Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

VOL. XIX. COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 1877. NO. 260 nit; h»k»i:k to a land, a Border Land, iticre was but u stnmgp, dim light shadows and dreams, in a spectra nd. I i. ul to the aching sight. In-thought me how there I came, ! |( nee I should pass again; line; and night were marked by the ling of woe and pain. iv from this land, this Border Band, Is mountain-ridges lioar, , v looked across to a wondrous !_iit and unearthly shore, iliurnod me to Him, “the Urucific-d,’, n,,,st humble faith and prayer, , laid ransomed with blood my sinful i ] thought He would call mo there. ;.-iv■; for awhile in the Border Land I, ,,(.■ mo in patience stay, ..ilher rich fruits with a troinbllng Inilld. lilst lie chased its glooms away. :l ,l led me amid those shadows dim, ,1 -.how n that hriglit world so near, ;i -li me that earnest trust in Him the one tiling needful” here. so front the land, the Border land, tve turned me to earth once more; mill and its works were such trifles, scanned the light of that radiant shore, ii! should they ever possess me again deeply, ill heart and hand, .1 funk how empty they seemed, and vain, m the heights of the Border Land. [order Land had depths and vales, ere sorrow for sin was known; ■ • small seemed great, us weighed In ii by Hod s hand alone. is a land where earthly pride was naught, i re the poor were brought to mind, their scanty hod, there tireless cot, I their bread so hard to find. ;ni linlc I heard in the Border Land m ail that passed below; lie once loud voices of human life To the deafened car were low. was deaf to the clang of its trumpet-call, Aud alike to its gibe or its sneer; - riches were dust, and the loss of all Would then have scarce cost a tear. I met with a Friend in this Border Land, Whose teachings can come witli power To the blinded eye and deafened ear, In iifiiietion's loneliest hour. “Times of refreshing" to the soul In languor oft He brings, Prepares it then to meditate i in high and glorious tilings. 0 Holy Ghofit! too often grieved In health and earthly haste, 1 l.less those slow and silent hours Which seemed to run to waste. I would not hut have passed those “dept Its And such communion known, A- can he held in the Border Land With Thee, and Thee alone. I have boon to a land, a Border Land! May oblivion never roll • Ter the mighty lessons which there an t lien Have been graven on my soul! I have trodden a path I did not know, Safe in my Savior's hand: I can trust Him for all the future, now i have been to the Border Lund. I From the Galaxy. One of the most curious cases that ever cans- under my notice in a long course of criminal practice was not brought into any court, and, as I believe, lias never been published until now. The details of the affair came under my personal cognizance i i the following manner: In 1858, 1 went down into the She nandoah valley to sjx*nd my summer vacation among the innumerable Pages, Marshalls, and Cooks who all hailed me as a cousin, by right of tra ditional intermarriages generations hack. My first visit was to the house of McCormick Beardsley, a kinsman and schoolfellow whom I had not seen since we parted at the university twenty years before. \\\* were both gray-liaired old fel lows now, hut 1 had grown thin and sharp in the courts of Baltimore and Washington : while he had lived (jui cily on his plantation, more fat and jovial and genial with every year. Beardsley possessed large means then, and maintained the unlimited hospitality usually among large Virginia planters before the war. The house was crowded during my stay with my old friends from the valley and southern countries. His daugh ter, too, was* not only a beauty, but a favorite with the young, and brought many attractive, well-bred girls about her, and young men who were not so attractive or well-bred. Lack of oc cupation and a definite career had re duced the sons of too many Virginia families at that time to cards and hoist's as their sole pursuits; the war, while it left them penniless, was in tnic sense their salvation. One evening, sitting on the veran dah with Beardsley, smoking, and looking in the opening windows of the parlor, 1 noticed a woman who sat a little apart, and who, as I fan cied, was avoided by the younger girls. In a Virginia country jiarty there are always two or three unmar ried women, past their first youth, with merry blue eyes, brown liair and delicate features—women “witha his tory,” but who are none the less good dancers, riders, and able to put all their cleverness into the making of a pie or a match for their cousins. This woman was blue-eyed and brown- haired, hut she had none of that neat, wide-awake self-possession of her dass. She had a more childish ex pression, ami sjKike with a more tim id uncertainty than even Lotty Beardsley, who was still in the school room. I called my host’s attention Vv>- her and asked who she was. “It is the daughter of my cousin, General George Waring. You re member him, surely—of the Henrico branch of Wurings'.”’ “Certainly. But he had only one child—Louisia; and I remember re ceiving an invitation to her wedding years ago.” “Yes. This is Louisa. The wed ding never took place. It is an odd store,” lie said, after a pause, “and the truth is, Floyd, 1 brought the girl lie re while you were with us in the hope that you, with your legal acu men, could solve the mystery that surrounds her. i’ll give the facts to you to-morrow—it’s impossible to do it now. But tell me, in the mean time, how she impresses you, looking at her as a lawyer would at a client, ora—prisoner on trial. Do you olc serve anything peculiar in her face or manner ?” “I observe a very peculiar manner in all those about her—an effort at cordiality in which they did not suc ceed ; a certain constraint in look and tone while speaking to her. I even saw it in yourself just now as soon as you mentioned the name.” “ You did ? I’m sorry for that—ex ceedingly sorry!” anxiously. “I be lieve in Louisa Waring's ‘innocence as I do in that of my own child, and if I thought that she was hurt or neg lected in this house But there’s Acioud on that girl, Floyd—that’s a lact. it don’t amount even to suspi cion. If it did, one could argue it down. But Well, what do you niake of her—her face no\v T ?” 