About The Savannah weekly news. (Savannah, Ga.) 1868-187? | View Entire Issue (May 30, 1877)
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STORY OF TIIK PRESENT TIME.* BY ANNE AD ELIA COX. “ Out of the simoiiinc into Hie Nbade.” CHAPTER XXII. W Other ye.irs joint:*] themselves to the [uist. Two other children had been add ed to oflr hen-ahold hand —another bright eyed, noble-browed boy, and a beautiful, golden-haired little girl. I was proud of my children’s beauty and attractive manners. It was pleasing to my vanity to be told that my Irovs were the handsomest in the town, and that my little girl was beautiful, but the in creasing cam, of maternity Irceame daily more irksome to me. I grew peevish and irritable, arid instead of taking pleas ure in the artle-- ways and sweet prattle of my children, I repined at the confine ment and care they occasioned me. . When any one spoke of their loveliness Land attractions, I generally replied, with r an injured air: | “Hut they are such intolerant nui j sauces ; they study, most successfully, ways and means to make themselves troublesome. If they allow me one mo ment’s quiet in the twenty-four hours, they feel that they have failed in their mission on earth,” or, in some such croaking tirade. ()ne day my old acquaintance, Augus ta Me Alpine, made me a visit,. She married the young lawyer, Claude So mers, and left Woodville soon after my marriage, so that I had seen her hut seldom. I was shocked at her changed appearance ; only a shadow of her for mer beauty could Ire traced in her faded, grief-worn face. My baby was in my arms when she entered the sitting-room. She took it from me, and almost smothered it with kisses, “VV r hat a dear little baby ! 1 declare, Mrs. Varner, she is a perfect little beauty. What sunshine a baby brings to a household. How they cheer and comfort our hearts, oven in the darkest day. ‘1 assure you they bring far more shadow than sunshine —a vast deal more trouble t ban pleasure. There is no greater tyrant than a baby.” Just then Paul anil Percy, my two y little boys, came running in, their faces l all aglow with excitement. I “Mother!” exclaimed they, both, in a [breath, “can we go to the river with I Month ? She won’t let us fall in. Please, fcpuy vos, mother.” V “fie >tf you. Tell Non.il to go tot* neai’ the water. I hop my ears will get a little rest while you are away, for you have been keeping up an intol erable din all day.” My complaint was lost on the lit tle culprits, for they only waited to gain juy consent to their proposed walk, and were oil as soon as the desired permis sion was granted. “is your nurse verv trusty, Mrs. Var ner T asked my visitor. “As much so as any of them. ” “Excuse my asking the question, but 1 have seen so much carelessness with nurses that 1 always feel uneasy when 1 see children committed to their care, especially when they go where there is so much danger. “Norah won t let them fall in the water. Besides, a special Providence watches over children. “Not when we neglect our duty. Providence protects them when we can , not; but (rod lias placed them in our care, and if we neglect them lie will not dis charge our duty. Excuse me lor speak ing so plainly, but those handsome little fellows of yours awoke a very tender chord in my heart. 1 can hardly keep hack a feeling of envy when 1 see you so blessed in your children.” “Well, I can soon cure vou of all dis position to envy me ; I will scud all three of the children over to spend a week with you,” said 1, laughingly, “and at the expiration of that time you will re gat'd me as an object of pity—not of envy. Three children arc enough to send any woman to the lunatic asylum. ” “Oh! Mrs. Varner, how can you talk so ? Three such cherubs as yours arc enough to keep one from that dread ful place. The lonely, desolate, child less women have greater cause to fear '-Vat horrible doom. If you had three such troublesome l 'Vv\f V , u as m iuc are, your opinions on B fo"'‘ ""tuts would be completely revolu tion. >* . Would be too happy if I was the m. , v v) f t i irce SW eet little ones, all well anu V* n , Uke youvs .” 1 astes u'j,y v But 1 have observed jliai 1 '"’'.’"'"who have the greatest k mtatuation o riUvon are those who do not have the caw ,va 10m .” ”1 had the care, \', ue for threo blisg . fid years, and l ucv, t V , H that thing 1 didtorun ch.U Yu, uU , mo dis “ h iHVvuess was found ui 1"' ” * u • '■ • 'uy highest pie.,Mire to minister to lusy,,^ “Don’t let Dr. Yarner V**’ that or he will regret that l\e Va)U>d" *o * gain you for his wife, for IW, \ , him u.