The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1898-06-22
and 2; the other had passed over

1 and 2; the other had passed over
the half of the dial plate
''In three hours will be dead, "
thought he, and instinctively he
crossed his arms over his breast, as
if to protect it against the bullets.
Three hours longer and he would
be nothing more than a ifeless
body, nailed up in his coffin. In lis
morbid imagination he seemed to
hear the dull thud of the first spade
fuls of earth upon the wood.
To die thus in full health, in the
vigor of lifel Was this possible2
How many simple pleasures in his
happy life, without desires and with
out ambitions; the duties Of his
priesthood, the alleviation of the
poor and suffering, the intercourse
with his brethren, the care Of his
animals and Of his gardenl All, why
had he committed this folly of offer
ing himself as sacrificef Distracted
with anguish, he sprang with a
bound to the gate and opened 1t alb
ruptly His look followed the grassy
path that led from the foot of the
wall and, winding between the
plowed fields, joined the road. In
thought he fastened along this road,
and dashed through the forest into
we'll known paths Yonder, some
miles away, was railway station.
The priest bent his head forward
in anxious gaze. The plain was de-
serted as far as the horizon. No one
would see him fee He would reach
the station, take the train and go far,
far away-would be free. would
live, would livel
Maddened, he was about to rush
forward, bareheaded, but his word
of honor-but LeroyI
With a cob, he closed the gate,
and, kneeling, he called to his aid,
with all the strength Of his faith,
that Saviour who at the approach
Of death had experienced in the
garden on the Mount of Olives all
its terrors, all it's agonies-dying,
as it were, in advance. He besought
him to aid him to the end and re-
store to him his fortitude; then,
with renewed strength and recog-
nizing that solitude and reverie in
duced weakness, he FASTENED back
to his house. His accounts made out
exactly, his little property classified
and valued, he made his will, leav-
ing small sums to the most needy OF
his parishioners ard little souvenirs
to others. Finally he bequeathed
his donkey to a wealthy family,
with the request that they would
never sell her. and thus spare her
from spending her last days in mis-
cry, dragging along the roads the
cart of some peddler.
Having completed these arrange
ments, he passed a long time in fer
vid prayer, asking pardon for his
faults and relying wholly on the
mercy and justice Of God.
AS the clock struck 3 the priest
descended the stairway of his house
and proceeded to the church.
This was as full as on days OF
high festival. In the presence of the
misfortune that was about to fall
upon the village even the most
thoughtless had come to assemble
about the man who represented the
highest moral authority. In his sur
plice the priest passed through the
crowd Of worshipers, and, ascend.
ing the pulpit steps, after few mo-
ments of meditation he said: my
brethren, l am very glad to see you
united here in such great numbers.
The authorities have been pleased
to grant me the pardon of Leroy,
but | have not been able to obtain
that of Laideur and Vincent. have
seen them and comforted them.
They are ready to die as Frenchmen
and as Christians.
Without fine phrases, but with
perfect simplicity. he spoke Of duty.
self sacrifice and love of country.
His words sent thrill through bis
assembly, whose ideal was ordinari-
ly confined to material interests.
Turning toward the altar, he in.
toned in firm voice the DE Pro
funds. Then he gave his blessing
to the congregation, praying for pa
tience and resignation and request
ing each one to return to his home
and there remain. Leaving the
church, he was seen to direct his
eteps to the schoolhouse.
The next morning the inhabitants
of the village learned that their
priest had been shot by the Prus.
sians.-Erom the French For Short
Stories.
/