'It is not an especially clever face, one that indicates power of any kind; not the face of a woman who of her own will would be the heroine of any remarkable story. I should judge ner to have lieen a few years ago one , “ c sensible, lighthearted, sweet- crnpoml girls of whom there arc so oiaiiv in Virginia; u nice hou.se- eejier, and one who would have niaJe a tender wife and mother.” “Well, well? Nothing more?” “Ygs. She has not matured into womanhood as such girls do, »She looks as if her growth in every day experiences had stopped years ago ; that while her body grew older her mind halted, immature, incomplete. A great grief might have had that ef fect, or the absolution of all her fac ulties by one sudden,mastering idea.” “You arc a little too metaphysical for me,” said Beardsley. “Pix>r Lou isn’t shrewd by any means, and always gives me the feel ing that she needs care and protection more than most women, if that is what you moan.” “There is a singular expression in her face at times,” 1 resumed. “Ah ! Now you have it!” lie mut tered, “Sitting there in your parlor, where there is certainly nothing to dread, she has glanced behind and about her again and again, as though she heard a sound that frightened her. I ob serve, too, that when any man speaks to her site fixes on him a keen, suspi eious look. She does not have it witl women. It passes quickly, but it i there. I t is precisely the expression of an insane person, or guilty one dreading arrest.” “You are a close observer, Floyd I told my wife that we could not do better than submit the whole case to your judgment. We are all Lou' friends in the neighborhood; but w cannot look at the matter with your legal experience and unprejuui eyes. Come, let ns go in to suppe: now.” The next morning I was summon ed to Beardsley’s “study” (so called probably, from the total absence of I took or newspaper), and found him self and bis wife awaiting me, and also a Dr. Scheffer, whom I had pro viouslv noticed among the guests—: gaunt, hectic young man, apparently on the high road to death, the victin of an incurable consumption. “I asked William Scheffer to inee us here,” said Mrs. Beardsley, Louisa Waring was an inmate of Hi father’s house at the time of the oc eurrence. She and William were children and playmates together, believe 1 am right, William. You knew till the circumstances of that terrible night.” The young man’s heavy face changed painfully. “Yes, as much as was known to any one hut Louii and—the guilty man, whoever 1 was. But why are you dragging out that wretched affair?” turning an grily on Mrs. Beardsley. “Surely any friend of Miss Waring’s would try t( bury the past for her.” “No,” said the lady calmly; “it has been buried quite too long, in my opinion; lor she has carried her bur den for six years. It is time now that we should try to lift it for her You are sitting in a draft there, Wil liam, Sit on the sofa. Scheffer, coughing frightfully, and complaining with all the testiness of a long humored invalid, was disposed of at last, and Beardsley began. “The story is briefly this. Loui before her father’s death, was engag ed to lie married to Colonel Paul Mer riek (Merricks of (’larke county, you know.) The wedding was postponed for a year, when General Warin died, and Louisa went to her uncle’> —your father, William—to live dur ing that time. When the year was over, every preparation was made for the marriage; invitations were sent to all tin* kinsfolk on both sides (and that included three or four counties oil a rough guess), and we—the im mediate family—were assembled at Major Scheffer’s preparing for the grand event, when ” Beardsley became now excessively hot and flur ried, and getting up, thumped heavi ly up and down the room. “After all, there is nothing to tell. Why should we bring in a famous lawyer to sit in judgment on her as if the girl were a criminal? Site only did, Floyd, what women have done since tiic beginning—changed her mind without reason. Paul Merrick was as clever and lovable a young fel low as you would find in the State, and Louisa was faithful to him—she’s faithful to him yet; hut on the night before the wedding she refused to marry him, and lias persisted in the refusal ever since, without assignin any cause.” “Is that all the story?” I asked. Beardsley was silent. “No,” said his wife gently; “that is not all. I thought McCormick’s courage would fail before ho gave you the facts. I shall try and tell you—’ “Only the facts if you please, with out any inferences or opinions of others.” The old lady paused for a moment, and then began: “A couple of day before the wedding we went over to Major Scheffer’s to help prepare for it. You know we have no restaurateurs nor confectioners to depend upon, and such occasions are busy seasons. The gentlemen played whist, rode about the plantation or tried the ma jor’s wines, while indoors we, all of us—married ladies and girls and dozen old aunties—were at work with cakes, creams, and pastry. I recol lect T took over our cook, Prue, be cause Lou fancied nobody could make such wine jelly as her's. Then Lou’ trosseau was a rich one, and site wan ted to try on all of her pretty dresses that we might see how ” “My dear!” interrupted Mr. Beardsley, “this really appears irrele vant to tile matter ” “Not at all. I wish Mr. Floyd to gain an idea of Louisia’s temper and mood at that time. The truth is she was passionately fond of her lover, and very happy that her marriage was so near; and being a modest little thing, she hid her feelings under an incessant merry chatter about dress and jellies. Don’t you agree with me, William?” The sick man turned on the sofa with a laugh, which looked ghastly enough on his haggard face. “I sub