-e those very expressions L odly 1 must confess l am n ot ‘ ' Puuselfish- l am not willing to mev- v V existence in that of my child. I \vfy e some ambition for myself—wish sum, happiness outside the nursery. Indeed the happiness children bring to a family is terribly mixed with discomfort and annoyance. “What higher ambition can a woman have than to be the mother of noble sons? to be famous through all coming time, as the one who moulded the mind and trained the heart of a hero, jiu the world s great field of battle ?' None of Eve’s daughters enjoy more enviable fame than that whieh encircles the name of Mary, the mother of Washington. Is not the name of Cornelia as renowned as the names of the Graehii? and who ever hears of Coriolanus without think ing of Volumnia, who prevailed with her son to obtain a peace which be de clared‘all the swords in Italy and her confederate anus' could not have se cured ? Suppose women should obtain all the privileges for whieh some of our sex so stoutly contend, what would we gain ? Every mother who rears several honest, upright, truthful sons exerts a greater influence for good than she could at the ballot-box or in political rings. “If mothers have no other duties than those growing out of the care of chil dren, why should they spend so many years acquiring an education and the ac complishments of refined life ? If wo men are to be only nurses and gov ernesses, girls should be apprenticed in foundling asylums and nurseries, instead of being kept in school so many years.” > Eoura.) MMriiN to Act of cu-a>o, la H, jeu IST7, bj J. U Cnm,taUooaoo<*oMfcnriuo(&oH*i • WM*ltofc J. H. EHTILL, Publisher, i 3 Whitaker street, corner of Bay Lane, f “I am astonished to hear you express yourself in such a manner. It seems to me that a mother, above every other person, needs advantages and accom plishments, so that she may be compe tent to instruct her children. .She cer tainly needs all the wisdom she tan get from books and experience and all other sources, to enable her to rear aright the young immortals committed to her care. “That is just what Dr. Varner says, but I know that a mother who under takes to humor every whim of a child, and supply every want, real or imag inary', needs no education, no accom plishments. nothing in fact, but pa tience, the greatest of maternal virtues. “I don t deny that they have need of great, patience, but they should not be lacking in other virtues. But J know you are only jesting. Surrounded as you are by so many blessings, you can not be a- much dissatisfied as you would lead me to think.” She had kept the baby in her arms during her entire visit, and, irom time V> time, would cease conversation to u\m tin- chiM; she n w prose, and kissing her rej/eatedly, handed tWrto me. saying: “I must be going—have made a long call. Come and see me soon, and do send the dear little children around often, it will he an act of charity, I assure you. ” “That is an easy way to display so eminent a virtue,’ laughed I. “I will cheerfully send them as often as you wish to see them, and they can remain as long as you desire their company. ” “I may make you repent your rasli promise,” said she, as she bade me good-bye. When Dr. Varner came home in the evening, his iirst inquiry was for the little boys. “Norah has taken them out to walk.” “Wife, I wouldn’t let Norah take 'hose children out; she might carry them to the river, and you know how careless she is. ’ ’ “Pshaw! you know Norah won’t let them fall in the water. If you had to listen to their deafening noise all day, you wouldn’t be so careful about keep ing them in the house. 1 had company and wanted some chance for conversa tion. Guess whom I had a visit from this afternoon ?’ ’ “Miss Gorman?” “No. Mrs. Somers (Augusta McAl pine); she is a woman after your,own heart. It seems a pity that she and you didn’t marry; you would be the happiest couple on the face of the earth. She would never tire of the nursery, but would sit there from morning till night, perfectly happy and contented. She would make every kite, twist every top-string, and put sails on every little boat Paul and Percy might manufac ture. She would trust no one to nurse the baby but herself, and would be as devoted a slave to the children as even you could wish.” lit; did not reply to my unkind re mark, but merely asked when Mrs. Somers came to Woodville. “She has been here several weeks, but she goes out very little. She has re cently lost her only child, and report says her husband is not kind to her. She has faded dreadfully; looks very little like that beautiful picture you had in Savannah. lam sorry for her, yet I am provoked to think she has so little who mistreats her, especially since her child is dead. “Perhaps she loves him.” “How can she?” “There is a love that outlasts cold ness, neglect; aye, even abuse. ’ ’ “I must admit that I am not capable of such attachment. ” “Do you not believe with Tennyson, that ‘ Love is love forevermore?’ ” “1 do not. If you were to mistreat me I should cease to love you.” “If you were to neglect and forsake me, my heart would break ; but its last pulsation, would be true to you. There come the children directly from the river. 