the so deserved
~ lamented! For we are self-deceiving
hypocrites-few of us are really sorry
for the dead-few of us remember
them with any real tenderness or af-
lection. And yet God knows! they
may need more pity than we dream of.
mani. lately deceased am about to
chronicle the events of one short year.
"a year in which was compressed the
agony Of long and tortured lifetime.
One little year!-one sharp thrust from
the dagger of time! 1t pierced my heart
the wound still gapes and bleeds.
and every drop of blood is tainted as 1t
falls!
One suffering common to many, l
have never known, that is-Doyerty. l
was born rich. When my father,
Count Filippo Romani, died, leaving
me, then a lad of seventeen, sole heir
to his enormous pc sessions head
of his powerful house-there were
mauy candid friends who, with their
usual kindness. prophesied the worst
even some who looked forward to my
physical and mental destruction with a
certain degree Of malignant expecta-
ton and-thcy We're estimable persons
too. They were respectfully connected,
their words carried weight-and for
time was an object of their malicious
ly pious fears. 1 was destined, &C.
cording to their calculations, to be a
gambler, spendthrift, drunkard, an
incurable roue, of the most abandoned
character. Yet. strange to say, l be-
came none of these. Though Neapo-
Titan. with all the fiery passions and
hot blood of my race, I had an innate
scorn for the contemplate vices and
low desires of the unthinking vulgar.
Gambling seemed to me a delirious
folly-drink. destroyer of health and
reason-and licentious extravaganza
an outrage on the poor. I chose my
own way of life-a middle course be-
tween simplicity and luxury-a judi
cious mingling of home-like peace with
the gaity of sympathetic intercourse
an even tenor of intelligent existence
injured the body.
dwelt in my fathers Villa NINA.
ture palace of white marble, situated
on a wooded height overlooking the
Bay of Naples. My pleasure grounds
were fringed with fragrant groves of
orange and myrtle, where hundreds of
full-yoiced nightingaies warbled their
love melodies to the golden moon.
Sparkling fountains rose and fell in
huge stone basins carved with many
quaint design, and their cool murlnur-
GUS splash refreshed the burning 81
lence of the hottest summer air. In
this retreat l lived at peace for some
happy years, surrounded by books and
pictures, and visited frequently by
friends-young men whose tastes were
more or less like my own, and who
were capable of equally approaching
the merits Of an antique volume, or the
flavor of rare vintage.
OF women saw little or nothing.
Truth to tell, instinctively avoided
them. Parents with manageable
daughters invited me frequently to
their houses, but these invitations
generally refused. My best books
warned me against feminine society
and believed and accepted the warm
ing. This tendency Of mine exposed
ME to the ridicule Of those among nv
companions who We're amorously in
clincd. but their gay jests at what they
termed my weakness" never affected
me. trusted in friendship rather
than love, and had friend-one for
whom Mt that time I would gladly have
laid down my life-one who inspired