mit, aunt Sophie, that it is hardly fair to call on me as a witness in this case. I waited on Lou for two or three* years, Mr. Floyd,anti she threw me over for Merrick. It is not likely that I was an unprejudiced observer of her moods just then.” “Nonsense, William. I knew that was but the idlest flirtation between you, or I should not have brought you here now,” said his aunt. “Well, Mr. Floyd, the preparations all were completed on the afternoon before the wedding. Some of the young people had gathered in the ‘library—Paul Merrick and his sisters and—you were there, William ?” “Yes, I was there.” “And they persuaded Lou to put on her wedding dress and veil to give them a glimpse of the bride. I think it was Paul who wished it. He was a hot, eager young fellow, and he was impatient to taste Ills happiness by anticipation. It was a dull,gusty after noon in October. I remember tlie con trast she made to the gray, cold day as she came in, shy and blushing,and her eyes sparkling, in her haze of white* and stood in front of the win dow. She was so lovely and pure that we were all silent. It seemed as if she belonged then to her lover alone, and none of us had right to utter a word. He went up to her, but no one heard what he said, and then took her by the hand and led her reverently to the door. Presently I met her com ing out of her chamber in a cloak and hat. Her maid Abby was inside folding the white dress and veil. ‘I am going down to Aunty Huldah’s,’ Lou said to me. I promised her to come again before I was married and tell her the •arrangements all over once more. Huhlah was an old color ed woman, Lou’s nurse, who lived down on the creek bank, and had long been bed-ridden. I remember that I said to\Louisa that the walk would be long and lonely, and told her to call Paul to accompany her. She hesitated a moment, and then turned to the door, saying Huldah would probably be in one of her most funeral moods,* and that lie would not have Paul troubled on the eve of his wedding day. She started, running and looking back with a laugh, down the hill.” Mrs. Beardsley faltered and stopped. “Go on,” said Scheffer. “The in eidents which follow are all that real ly affect Lou’s guilt or innocence. “Go on,” mother,” said Beardsley hastily. “Louisa’s innocence is not called in question. Remember that Tell everything you know without scruple.”* The old lady began again in a lowe voice: “We expected an arrival that afternoon—Houston Simms, a distant kinsman of Major Scheffer’s. He was from Kentucky—a large owne of blooded stock—and was on his way home from New York, where his- horses had just won the prizes at the fall races. He had promised to stoj for the wedding, and a carriage h been sent to the station to meet him The station,as you know, is five mile up the road. By some mistake the carriage was late and Houston start ed with his valise in his hand to walk to the house, making a short cut- through the woods. When the car riage came back empty, and the dri ver told this to us, some of the young men started down to meet the olu gentlemen. It was then about o’clock, and growing dark rapidly The wind, I recollect, blew sharply and a cold rain set in. 1 came out on the long porch, and walked up and down, feeling uneasy and alarm ed at Louisa’s prolonged absence. Colonel Merrick, who had been look ing for her all through the house, had just learned from me where site had gone, and was starting with umbrel las to meet her, when she came sud denly up to us, crossing the ploughed field, not from the direction of Hud lab’s cabin but from the road. We both hurried toward her; but when she caught sight of Colonel Merrick she stopped short, putting out her hands with a look of terror and mis ery quite indescribable. ‘Take me away from him! Oh, for God’s sake!” she cried. I saw she had suffered some great shock, and taking her in my arms, led her in, motioning him to keep back. She was so weak its to fall, but did not faint, nor lose con sciousness tor a single moment. All night she lay, her eyes wanderin from side to side as in momentary ex pectancy of the appearance of some one. No anodyne had any effect up on her—every nerve seemed strained to its utmost tension. But she did not speak a word exceeptat the sound of Colonel Merrieks’s voice or step, when she would beg piteously that he should be kept away from her. To ward morning she fell into a kind of a stupor, and, when she awoke, ap peared to be calmer. She beckoned to me,and asked that her uncle Schef fer and Judge Grove, her other Guar dian, should be sent for. She receiv ed them standing, apparently quite grave and composed. She asked that several other persons should be called in, desiring she said, to have as many witnesses as possible to what she avus about to make known. “You all know,” she said, “that to-morrow was to have been my wedding day I wish you now to bear witness that I refuse to-day or at any future time to marry Paul Merrick, and that no argument or persuasion will induce me to do so. And I wish, raising her hand, to keep silence—“I wish to say publicly that it is no fault or ill-doing of Colonel Merrick that has driven me to this resolve. I say this as in the sight of Almighty God.” No body argued with, or scarcely, indeed, spoke to her. Every one saw that she was physically a very ill woman, and it was commonly believed that he had received some sudden shock which had unhinged her mind. An other hour afterward the searching party came in (for the young men not finding Houston Simms, had gone out again to search for him). They had found his dead body con cealed in the woods by Mill’s spring. You know the place. There was a pistol shot through the head, and a leathern pocket book, which had ap parently contained money, was found empty a few feet away. That was the end of it all, Mr. Floyd. You mean that Simni’s murderer was never found ?” “Never,” said Beardsley, “though detectives were brought down from Richmond and set on the track. Their theory—a plausible one enough, too—was that Simms