1 shudder at the thought of such a harum-scarum creature carrying my children where there is so much danger.” He went to meet them, and soon had the baby in his arms, and both boys running after him, in high glee, and I could but think what a happy family it would have been if Mrs. Somers had been the wife and mother ip stead of my self. But so far from being humbled at the thought that another could have made my husband and children happier than l had done, I arrogated to myself superior intelligence and finer sensibili ties ; so true is it that "Whom the gods wish to destroy, they first [make mad.” CHAPTER XXIII. “ 111 thrives the hapless family that shows A cock that's silent or a hen that crows. I know uot whieh lead most unnatural lives, Obeying husbands or commanding wives.” Francis Quarles. “Mrs. Barnes, the celebrated lecturer, is to deliver an address at the Court House to-night; don't you want to hear her, Doctor ?" said I to Reginald one evening, when he returned from a visit to a patient in the country. “No, indeed! I never wish to see a woman so unsex herself. I have su preme contempt for all such masculine females. ’ “Manlike ! I have great curiosity to hear her. If she has a talent for public speaking, I can't see why she hasn't the right to exercise it.” “Because, in order to do so, she has to overstep those bounds with which heaven has circumscribed her—mod esty, gentleness, tenderness, womanli ness. in a word, everything that makes her dear to our hearts. \\ hat man could bear to see his wife exposed to the rude gaze and ribald sneers of a motly crowd ? For my part. I would not like to see any woman so degrade herself." “If her theme is a noble one, and her lecture good, what degradation can there be in delivering it ?” “The degradation of leaving her i heaven-appointed sphere of neglecting her God-given duties and stooping to a hwev position than the one assigned by Providence and accorded her by uian." you admit, that man’s posi *.^ u Minat e to woman s: Lm i'in that tliev are equals : r emi t themselves when they other six the duties of the his proper 'l M lUun , would le ? vo and support tVou, \ aiu P rot eetion send her forth tXht S M e ’ ?' h ° his laurels, is ■** 'Rattles and win And the womai wVyH contempt, in the vain enotVJfcT hr duties uot assigned her, is AWan llonu those hie.” - toutempti “l L ' ;mt - see iu , that lig ht Tf woman can rise above lier present' • position. I think she is perfectly ; a %ct ble in making the attempt. Xf o^ ltuv sitions were equally exalted. y OUr b°~ soniug might be just; but while l U , u ' willing to admit that a man stoops to trying to fill the place of a woman. I contend that she strives to rise when she would take her place by his side.’ “Do you thiuk she can win for herself a higher position than her present one ?” “I thiuk she might, easily.” “On what subject does Mrs. Barnes lecture ?’ ’ “On the rights of woman.” “And you iutend to go to hear a teaman lecture on woman's rights?" “I certainly do.” “I am sorry you eau so far forget your womanhood. ’ ’ ‘I think every woman ought to en- courage her in her noble mission. I hear her lecture is is calculated to do much good : besides I have great curi osity to hear a woman lecture. “I have none at all.” CHAPTER XXIV. Mrs. Barnes, a pleasant looking woman, about thirty-five years of age. made a most specious address, which, to my prejudiced mind, seem unanswerable. She descanted most feelingly on the wrongs of woman. She drew a vivid picture of a gentle, lovely woman, reared in luxury and surrounded by an atmos phere of lqve, bestowing her warm af fect ions on a heartless wretch, who. after using every wile to gain her fresh young heart, had transplanted her from the genial fireside of her childhood’s home to the chilling desolation of his loveless abode, where for the remainder of her life, she would lie only a miserable drudge the '-lave of her lord’s caprice. As the speaker depicted, in ber thrilling manner, the wrongs, .ofsex, tears course ! down rey cheeks "and T felt that ii' ifo Vd b a giMtrms thing to bear .SB&if* humble part in striking the shack.i es from the fettered limbs of an oppressed, enslaved sisterhood. IfWho would not,” exclaimed the lecturer, “join the noble army of mar tyrs in this glorious work? Who would not bear the obloquy and contumely of an envious world for the sake of the recompense that awaits us? —the grati tude of all the coming generations of women. When woman, disenthralled, elevated, redeemed, takes her proper place by the side of her brother —man— we who struck the first note of her free dom, who first unfurled the banner of woman’s rights, who led the first des perate charge against the combined forces of oppression and tyranny, shall have our need, shall reap our reward. The thanks of unnumbered millions of* free, happy sisters will be sufficient rec ompense for all the scorn and contempt now heaped on our devoted heads. Let us, then, press forward in the fulfillment ment of this noble work. Let our voices ring through all the land the glorious refrain: ‘Woman shall be free!’ Let us give our time, our talents, our prayers, our tears to this sacred cause. No doubt our masters will draw their chains still tighter, will heap their scorn still heavier —but what great revolution ever was accomplished without sacrifice? Our blessed Saviour was reviled and per secuted. aye, even put to a shameful and cruel death when lie sought to redeem our race from the bondage of sin. We cannot expect the servant to be above her master. We may look to be re viled and persecuted in our humble ef forts to free our sex from political and social bondage.” Her address convinced me that the woman’s rights movement was second in grandeur and importance only to the Christian religion. I thought of woman as a slave until I really believed her to be in state of servitude, and devoutly thought that it was my duty to join the ranks of those devoted ones who were struggling for her emancipation. When I returned home Reginald asked me what I thought of the lecture. “Oh! I was charmed.- If you had heard her pathetic appeals, and listened to her thrilling eloquence, and her vivid portray and of woman’s wrongs, you might have changed your opinion of female or ators : y.*u might have become a chain- |I.l. V dvmutoiti o 1 “Ia n already an earnest advocate of woman s rights, and if I could see wherein those rights are threatened, or could understand of what wrongs she complains, I would buckle on my armor and hasten to redress them; but I can not see how she can win for herself greater rights than she already has, or what are the wrongs about which she prates so loudly.” “You should have heard Mrs. Barnes picture some of them—gentle women abused by brutal husbands. ‘ ‘Gentle women should not marry brutal men, they should marry gentlemen ‘ ‘But you know they are often de ceived.” “That is their misfortune, and a grievous one it is, but no earthly power can remedy it. If girls were less anx ious to marry, made haste more slowly in taking such an important step, if they admitted into the sacred precincts of their hearts only men worthy of them, there would be fewer brutal husbands and abused wives. As I once heard that noble orator, John E. Ward, say in a commencement address —‘Judge before friendship, then confide till death,’ is a maxim it would be well to observe in other and closer relations than those of friendship.’ Are there no disappointed husbands, whose lives are miserable and whose happiness is blighted by uncon genial companionship? Who thinks of righting their wrongs? While we de plore their misfortuiMßwe cannot relieve their sorrows. ’ ’ “How can a woman abuse a man?” “She can make him utterly wretched, can crush all the brightness out of his life, and destroy all the charm of his ex istence. When one ventures his all of happiness on one barque and that goes down in the maelstrom of folly, what is left for him but misery ? Mrs. Barnes’ husband, if she has one, is, I opine, one of those luckless navigators on the sea of life. lam sure I would go down in sor row to the grave if my wife should ever become what his is—a shrieker for wo man’s rights. How long does Mrs. Barnes contemplate living in Wood ville?” “I do not know.” “J hope you are satisfied with what you have already heard, fori assure you little Mary missed her mother sadly. She cried piteously aud we could * not quiet her until she was completely ex hausted. ’ ’ “I told Mrs. Worth to give her sooth ing syrup if she cried.” “I countermanded the order. The child was not sick, only hungry; and I do uot fancy soothing syrup as an article of food.” “Why didn’t you give her tea. then?” “I did have some drawn for her, but it did not satisfy her. ’ ’ “If Mrs. Worth had given her a spoonful or two of soothing syrup, you would have had no trouble with her; she would have slept soundly until I re turned. ’ ’ “Yes, and, perhaps, long afterward. She might have opened her dear little blue eyes iu another world. “Tell that to the marines! I have given it too often to fear any such re sult. “That is the very reason why there is so much danger. You and Mrs. Worth have become reckless in the use ot nar cotics.” “If you had rather hear a child scream for several hours than give it a harmless medicine it is your own look out. I shall not tie myself at home to gratify such squeamish notions. _ “You don't know the damger of giving narcotics merely to put children to sleep when they are suffering no pain. I ■'patched by one infant's bedside a short i rime ago, as it's sleep slowly mto death : as its roseate hue faded out And th e dear white of its complexion d7a ged to the cadaverous color of the mtd ■ as its rounded features sharpened iu under the dread chisel rowiL . \ grilli monster. It was har watch^W^ 6 sit helplessly by and the little Victim We change ’ eveU W | eQ caunot imagine V om n strang l j- 1 1 ° U it you should hw. I horror and distress. change pass over the f* 1 ® fihastly and reel that vou hail haby 31 ary, ble machinery in motion'tt Se SAVANNAH, WEDNESDAY. MAY 30. 1877. form. but were powerless to arrest it.” There is no danger. Sir Raven. ” I am not croaking Pauline: onlv warning you.” CHAPTER XXV. ‘‘Oh, the mighty have fallen!—the strong and the proud To the thrall of the wine-cup have abjectly bowed." W. H. Burleigh. I had been asleep but a short time, when I was aroused by someone calling at the gate for Dr. Varner. Reginald hoisted the .