Georgia Historic Newspapers

    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.