had been follow ed from New York by men who knew the large sum he carried from the races, and they had robbed and murdered him, and readily escaped through the swamps.” It hewer was my belief,” said Dr. Scheffer, that be was murdered at all. It was hinted that lie had stopped in a gambling house in New York, and there lost whatever sum he had won at the races; and that rather than meet his family in debt and pen niless, he blew out his brains in the first lonely place to which ho came. That explanation was plain enough.” What was the end of the story so far as Miss Waring was concerned?” I asked. ‘Unfortunately it never had an end,” said Mi's. Beardsley. “The mystery remains. She was ill after ward ; indeed, it was years before she regained her bodily strength as be fore. But her mind had never been unhinged, as Paul Merrick thought. He waited patiently, thinking that some day her reason would return, and she would come back to him. But Louisa Waring was perfectly sane even in the midst of her agony that night. From that day until now she lias never by word or look given any clue by which the reason of Iter refu sal to marry him could he discovered. Of course the murder and her strange conduct produced a great excitement in this quiet neighborhood. But you can imagine all that. I simply have given you the facts which bear on the case.” The suspicion, I suppose, rested on Merrick,” I said. “Yes. The natural explanation of her conduct was that she had witness ed an encounter in the woods between Simms and her loA'cr, in which the old man was killed. Fortunately, however, Paul Merrick had not left the house once during the afternoon until lie went out with me to meet her.” “And then Miss Waring was select ed as the guilty party ?” No one answered for a moment. Young Scheffer lay with his arm over his face, which had grown so worn and haggard as the story was told that I doubted whether his affection for the girl had been the slight matter which he chose to represent it. “No,” said Beardsley; “she never was openly accused, or even subjected tg any public interrogation. She came to the house in the opposite di rection from the spot where the mur der took place. And there was no rational proof that she had any cogni zance of it. But there were not want ing busybodies to suggest that she had met Simms in the woods, and at some proffered insult from him had fired the fatal shot.” His wife’s fair old face flashed. “How can you repeat such absurdity, McCormack ?” she said. ‘Louisa War ing was as likely to go about armed as—as I!” knitting vehemently at a woolen stocking she had held idly until now. “I know it was absurd, my dear. “I know it was absurd, my! dear; j but you know as well as I that, though it was but the mere breath of ! suspicion, it has always clung to the 1 girl and set her apart,"as it were, from other women.” “What effect did that report have on Merrick?” “The effect it would have on any man deserving the name,” said Mr. Beardsley. “ If he loved her passion ately before, she has been, f believe, doubly dear to him since. But she lias never allowed him to meet her since that night.” “You think her feeling is unchang ed for him ?” “I have no doubt of it,” Mrs. Beardsley said. “There is nothing in Lou’s nature out of which you could make a heroine of a tragedy. After the first shock of that night was over she was just the common place little body she was before, and could not help showing how fond site was of her old lover. But she quiet ly refused ever to see him again.” “Merrick went abroad three years ago,” interposed her husband. “I’ll let you into a secret, Floyd. I’ve de- determined there shall lie an end of tliis folly. I have heard from him that he will be at home next week, and is as firm as ever in Itis resolve to marry Miss Waring. I brought her here so that she could not avoid meeting him. Now if you, Floyd, could only manage—could look into tills matter before the meeting, and set it to rights, clear the poor child of this wretched suspicion that hangs about her? Well, now you know why I have told you the story.” “You have certainly a sublime faith in Mr. Floyd’s skill,” said Scheffer with a disagreeable laugh, “i wish him success.” He rose with difficulty, and wrapping his shawl about him, went feebly out of the room. “William is soured through his long illness,” Beardsley hastened to say apologetically. “And he cared more for Lou than I supposed. We were wrong to bring him in this morning;” and he hurried out to help him up the stairs. Mrs. Beardsley laid down her knitting and glanced cautiously about her. 1 saw that the vital point of her testimony had been omitted until now. “I think it but right to tell you— nobody has ever heard it before”— coming close to me, her old face quite pale. “When I undressed Louisa that night her shoes and stockings were stained, and a long reddish hair clung to her sleeve. She had trodden over the bloody ground and handled the murdered man.” Every professional man will under stand me when I say I was glad to hear this. Hitherto the girl’s whim iml the murder' appeared to me two events connected only by the accident of occurrence on the same day. Now there was but one mystery to solve. Whatever success I have had in my practice has been due to my habit of boldly basing my theories upon the known character of the parties impli cated, and not upon more palpable ac cidental circumstances. Left to my self now, I speedily resolved this case into a few suppositions, positive to me as facts. The girl had been present at the murder. She was not natural ly reticent; was instead an exception ally confiding, credulous woman. Her motive for silence, therefore, must have been a force brought to bear on her at the time of the murder strong er than her love for Merrick, and which was still existing and active. Her refusal to meet her lover I readi ly interpreted to lie a fear of her own weakness—dread lest she should be tray this secret to him. Might not her refusal to marry him have been caused by tlie same fear?