-ash. and the messenger (a servant of Dr. McAlpine’s) exclaimed, in an excited tone: “Dr. McAlpine says come over there just as quick as you can! Mr. Somers is raving mad! We can t hold him in bed ; I m afraid he 11 kill somebody. Reginald dressed in great haste, and went with the servant. He did not re turn until after breakfast the next morn ing. \\ hen he came in the room where I was sitting, he threw himself on the lounge, and said: hat_a pile 'bat ar- man should so degrade wßselF, mu wi.ftta* h "> mN v Id he should drag ~ucL nofcft Jinan down in his fall. Claude Somer is per fectly frantic with delirium ttemVus. It takes two or three men to hold him in bed, and sometimes he breaks away from them all and rushes through the house, destroying everything in Ins way. You remember that splendid mirror in the parlor?” “les; it is one of the handsomest I ever saw. ’ ’ “Well, the crazy wretch saw his hag gard self in that glass, and, imagining it some horrid spectre or demon, hurled a heavy marble inkstand at it and broke it into a thousand pieces. ’ ’ “What a shame ! I had no idea Mr. Somers was such a brute. His wife must be mortified to death. ’ ’ “She is completely crushed. But she waits on him as tenderly and speaks to him as kindly as if he had never caused her a moment’s sorrow.” “Poor little goose. I have no pa tience with her. She ought to have heard Mrs. Barnes’ advice to all such distressed women. She pointed out the only road to happiness and respectability left to them in their wretchedness.” “Mrs. Somers is pursuing the only way to happiness and respectability left to her —trying to lure her husband back to the paths of virtue. Ilis reformation is her only hope of happiness in this world. ’ ’ “She is foolish to expect to accom plish that. I should leave him to his monkeys and demons, and join the ranks of those who are striving to re dress just such wrongs as she has to en dure,” “How do they propose to alleviate sucli misery?” “By making laws to protect women from the cruelty of besotted husbands.” “The laws will protect them now, but how humiliating to have to appeal to law for protection Irom one’s husband. The law may afford protection and safety, but it cannot insure happiness. No one would rejoice more than I would at the success of any plan for the redemption of all such disappointed wives ; but it is not in human power to afford the de sired relief. Poor Mrs. Somers, hers is a pitiable fate. Norman says this is not Claude’s first attack, that Mrs. So mers came back to her father’s because she was afraid to be alone wjth him in 1 Kvm !->■**** ~ err tt. > -■ xi _ ‘ at all with the miserable wretch; he wishes me to take the case in hand. He says lie doesn't wish to be harsh with Somers, but that he cannot treat, with any degree of kindness, the man who has so wrecked his sister’s happiness. He will not go into the room unless his pres ence is necessary to keep Claude from some deviltry. ’ ’ ‘ ‘What becomes of your fine theory that every woman can, if she chooses, marry a gentleman. Every body thought Claude was a gentleman, when Augusta married him.” “He was a gentleman at that time. The demon of drink has changed him to a brute. His wife deserves only pity; she could not foreknow liow sadly her husband would fall. ’ ’ “Then, Mrs. Barnes is right in seek ing to provide a remedy for such disap pointed ones. ’ ’ “There can be but one remedy—the reformation of the besotted husband, and for that consummation, so ‘devoutly to be wished,’ all Christians, and all friends of temperance, are earnestly la boring. ’ ’ “I prefer Mrs. Barnes’ plan.” “What is that ?” ‘ ‘To provide support for the ill-used wife by opening to her the various pro fessions, and making her eligible to any office she may wish to hold, and leave the drunken sot to kill himself as soon as possible.” ‘ ‘Oh, Pauline, how can you talk so wildly? Don’t allow yourself to be de cieved by Mrs. Barnes’ Utopian ideas. But I promised Norman to go back im mediately. Can’t you go with me and try to comfort poor Mrs. Somers ; she is crushed to the earth. ’ ’ I went with Reginald, hoping to be able to convert her to my way of think ing. I found her looking ten years older than when I last saw her. She invited me into the room where her husband was sleeping quietly, and we sat for some moments in silence, looking upon the haggard features of the sleeper. But, suddenly we were startled by a shriek so piercing that it seemed to issue from the cells of the lost, and Claude sprung up in bed, his eyes distended, his -hair on end, liis hands stretched forth as if to ward off some invisible enemy. “Take him away! take him away!” he screamed ; “save me ; oh, save me ! Look how he grins ! Oh, he’s clutching at me with his fleshless arms. Why don’t you take him away ? Oh, horri ble!” Covering his face with his hands, he wept like a child ; then, with.terror de picted on every feature, he gazed upon liis arm as he held it aloft, and seemed trying to shrink away from some loath some object