Really, I'm still here - just been sort of busy - taking care of my Mom and helping my daughter Kris and her hubby move from KY to northern OH. And, publishing books and trying to earn a living! The following article is interesting. Bell's Tavern was in now Park City KY (then known as Glasgow Junction) and owned by William BELL His son, Robert Slaughter Bell was married to Maria Louisa GORIN, daughter of Franklin Gorin who owned Mammoth Cave early. Glasgow Weekly Times – April 5, 1893 Old Bell Tavern Picturesque Ruins of That Noted Tavern at Glasgow Junction An Interesting Story of Adventure From Early Kentucky History About twenty-four miles from Bowling Green, at Glasgow Junction, on the old Louisville and Nashville turnpike, there once stood a famous house, known as Bell’s Tavern. Nothing but rugged ruins of stone slowly crumbling in a spacious yard, thickly set with venerable trees, now remains of that celebrated stage stand. What famous people have gathered about the great log fire in the main sitting room of Bell’s Tavern! Henry Clay entertained many a company there, and Tom Marshall, half full of liquor, and wholly full of wit and eloquence, was a frequent guest. In those days the stagecoach, in communities remote from waterways, was a great agent of civilization, and the Governor of the State, while might had been admired for his manly virtues, could not hope to rival the stage driver. The driver may have been a man of no education, may have been surly in disposition, and boorish in manner, but he was surely the greatest individual who stopped at Bell’s Tavern. The most noted driver was Jo Hatton. There was always a crowd to greet him when he arrived. People who were anxious to hear from the outside world would gather around the coach when it drew up and would ply Jo with questions, but he disdained any answer until he had gone into the bar room and taken a drink. There was no man too proud to take an handful of lines that Jo threw to him. It was an honor to catch the reins, and it was said, though I cannot vouch for the truth, that Henry Clay used to shove himself forward to discharge this enviable duty. One evening many years ago, a bright company was gathered about the famous fire-place. There was Henry Clay, who, having come from a great convention held at Nashville, had stopped to visit at the tavern before going on to his home, there was Tom Marshall, who was on his way to attend a murder trial in the Southern part of the State; and among the rest, and not an unimportant factor, either, was Miss Lavenia Moss, a niece of old man Bell, a girl who charmed Washington society with her beauty and wit. There was also present a young lawyer named Green, a devoted admirer of Miss Moss. “I wonder what can be keeping Jo Hatton so long this evening?” said old man Bell, “it is after eight, and he ought to have been here before seven.” Old Tom Marshall was dozing. The old fellow had indulged freely in apple brandy, and having poured out his eloquence, was now resting. Clay, to the annoyance of Green, was paying compliments to Miss Moss. “I am anxious to know what is going on,” said Bell, “I can’t get along without news.” The company ran out to the front gate. The night was cool and crisp and the echo of the horn rolled far down the valley. The young lawyer caught the lines when the stage drew up. “What’s the news?” they all began to cry. Jo did not answer, but leaping to the ground went into the bar-room. He was eagerly watched as he stood and stirred his hot toddy. Tom Marshall was now wide awake. “What’s the news below?” he asked. “Oh, noth’ of much account. I reckon you all heard about the Cogswll murder down yonder.” “Yes, we have heard of that, but we have not heard that the murderer has been caught.” ` “He hasn’t been. It was this ‘er way. This fellow Donnell – you all know him – lived down in this neighborhood and tended a crop of co’n for old man Munford last year. Well, you see, he went to live with his grandmother, old Mrs. Potter. She was as thrifty a old soul as ever lived, and after her husband’s death, she wanted Donnell to come down and live with her. Well, he hadn’t been there long when he found out some way that the old woman had a lot of gold, but he couldn’t find out where she kept it. Finally he discovered that she had it in an old stockin’ but to save him, he couldn’t find out what she did with it in the daytime. He worried along his way for some time, and at last determined to have that money whether or no; so one night while the old woman was asleep he went to her room