—some crushing disgrace or misery which threatened her through the murder, and which she feared to bring upon her husband? The motive I had guessed to be strong as her love: what if it were her love? Having topped from surmise to surmise so far, I paused to strengthen my posi- ition by the facts. There were but two ways in which this murder could have prevented her marriage— through Merrick’s guilt or her own. His innocence was proven; hers I did not doubt after I had again care fully studied her face. Concealed guilt leaves its secret signature upon the mouth and eye in lines never to te mistaken by a man who has once learned to read them. Were there but these two ways? There was a third, more probable than either—fear. At the first presenta tion of this key to the riddle, the whole case mapped itself out before me. The murderer had scaled her lips by some threat. He was still living, and she was in daily expecta tion of meeting him. She had never seen his face, but had reason to be lieve him of her own class. (This supposition I based on her quick, ter rified inspection of every man’s face who approached her.) Now what threat could have been strong enough to keep a weak girl silent for years, and to separate her from her lover on their wedding day? I knew women well enough to say, none against lier- If. The”threat 1 believed hung over Merrick’s head, and would be fulfill- d if she betrayed the secret or mar ried him, which, with a weak, loving woman, was equivalent, as any man knows, to a betrayal. I cannot attempt to make the ireaks in this reasoning solid ground for my readers; it was solid ground for me. The next morning Beardsley met me on leaving the breakfast table. He held a letter open in his hand, and looked annoyed and anxious. ‘Here’s a note from Merrick. He sailed a week sooner than he expect ed—has left New York and will be here to-niglit. If I had only put the case in your hands earlier! I had a hope that you could dear the little girl. But it is too late. She’ll take flight as soon as she hears he is com ing. Scheffer says it is a miserable bloody muddle, and that I was wrong to stii' it up.” “I do not agree with Dr. Scheffer,” I said quietly. “I am going to the li brary. In half an hour send Miss Waring to me.” “You have not yet been presented to her?” “So much the better. I wish her to regard me as a lawyer simply. State to her as formally as you choose who I am, and that I desire to see her on business.” I seated myself in the library; placed pen anti ink, and some legal- looking [documents, selected at ran dom before me. Red taj>e and formal pomp of law constitute httlf its force with women and men of Louisa’s cal ibre. I had hardly arranged myself and my materials when the dooi slowly opened, and she entered. She was alarmed yet wary. To see a nat urally hearty* merry little body sub jected for years to this nervous strain with a tragic idea forced into a brain meant to be busied only with dre cookery or babies, appeared to me a pitiful thing. “Miss Waring?” reducing the or dinary courtesies to a curt, grave nod. “Be seated, if you please.” I [turned over my papers slowly and then look ed up at her. I saw none of the com mon feminine shrewdness to deal with, need expect no subtle devices of concealment; no clever doublings; nothing but the sheer obstinacy which is an intellectual woman’s one resource. I would ignore it and her —boldly assume full possession of tlie ground at the first word. “My errand to this house, Miss Waring, is in part the investigation of a murder in 1S54, of which you were the sole witness—that of Hous ton Simms ” I stopped. The change in her face appalled me. She had evidently not expected so direct an attack. In fact, Beardsley told me afterward that it was the ‘first time the subject had been broached to her in plain words. However, she made no reply, and I proceeded in the same formal tone: “I shall place before you the facts which arc in my possession, and re quire your assent to such as are with in your own knowledge. On the af ternoon of Thursday, October 5th, 1854, Houston Simms left the Pine Valley station, carrying a valise which contained a large sum of money. You ” She had been sitting on the other side of the table, looking steadily at me. She rose now. She wore a blue morning dress, with lace ruffles and other little foolries in which women delight, and I remember being shocked with the strange contrast be tween tiiis frippery and the speechless dread and misery of her face. She gained control of her voice with diffi culty. “Who has said that I was a witness of the murder?” she gasped. “I al ways explained that I was in another part of the wood. I went to aunty Huldah ” “Pray do not interrupt me, Miss Waring. I am aware that you were the witness—the sole witness—in this matter.” (She did not contradict me. I was right in my first guess—she had been alone with the murderer.) “On returning from your nurse’s cab in, you left the direct path and fol lowed the sound of angry voices to the gorge by Mill’s spring—” “I did not go to play the spy. He lied when he said that,” site cried feebly. “I heard the steps, and thought Colonel Merrick had come to search for me.” “That matters nothing. You saw the deed done. The old man was killed and then robbed in your sight” —I came toward her and lowered my voice to a stem, judicial whisper, while the poor girl shank liack as though I were law itself uttering judgment upon her. If she had known what stagy guess-work it all was! “When you were discovered, tlie murderer would have shot you to insure your silence.” “I wish he had! It was Tliad who would have done that. The white man’s way was more cruel—oh, God knows it was more cruel!” (There were two then.) I was very sorry for the girl, but I bad a keen pleasure in tlie slow unfolding of the secret, just as I suppose the physician takes delight in the study of a new disease, even if it kills the patient. “Yes,” I said with emphasis. “I believe that it would have been less suffering for