fastened on the extended limb, as he shrieked: "For God's sake take that slimy snake off me ! See how it crawls up my arm! it is going to strike ! Look at them, how they come out of their holes ; the room is full of them; they are all over the bed ! Let me go; let me go! ” He struggled with almost superhu man strength, and broke from the strong arms which had seized him when he first awoke. He ran to a corner of the room and cowered under a table, looking as though all the fiends in the bottomless pit were after him. and uttered shriek after shriek so piercing that they almost curdled the blood in our veins. I stop ; .a my ears and rushed out of the room. Augusta followed me, and throwing her self shiveringly on the bed, said: “Oh, (Mrs. Yarner, my anguish is greater than I can bear!” I knew not what comfort to offer the poor stricken wife. I smoothed back her disheveled hair, but could find no words to express my sympathy. At last, to relieve the painful silence, I asked : “How long since your husband com menced to drink? “He drank before we were married, but I did not dream that he ever drank to excess. I knew he took a glass oc casionally with a friend ; but oh ! Mrs. Yarner, the light went out of my life when I had been a wife but a few short months. I have never spoken of my sorrows to a soul—have borne them in silence and alone ; but you see how my husband has fallen, and I feel that my heart will break, unless I can unburden it to some sympathizing friend. I loved my husband so fondly when we were married : ho was such a santy, cheerful disposition. It was perfect l oss to have the constant companionship of such a brilliant, fascinating person. His rare conversational powers and sparkling wit threw such a charm over m. every-dav life that I seemed to lead aa enchanted existence. I occupied myielf; during m\ husband's absence Horn homo, in planning plea -ant surprises for him or in adding to the ornaments and attrac tions of our sweet little home. I watch ed for his return so eagerly,; and when I saw his dear form approaching I felt as if another -un had suddenly appeared in the firmament. One evening as I stood at the gate watching for his coming. I saw him approaching and my very lieart thrilled with joy; but oh, my friend, how can I tell you! my husband, whom I so worshipped, was reeling from side to side. I thought he must be ill and flew to his assistance. I c.uuot go on,” she sobbed, as though her heart would break, but when she became more eom po-edg_ resumed: “YTlKAtoe dreadful f. ath SasTieu upon me an T saw on the features so dear to me the mile of the inebriate, my brain reeled, my heart seemed bursting with agony ; I felt that death would have been a jl yful release from my wretchedness. Oh! Mr-. Var ner, you can t imagine how dreadful it is to see the idol of your heart fall from the height on which your love has en throned him, to see him whom you es teemed as only a little lower than the angels, convened into a maudlin imbe cile. “I uttered no word of reproach, but made my way into the house, as best 1 could, and as Claude lay in a drunken stupor I prayed for grace to enable me to bear my changed condition, for never again after seeing his besotted features could he be the idol he was before. But he was still my husband, ar.d i increased mv efforts to make his home attractive. It was all in vain. He soon came home again in the same besotted condition, and the habit grew and strengthened until he became its slavf. He grew petulant and morose, and instead of longing for bis presence a-1 once did, I dreaded his return. “I heard you say jestingly one day that three chileren were enough to send any woman to the lunatic asylum. My child, who was horn before his father grew so bad, was all that Lept me from goiim crazy during those |ark days be fore I came back to Woocville. But in all my misery and wretchedness I have ever tried to discharge mi wifely duties with all fidelity. But oh the charm of wifehood is gone! ExcuU me, my dear friend, for troubling you yith my griefs. I have never before said aught to reflect on the conduct of my poh unfortunate husband, but my bursting heart could not longer bear its weigfit of anguish alone.”' “Do you think, Augiista,” said I, “that it is your duty to continue living with him, since he has been so recreant in his conduct to you ?’ ’ “I promised to cling tp him as long as we both should live. What would become of him if I should forsake him now ? Poor fellow, he fc not capable of taking care of himself. I should de spise myself if I could neglect him in his wretchedness. No, no! I must cling the closer to him. because mil others have abandoned h : r.. . I must ■■v to win him bility. You counsel me to leave my husband to go to de struction without trying to save him ?’ ’ “Certainly not, if you think your duty requires you to live with him.” “Do you not think it does?” “Indeed- Ido not. He lias forfeited all right to your allegiance as a wife. I should not hesitate a moment to leave my husband, under similar circum stances. I should seek my happiness in a different mode of life, should carve out my own destiny, and not suffer my self to be dragged down by a man who would do nothing to elevate me. ’ ’ “The only happiness I can ever hope to enjoy in this world is the conscious ness of duty discharged. My regard for my marriage vow would not permit me to abandon my husband in his misery. But if the laws of God and man should absolve me from my obligation as a wife, I have no desire to leave my husband ; I could not be happy separated from him. Of course, if he abused me I would not live with him, but Claude has never struck me, and while I would not like to be left alone with him in his de lirium, I have no wish to be parted from him.” I said no more, seeing -he was so in fatuated (as I then regarded her resolu tion), and soon left, with my sympathy considerably abated by the craven spirit she had displayed. CHAPTER XXVI Mrs. Barnes remained at Woodville several weeks, and before- she left she called, in company with Miss Gorman, to inquire if I would not join a wo man’s suffrage association, which they were trying to organize. “I do not think lean,’ said I, “as my husband is bitterly opposed to such a movement, and I have a nursing babe. ’ ’ “Of course,” said Mrs. Barnes, “we all have to make sacrifices and encounter opposition, but in a cause so holy as the one I advocate, the claims of hus band and children, of family and friends must be in abeyance. We must not consult with flesh and blood, but, cast ing under foot everything that would hinder us, press right on to the goal— the emancipation of hus band forbade my accepting th„ position of State lecturer, but I would not yield my convictions of duty to his whims, and he sued for a divorce, thus leaving me free to pursue my sacred calling. ’ ’ ‘ ‘Have you no children ?’ ’ “Two. A son and a daughter. Mr. Barnes keeps the little boy. My daugh ter I have placed in the seminary at B——•. I am having her trained to suit my views.” “Was her father willing to give her up?” “No, indeed, nor she to leave him. Their parting was heart-rending, but I knew it was for her good. She has very little ambition, and I knew her father would train her to be a very common place character. lam having her edu cated for a higher life. ’ ’ “Isn’t it a great trial to be separated from your little boy?” “Certainly it is. But his father would not give up both children, and I could not remain with him. Our Heavenly Father gave up His only son for the good of mankind, and Abraham was willing to offer up his son at the command of his Master. I have given up mine for the good of my sex. I looked upon the infatuated woman as superhuman greater than Brutus, more resolute than Virginias, and won dered if I could ever become so devoted to any cause as to be willing to sacrifice husband and children on its shrine. Alas! I did not remember then, that “Faith, fanatic faith, once wedded fast To some dear falsehood, hugs it to the last." After some farther conversation the la dies prepared to leave. “We shall expect you to-night,” said Mrs. Barnes, as she extended her hand to bid me good-bye. “I will attend your meeting with pleasure, but can t promise to join j our club.” “Come out to-night, and we ll convince you of the propriety of giving your influence to our cause.” CHAPTER XXVII. “Wonders will never cease! I am a member of a woman's rights club. Who would have dreamed of such a consum mation ten years ago ? What will mother think of my course? What would my lather say. if he were now alive? Will Percy be much offended when he learns that his sister has adox>ted the senti ments he so strongly condemned? His praises first inspired that ambition which made the humbler duties of home and the exactions of every-day life distaste ful to me. As for Reginald, he looks as if his heart was broken; he begged me. with tears in his eyes, not to con nect myself with the efub; he said my duties to my children were paramount to ill others. It required a great deal of firmness to resist his specious pleadings. He said if I took that step he would be utterly miserable. I hope he will soon get reconciled to my course; I do not wish to blight his happiness. Some times lam sorry I ever met him. If I bad not gone to Savannah he would have married Augusta McAlpine, and been supremely happy, and she would nave been equally so; and T would have been free to follow my own inclination, and could have carved out for myself a brilliant destiny, could have attained eminence without stepping on any heart strings. "But the past is irretrievable ; I am folly enlisted in the warfare for women’s rights, and must lay aside all scruples and prove that the cause in which I am engaged is worth anv sacrifice.” ’I he above is an extract taken from the journal, whieh I kept at the time I' joined the club. How could I ever have been so deluded! The approbation of ui\ r husban l should have been dearer to me than tue applause of millions of fa natical women like those I sought to please. Oh ! Reginald, my darling, one word of