and tried to get the stocking from under her head. She woke up and then he hit her on the head with the hammer. He got the money, but the old woman was not quite dead. No sir, she lived to tell who done the deed, and now the folks are looking for Donnell everywhere.” “Mr. Clay,” said young Green, “would you as a lawyer, defend such a man as that? “ “I must confess,” he continued, glancing at the beautiful girl, “that I fear I have too high an idea of justice to succeed at the rough and tumble practice of law. I don’t think I could defend such a fellow.” “I should not like to defend him,” said Clay, “and would not do it for money, but if I were appointed by the court I would do my best to clear him. The atrocity of the crime would be no weight in the face of my duty to obey the court. I once cleared a man who I knew to be a thief, but I was appointed by the court.” “And did the fellow prove his gratitude by becoming an honest man?” “No, I am glad to say he did not.” “Why, Mr. Clay, I am astonished at you. How can you rejoice in any one’s dishonesty?” “As a general thing, I cannot,” Clay replied, “but in this case I rejoice somewhat. You see, he went over into another county, several years afterward, and stole a horse. I happened to be prosecuting attorney then, and had the satisfaction of sending him to the penitentiary for ten years.” “Well,” said old Tom Marshall, “it is an easy matter for me to believe a man innocent when I need money. With me, a thief in need is sometimes a friend indeed.” A number of the neighbors came in after supper, and when Jo delivered himself of his budget of news and began to express his opinions, other people began to talk. So long as Jo devoted himself to the news there was a respectable silence on the part of the others, but when he began to pass an opinion, he immediately sank to his proper level, that of a commonplace and uneducated man. The evening was not very far spent when it was suggested by some of the neighborhood girls that they play some kind of game. Green, who was piqued and wanted to punish Miss Moss, remarked that “Forfeits” was the thing. They agreed and the game was begun. Green was fortunate and it soon became his time to pronounce sentence on the beauty. “What shall it be?”, she asked. “You must take a candle,” said Green. “and alone must go to every room in the house, and look for the time honored man under the bed.” “Oh, that is too hard, Mr. Green.” Clay and Marshall interceded for the girl, and suggested a lighter penalty, but Green would accept no compromise. “Go ahead,” said old man Bell to Lavinia, “there is nothing to hurt you.” Odd zounds,” he added with energy, “I didn’t think a person of the Bell blood was afraid of anything.” “I’ll go,” she said, taking up the lighted candle. “Must give us your word that you will look under every bed in the house,” Green demanded. “I will,” she answered as she passed out into the hall. Five minutes elapsed. Suddenly a terrific shriek startled them, and they heard hurried foot-steps coming down the stair-way; not the slippered feet that had ascended them a few moments ago, but the jarring jump of heavy boots. The men ran into the hallway just in time to encounter a man, a heavy-set fellow with black eyes. “It is Donnell, the murderer!” cried old man Bell. “Stand, or I will kill you!” The fellow was seized and bound hand and foot. By this time, the girl, deadly pale, came shrieking down the stairs. “Come, come,” said Bell, “it is all over and there’s no use being scared. Bring some brandy, Jo, she’ll be alright in a minute. Take good care of this fellow; lock him up in the cellar. On with him.” Mrs. Bell took charge of the trembling girl, and the men conducted the murderer to the cellar. Just as they were about to leave him on a pile of stones, there came the startling cry of “fire!” When the morning came, the once famous house was a heap of ruins. When the girl found the murderer under the bed, she dropped the candle on a pile of papers. Donnell’s charred bones were found in the cellar. That was many years ago and all the actors have passed away. Last week I saw some children playing about the ruins, and heard a little boy say: “Tie me an’ take me down there and play that I’m the murderer.” Sandi SCKY Archives: http://archiver.rootsweb.com/th/index?list=south-central-kentucky Barren Co Archives: http://archiver.rootsweb.com/th/index?list=kybarren Sandi's Website: http://ggpublishing.tripod.com/ Sandi's Puzzlers: http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.com/~gensoup/gorin/puz.html