you, Miss Waring, to have died than to have lived, forced as you were to renounce your lover, and to carry about with you the dread of the threat made by those men.” “I have not said there was a threat made. I lun'e betrayed nothing.” She had seated herself some time before by the table. There was a large bronze ink stand before her, and as she listened site arranged a half doz en pens evenly on the rest. The words site heard and spoke mattered more to her than life or death; her features were livid as those of a corpse, yet her hands went on with their mechanical work—one pen did not project a hair’s breadth beyond the other. We lawyers know how com mon such puerile, commonplace ac tions are in the supreme moments of life, and how seldom men wring their hands, or use tragic gesture, or indeed words. “No, you have betrayed nothing,” I said calmly. “Your self-control has been remarkable, even when we re member that you believed your con fession would be followed by a speedy vengeance, not on your head, but Colonel Merrick's.” She looked up, not able to speak for a minute. “You—you know all?” “Not all, but enough to assure you that your time of suffering is over. You can speak freely, unharmed.” Her head dropped on the table. She was crying, and, I think, praying. “You saw Houston Simms killed by two men, one of whom, tlie negro Tliad, you knew. The white man’s face was covered. You did not recog nize him. But he knew you, and the surest way to compel you to silence. I wish you "now to state to me all tlie details of the man’s appearance, voice md manner, to show me any letters which you have received from him since” (a random guess, which I saw hit the mark)—“in short every cir cumstance which you can recall about him.” She did not reply. “My dear Miss Waring, you need have no fear on Colonel Merrick’s ac count. Tlie law has taken this mat ter out of your hands. Colonel Mer rick is protected by tlie law.” “Oh! I did not understand,” meek ly. * To be brief, she told me the whole story. When she reached the spring she had found tlie old man bleeding and still breathing. He died in her arms. The men, who had gone hack into the laurel to open the valise, came back upon her. The negro was a desperate character, well- known in the county. He had died two years later. The other man was masked and thoroughly disguised. He had stopped the negro when he would have killed her, and after a feu* min utes’ consultation had whispered to him the terms upon which she was allowed to escape. “You did not hear the white man’s voice ?” “Not once.” “Bring me tlie letters you have re ceived from him.” She iirought tu’o miserably spelled and written scrawls on soiled hits of paper. It was tlie writing of an edu cated man, poorly disguised. He threatened to meet her speedily, warned her that he had spies con stantly about her. “That is all the evidence you can gh*e me?” “All.” She rose to go. I held the door open for her, when she hesitated. “There was something more—a mere trifle.” “Yes. But mostly likely the one thing that I want.” “I returned to the spring again and again for months afterward. People thought I was mad. I may have been: but I fouud there one day a bit of reddish glass with a curious mark on it.” “You have it here?” She brought it to me. It was a fragment of engraved sardonyx, ap parently part of a seal; the upper part of a head was cut upon it; the short hair curving forward on the low forehead showed that the head was that of Hercules. Some old recollection rose in my brain, beginning, as I may say, to gnaw uncertainty. I went to' my room for a few minutes to collect my self, and then sought Beardsley. He was pacing up and down the walk to the stables,agitated as though he had been tlie murderer. “Well, Floyd, well! What chance is there? What have vou discover ed ?” “Everything. One moment. I have a question to ask of you. About ten years ago you commissioned me to buy you in New York a seal, an intaglio of great value—a head of Hercules, as 1 remember. What did you do with it ?” “Gave it to Job Scheffer, William’s father. Will has it now, though I think it is broken.” “Very well. What have Dr. Schef fer’s habits been, by the way? Was he as fond of turning the cards as the the other young fellows?” “Oh, yes, poor boy! There was a rumor some years ago that he was frightfully involved in Baltimore— that it would ruin the old man, in fact, to clear off his debts of honor. But it died out. I suppose William found some way of straightenin them out.” “Probably. Where is Dr. Scheffer now ? I have a message for him “In his room. But this matter of Louisa Warring—” “Presently. Have pa tienee. ’ ’ I went up to the young mail room. After all, the poor wretch was dying, and to compel him to blast his own honorable name seemed but bru tal cruelty. I had to remember the >oor girl’s wasted face and the liope- ess eyes before I could summon coin age to open the door after I had knocked. I think lie expected me, and knew all that I had to say. A man in health would soon have known that I was acting on surmise, md defied me to tlie proof. Scheffer T fancied had been creeping through life for years with death in two shapes pursuing him, step by step. He yielded, cowed, submissive at the first touch, and only pleaded feebly for for mercy. The negro had been his itody ser vant—knew liis desperate straits, and dragged him into tlie crime. Then, he had loved Louisa; lie was mad dened by her approaching marriage. The scheme of ensuring her silence and driving Merrick away was tlie inspiration of a moment, and had succeeded. He only asked for mercy. His time was short. He could not live beyond a few weeks. I would not bring him to the gallows. I was merciful, and I think I was right to be so. His deposition was taken before his uncle, Mr. Beards ley, who was a magistrate, and two other men of position and weight in tlie community. It was to be kept secret until after liis death, and then made public. Ho was removed at once to liis father’s house. On Colonel Merrick’s