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| Rev. W. J. Howell, First Baptist Church, Cortland, N. Y. |
Cortland Semi-Weekly Standard, Tuesday, May 5, 1903.
FROM ROME TO PARIS.
The Trip of Rev. W. J. Howell Drawing to a Close.
To the Editor of The Standard:
Sir—Here we are in Brussels. We arrived today. I hope this will get aboard the steamer sailing from Antwerp, one hour distant from here.
A Few Days in Florence.
Our trip from Rome through the Italian cities and past the Italian lakes, and across the Alps through Switzerland was in itself sufficient reward for our trip aboard. We reached Florence April 4, late in the evening. I went out from the hotel and walked along the beautiful river Arno. We were at the Hotel New York. It seemed as though we were back in the United States. But out upon the street we quickly found that we were not, because we were unable to converse as if both parties were deaf mutes. But in a few days we imagined that we had acquired a marvelous familiarity with the language.
The open square in which Savonarola was burned was the first spot I sort out. By moonlight I had my first view of the great cathedral.
Two of the greatest picture galleries in the world are in Florence. We had only one day to visit these two palaces—the “Uffize Palace” and the “Pitti Palace.” It is impossible to give a true conception of the grandeur of these art galleries. We had a delightful carriage drive. From the heights of Michael Angelo’s Terrace was unfolded a grand panorama of the city below. I visited the monastery where Savonarola was a monk. I was in his cell. I saw his two Bibles with marginal notes in his own hand writing.
Venice and the Gondolas.
We arrived at Venice April 7 in the evening. That Island City so beautifully lighted was approached in gondolas. Her streets are canals. Her cabs are gondolas. The next morning we went first to the cathedral. Few cathedrals are so grand. It was Holy Week and we heard excellent music. The Campanile stood in front of this church. The foundation of a new Campanile is being laid. The ruins of the fallen one are already removed.
We had a full day of gondola ride through the canals of the city. The Palaces of the Doges on the Grand canal were superb. Their former glory has departed. Some of them are now hotels. I visited the famous dungeons, where such tragic cruelties were enacted. Many unhappy prisoners were led across the Bridge of Sighs to that sad abode. What a farce were the so-called trials in the Palace of the Doges. We visited one of the famous Venetian glass works. Their beauty was like a paradise. The lace factory was equally interesting. Some of our rich Americans invested freely, as if they were lace importers. As a result of shopping in the two months, I am sure many American homes will be made happy on the home coming.
We glided in the gondola past Browning’s house. His son now lives there. A cousin of the poet, a missionary from South America, was with us. He confessed, however, that he could never understand Browning’s poetry. On the house we saw the inscription, “Open my heart, and you will find engraved there Italy.”
The second day was a rainy day and there was a slight gale on the canal. Mr. Wallace and I went to a church, not far distant, to see the tombs of Titian and Canova. On our return the wind was so strong that for a few moments it seemed that our gondola was to be capsized. It seemed that we were to have a less worthy tomb than that of Titian. Under such circumstances it is quite natural for a man to feel that his life work is not completed.
Verona and Milan.
On our way to Milan we passed classical Verona. I looked out of the window if perchance I might recognize the two important personages of Shakespeare’s merry play among the group of degenerate Doges.
At Milan Leonardo’s famous picture, “The Last Supper,” interested me most of all, except the great cathedral. Of all the cathedrals that I have seen, this is the most beautiful. I spent hours there. I ascended by many steps to its lofty dome. I went back to see it in the moonlight. The moonlight of an Italian night has surely no equal. I believe there are more than 2,000 statues inside and on the outside of the cathedral.
Crossing the Alps.
The Italian lakes famed in song and story were along our railroad route to Lucerne in Switzerland. The Alps were grand beyond our largest expectations. The famous Ticono valley with the lofty Alps on either side presented continual grandeur. Napoleon said, “There are no Alps,” but we saw them notwithstanding. We were entering tunnels continually, only to see a still finer view on the other side. The ascent continues for hours. The railroad cost a fabulous sum. The St. Gothard tunnel alone cost millions of dollars. It required sixteen minutes to pass through it. Before entering it was not snowing. On emerging we were ushered into a snow storm. On the trees of the towering crags lay the downy mantle of winter, appearing far more beautiful than frost. In the valley below the trees were to be seen in blossom.