arrival, that evening, this deposition was formally read to him. I do not think it im pressed him very much. He was re solved to marry Miss Waring in spite of every obstacle. “But I never would have married you unless the truth had been discov ered—never,” she said to him that evening, as they stood near me in the drawing room. Her cheeks were warm, and her dark eyes full of ten der light. I thought her a very love ly woman. “Then I owe you to .Mr. Floyd, af ter all?” lie said, looking down at her fondly. “Oh, I suppose so,” she said with a shrug. “But he is a very disagreea ble person. Cast iron, you know. I am so thankful vou are not a lawyer, Paul.” BOOTS AND SHOES. NEW SHOES AT THE- Old Sim Store FALL AND WINTER STOCK JUST RECEIVED! New and Attractive STYLES Gents’ Shoes Brown Cloth-Top Button Congress, “Fifth Avenue” Congress And all other Styles, in Hand and Machine Sewed, and Fine Pegged Work. MILLINERY. THE LATEST SENSATION! Kid and Pebble-Button, Side-Lace and Foxed Work A large lot of Fadios’ Kin Foxed Button Shoes—very stylish* at $2.25 to -S3.00. The best Misses’ Pkoteition Toe School Shoe ever offered in this market. AX EXTRA LARGE STOCK OF Brogans, Plow Shoes, Kip Boots Women’s Plow Shoes, &c., For Farmers. Our stock for tlie WHOLE SALE TRADE is being daily received, and in quantity, quality and prices is unsur passed in the city. We invite the attention of ('OrNTRV MERCHANTS. kvJ'Fot anything you want in tlie Shoe and Leather Line, at bottom prices, call at No. 73 Broad Street, (Sign of the Big Boot.) WELLS & CURTIS. sep30 tf /■iirx 'wjw a 13 BOOTS AND SHOES —AT THE- New Store! —jot- Call & Examine Stock! G ENTS’ FINE CLOTH and Glove-Top Button Congress, Ladies’ Fine Kid Button, Ladies’ Kid and Pebble Fox, Misses’ and Child’s PROTECTION TOE. For Country Merchants and Farmers. A LARG STOCK OF Brogans, Plow Shoes, Kip and Calf Boots, Women’s Polkas and Calf Shoes, Cheap Fox and Cloth Gaiters, Child's Copper-Tip Shoes. All bought with the CASH, and shall be SOLD at BOTTOM PRICES! T. vT. ZKinsriEJS, (At tlie Old Stnml or Boilrll & Wnre.i No. 14S Broad Street. sepS 2%m , 1R. Horard rn.VKKS occasion to notify her friends and L tiie public that she has removed her MILLINERY STORE —TO— 78 Broad Street, Next Boor Below Pease & Norman’s, Tlie ”Bouc anil Sinew” Of our count ry have often—especially about election time—been made the subject of laudation; but when those useful parts of the human structure become too visible in con sequence of leanness, they can scarcely be called graceful. The eye delights not to dwell upon angles and ridges in either man or woman. Moreover, extreme emaciation is a sign of imperfect digestion and conse quent poverty of Die blood. Both these evils are remedied by Ilostcttcr's Stomach Bitters, which render digestion an assim ilation certainties, in consequence of which tlie blood acquires richness and the bod% snbstunce. Thus are the hollow places fill ed up and the angles rounded off. Through the instrumentality ot this peerless aid to digestion and promoter of physical well be ing, the body rapidly gains in vigor, color returns to the hollow jehee k, the appetite improves, nervous symptoms vanish, and a healthful impetus is given to every vital function. where she is now opening a large gant stock of AN OPEN LETTER TO THE PUBLIC’. New Yoke, October 1st, 1877. I have devoted twenty years of pa tient study to the Liver anil its relations to the hitman body, in search of a rem edy which would restore it, when dis eased, to its normal condition. The result of that labor has been the pro duction of TSTTS LIVER 1'II.I.S. Their popularity has become so extend ed and the demand so great as to induce unscrupulous parties to counterfeit them, thereby robbing sie of the re ward, and the afflicted of their virtues. TO CAUTION THE PI BLIC, and protect them for vile impositions, I have adopted a new label, which bears my trade-mark and notice of its entry in*the Office of tlie Librarian of Con fess, also my signature, thus: AtTTO COUXTEFIKrT THIS IS FOKOERV’S* Before purchasing, examine the label closely. THE GENUINE TUTT’S PILLS exert a peculiar influence on tlie sys tem. Their action is prompt and their good effects are felt in a few hours. A quarter of a century of study of the Liver lias demonstrated that it exerts a greater influence over tlie system than any other organ of the body, and when diseased the entire organism is deranged. It is specially for tlie heal ing of this vital organ that I have spent so many years of toil, and having found tlie remedy, which has proved tlie greatest boon ever furnished the afflict ed, shall they be deprived of its benefits, and a vile" imitation imposed upon them ? Let the honest people of America see to it that they are not defrauded. Scruti nize the label closely, see that it bears all tlie marks above mentioned, and buy the medicine only from respectable dealers. It can be found everywhere. Verv respectfullv, W . II. Tl’TT. Mrauil* of Dead Hair Shorn, perhaps, from some diseased scalp, are now wrapped around the heads of wives and daughters at a hqgvy expense. Tiiis profligate use of other people's hair can be supplanted by your own magnificent braids and curls trail ing almost to vour feet, by the use of Newton Smith’s Hair Restorative. It stops hair from falling out at onee, making it grow thick, long and rapidly. No sugar of Lead or other poison. oc25 d*w*2w r\all bb "vsrixxtox- Millinery —AND— Fancy Goods! embracing all the novelties of the season in her line. Thankful for the liberal patronage received on Randolph street, she respectful ly solicits a eoutimiance of the same at her new stand. oc21 cod&wlm J. S. JONES’ OLD C ORNER I Tlie Place to Get the Worth of Your Monet. No OldL Groocis. EVERYTHING NEW AND FRESH! ID. ZEUTTHSTT, C 1 .1EGS to inform the citizens of Columbus ) and surrounding country that he has just opened at the above well-known stand a choice ami well selected stock of STAPLE AND FANCY GROCERIES! Which will lie offered to city and country customers