After passing the “Lake of the Four Cantons,” we arrived at Lucerne, the pearl of Switzerland. Here we spent the night. If it had been in summer, one would wish to stay for weeks. Rigi looks down at the city. Some of our party left us to go to Mt. Blanc.
Paris.
The following day we went to Paris. There we spent a full week. Winter followed us to Paris. To write of Paris is to write a volume. It is to write the history of France. In that case I decline in favor of Carlisle’s “French Revolution.”
The present atmosphere is Napoleonic. The shade of Napoleon certainly rests heavily on Paris. He succeeded in leaving his mark. The triumphal arch of Napoleon and his magnificent tomb inspire appreciation of the great genius.
But this letter must not go on forever like Tennyson’s “Brook.” Of all the cities I am reserving the best for last. That is Cortland.
A few days more to see Waterloo, Antwerp, Rotterdam, The Hague and Amsterdam, and we shall sail from Bremen, April 28, on the Kronprinz Wilhelm, reaching New York, May 5.
Very truly yours, W. J. Howell.
TRAGEDY AT RICHFORD, N. Y.
Louis Lacey Shoots His Wife and Commits Suicide.
BOTH WERE DEAD WHEN FOUND.
Lacey in Poor Health for Some time—Thought it Was “All Up” with Him—Wanted Some One to Look After His Wife and Children—Revolver Taken Away from Him Some Time Ago, but he Procured a New One—Up all Night—Tragedy Occurred About 5:30 this Morning—No One Heard the Shots—Coroner Summoned.
Richford, N. Y., May 2. (Special).—Louis Lacey, proprietor of the hotel at Richford, shot and instantly killed his wife, and then ended his own life by a bullet from the same revolver at his hotel in Richford between 5 and 6 o’clock this morning.
The little hamlet was thrown into a state of intense excitement when the tragedy was discovered and the news of the shooting was soon known to every one in the town where both victims lived for so long and where both were so well known.
No one knows just how the tragedy occurred. Mr. and Mrs. Lacey were found dead in their rooms at the hotel at about 5:30 o’clock this morning, each with a bullet hole in the head. Death seemed to have been practically instantaneous and the indications pointed plainly to the fact that Lacey had shot his wife and had turned the revolver upon himself and ended his own life.
Lacey had been proprietor of the hotel for ten or twelve years. For some time past his health had been failing and it is thought this had affected his mind. He was a man of considerable property and had lately been disposing of some of his holdings and at times had acted in a manner to cause his friends considerable uneasiness. A short time ago a revolver, which he had in his possession, was taken away from him, for fear he might use it to harm himself and when he was in Ithaca a few days ago he purchased a new one.
He told the doctor at one time that he hoped some one would look after his wife and children when he was gone as he thought “it was all up” with him and he did not believe he would ever get well. So far as could be learned today he had never threatened to take his wife’s life. He was up all night last night. Ed Abbey, a carpenter who is staying at the hotel, sat up with him, and he says that Lacey walked the floor a good share of the night and towards morning Lacey sent for Dr. Leonard of Harford Mills who had been attending him. At about 5 o’clock Mrs. Lacey got up and made some hot lemonade for her husband, but he did not drink it. He was not seen again until both were found dead in their room less than an hour later.
The coroner at Owego, N. Y., was informed of the shooting and came to Richford this forenoon. Lacey was about 40 years of age and his wife about six years younger. They leave two children, a boy and a girl, about 10 and 12 years. The funeral arrangements have not yet been completed.
The Last Survivor.
Hiram Cronk of Rome, N. Y., the only surviving veteran of the war of 1812, celebrated his 103rd birthday Wednesday, April 29. He is afflicted with no disease and still retains his taste for tobacco.
The Plague in India.
Simla, April 30.—The deaths from the plague are becoming something enormous. The mortality throughout India now exceeds over 30,000 a week.
A Cold Night.
Friday night was one of the coldest nights for May known in Cortland in many years. The mercury got down to 22 degrees F. and water froze hard upon the ground. It is to be hoped that fruit buds were not far enough advanced to be ruined.
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