at the smallest possible margins. Will also keep on hand a good stock of Domestic Dry Goods, Boots, Shoes, Crockery, &c. Hi ALL GOODS DELIVERED FREE OF DRAYGE. My brothers, \V. P. and B. H. HUNT, arc with me, and will be pleased to serve their friends and tiic public. octlt SEAwlm Of Interest to Everybody! $10,000 WANTED At J. E. DEATON’S VARIETY STORE, No. ICO, Under Rankin House, 1XEXCIIAXOE FOB GOODS. V T MY STORE may lie found a large, va ried and miscellaneous stock, embracing Dry Goods, Groceries, Hats, .Shoes, Hard ware, Wooden-ware, Crockery and Glass Ware, Saddles and Harness. A Good line of Plantation and House Furnishing Goods and Notions. These Goods were bought for Cash, and can he sold at bargains. Farmers, laborers and citizens generally will find it to their interest to call on me before buy ing else where. J. E. DEATON. octal eodzm Reduction in Rates. O N and after the 1st of October the Ifato vl _ ,ia CENTRAL LINE BOATS to al points on the Chattahoochee and Flint Riv ers will be as follows: FLOUR, per barrel 20 cents COTTON, per bale 50 cents Other Freights in proportion. STEMER YVYLLY—C. Brockawav, Captain, Leaves SATURDAYS,at 10 A M, for Apala chicola, Florida. For further information call on l’. A. HUSK, General Freight Agent, office at C. E, Hochstrasser’s. ju2i tr Ilium Ms for the lillion! BARGIANS for the RICH and POOR! AT- . X Large, Varied and Beautiful Stock, at Prices Cheaper than Kver. D ON'T PURCHASE until you have examined tiiis stock. In dally connection with the markets of the world, and new Goods received daily. Bring in your children ami fit them up for winter. J8fe3“ Ladies, my Hoods and prices will astonish yon. Call and see them. IbKiLLS. LEB, oct2Tebd&w2m Next to Mechanics Bunk. Mrs. Colvin & Miss Donnelly, Have on hand a most select and complete assortment of MILLINERY * FANCY GOODS! Unbracing all the Novelties of the season in Ladies’ and Kisses’ Fine Straw, Felt, Plush and Velvet HATS and BONNETS. Also a most varied assortment of Children’s Suits, Saeques, and Infanta’ Cloaks, Ladies’ Cloaks from $3 to §20; also a complete line of Corsets, inclu ding Dr. Warner’s Health Corset, Cooley’s Cork Corset,, and many other new and approved makes. KID GLOVES from 50c. to $2. Having purchased our Stock for cash, we can and are determined to sell as low as tlie lowest. Call and examine our stock before purchasing. octa eodAwitu CARRIAGES, WAGONS, Ac. H. O. McKBB, GUNBY BUILDING, ST. CLAIR STREET, —DEALER IN— . Of Every Description, at Prices to suit the times. THAT vou don’t see ask for. and he will exhibit cuts (from he All Wi \ V reliable builders) of any Vehicle manufactured, which he will furnish upon short notice at manufacturer’s prices, work sold and warranted will be protected. Has now in stock and will continue to receive fresh supplies, of 8S Buggy, Carriage and other Harness; Gents’ and Ladies’ Saddles in great variety; Collars, Hames, Bridles,&c.; Whips,Curry Combs, Horse Brushes,&c. G3TALL WILL BE SOLD AT CLOSE PRICES. oetlG d&wly U. O. MoELJilJhl. SMITH & MURPHY, City Carriage Works, COLUMBUS, GFA., K ELP constantly on hand and man ufacture to order all styles of CARRIAGES, RQCKAWAYS, BUG GIES & SPRING WAGONS. We ganrantce to give a hotter Velii- le for less money than was ever be fore sold Iu this market. We will da* ilieate any work brought to this mar- iet. Special attention given to repair-. ing in all its branches. Satisfaction ganranteed as to work and price. Factory on Bryan Street, between Broad and Oglethorpe Street*. Ware-room Southwest corner Bryan and Oglethorpe Streets. oct31 d2tawAw6m AUCTIONEERS AND COMMISSION MERCHANTS. M. M. HIRSCH. JACOB HEC’HT. Hirsch & Hecht OPPOSITE RANKIN HOUSE, COLUMBUS, - - GEIORGHA. 0. S. HARRISON, Auctioneer and Salesman. ■YSriLL give our personal attention to the sale of Consignments of every deserlntion V V REAL ESTATE,STOCKS, BONDS, MERCHANDISE, LIVE STOCK, Ac., nt auctlou By and surrounding eoun- ive us a call when and private sale. Administrator and other Legal Sales in tlie try attended to on liberal terms. The friends of Mr. Harrison and the public generally are invited to they wish to buv or sell property of any description. LIBERAL ADVANCES MADE ON CONSIGNMENTS, which are respectfully solicited. •Si-References, by permission: Chattahoochee National Bank, National Bank of Colum bus, Eagle A Phenix Manufacturing Company. Columbus, (lit., August 2(i, 1ST dly* CLOTHINC. New Fall & Winter Clothing. + 0 + HOFFLIN & BROTHER, 33 Broad Street, Columbus, Q-a., Have Just Received one of the Largest Stocks of MEN’S, YOUTHS’ AND BOYS’ CLOTHING Ever Brought to Columbus, WHICH WILL BE SOLD AT UNPRECEDENTED LOW PRICES. Men’s Suits from $5 to $35; Boys’ Suits from $2 to $18: Men’s and Boys Hats from 50 cents to $5. Our Excelsior Unlaundered Shirt, all finished, the best in the market for 1. Business and Dress Suits made to order, and satisfaction gauranteed. sop2fi ood’hn READY for tie FALL CAMPAI8N! V NEW III ILDINO 1IAS JUST BKhX < O.MFijEfED, and I ;un now occupying th® entire building, with one of the largest stocks South, and am prepared to oiler every icemen t of any Jobbing House. Buyers should not fail to see my stock and prices. I WILL NOT BE UNBERSOLB. DOMESTIC DEPARTMENT.—5,000 pieces of Pit I NTS, 5,000 piece* of CHECKS, 500 pieces BLEACH DOMESTICS, 200 pieces TICKING, -4 SHEETINGS, 25 hal •alert 7-.H 25 bales OSXABURGS, 2-5 hale- SHEETINGS. WOOLEN DEPARTMENT.—500 pieces of JEANS, 300 pieces of CAHSI- MERES, 500 pieces of LININGS, J0d pieces of FLANNELS. DRESS HOODS DEPARTMENT.—All the latest in Foreign and Domestic manufacture. WHITE ROODS DEPARTMENT.—IRISH LINENS, TABLE LINEN*, LAWNS, TOWELS, NAPKINS, COLLARS, CUFFS, Ac. NOTION DEPARTMENT.—Largest and most complete ever offered, with ev erything petaining to the line. BOOT AND SHOE DEPARTMENT.—500 ease-, from Commonest to Best Hand made. HAT DEPARTMENT.—3,000 dozen FUR and WOOL HATS, direct from Factory. Wholesale House, 152 Broad Street, | > CoiumLus.Gta. Retail “ 15t “ “ I ’ ^ JAMBS A.. LEWIS.