love from your lips would now outweigh the flattery of a universe orf the infatuated creatures whose praises I once coveted so blindly. CHAPTER XXVIII. Dear Sister: I have just read in your weekly pa per a notice which mortified me beyond expression ; it announced that on a cer tain evening Mrs. Pauline Yarner would deliver an address on “Man’s Inhu manity to Woman. ’ Can it be possi ble, thought I, that is my sister, the pet of my boyhood, the darling of my young manhood, the pride of my whole life ? M hat spirit has taken possession of you ? Do pause, my sister, in your mad course. If you continue in your present unwomanly career you will lose the love and forfeit the esteem of all those to whom you have been so dear. For the sake of your noble husband, and your sweet little children ; for the sake of our revered mother, who is deeply grieved at your conduct; by the mem ory of our sainted father; by the sweet recollections of’ our childhood, I conjure you to turn from the destructive ways that now allure you, and be again the idol of fond hearts, the cherished wife of the noblest of men, the beloved daughter of the best of women, the pride of a large circle of friends, my sweet sister Pauline. This is my last appeal. Continue iu your mad folly, and my heart is forever closed against you. You will be to me only a bold, misguided woman; and the Pauline of my boyish days will be as 1 m dead. I will cherish her tneijorv as L do that of' our father, and to my thoughts she will no longer have a place among the living. Weigh well the mat ter before you decide. On one side is love, friendship, the esteem of the good, peace, happiness. On the other, con tempt, obloquy, unrest, misery. Heaven help you to decide aright. If you heed my warning, I will be glad to hear from you in the future, as I have ever been in the past; but if j T ou disregard it, never attempt to communi cate with me in any manner, for you will no longer have an existence in the heart of your brother Percy. This earnest, but futile appeal, is the last communication I ever received from my darling brother. His love was a priceless jewel lost forever in the vortex of my folly. CHAPTER XXIX. “Pauline, you know I have long since ceased to remonstrate when you deter mine on a line of conduct, but I see you are dressed to go out to-night, and I know you ought not to leave Mary. She is dangerously ill. I have been alarmed about her all day, and she grows worse rapidly. ’ ’ Mary had been quite sick for several days, and I felt reluctant to leave her ; but I was exceedingly anxious to attend the meeting of our association that night, for our President, Miss Gorman, had deserted us (she had married a rich old widower and gone with him to the West), and we were to elect another presiding officer. I greatly desired the position, and knew that I could obtain it, without difficulty, if I could be pres ent at the election. I reasoned with myself that Reginald always manifested undue solicitation in regard to his children ; and although I knew Mary was quite ill, I believed his fears magnified her danger. At all events, thought I, no harm can result from a short absence. So, telling my husband I would return in an hour or two, 1 went to the meeting, which I found in great disorder. The defection or Miss Gorman had caused great con sternation in our ranks ; and the various members of our order were berating her in true womanly style. “The deceitful minx!” exclaimed one, “to think how she always arrogated to herself superior wisdom for remaining single. I always knew it was only for want of opportunity to run her scrawny neck into the halter, as she poetically styled matrimony.” “La, yes; everybody knew her pro fessed aversion to marriage was only ‘sour grapes,’ ” chimed in another. “She’s been ogling every widower and bachelor who had the temerity to get in reach of her affected leer for the last forty years.” “Forty years, indeed! ‘The memory of man runneth not back to the time' when her cap has not been set for some unwary masculine.” ' ‘lf all her plans to entrap unsuspect ing bachelors could be written down, ‘the world itself could not contain the books that would be written, ’ ’ ’ said a would-be wit of our society. “I trust the poor, deluded victim of her withered charms will draw the hal ter tightly aroung her stringy neck.” “He'd better twine the neck itself into a bow-knot to guide her by,” laughed our witty member. "He could do it easily,” said another • ‘for that neck is emphatically ‘Linked sweetness long drawn. ’ ’ ’ One of the girls commenced to sing— “l married another, She’s the D—l’s grandmother, And X wish I was single again,' “Well," remarked our Vice Presi dent "that elegant song of Irene’s is a suitable conclusion of these obsequies of our lamented President. Let us, now. proceed to elect a successor of the dear departed. Mrs. Varner, will you consent to occupy the chair left vacant by the un timely marriage of our late venerable President ?' ’ “I shall be happy to serve you in that capacity if you esteem me worthy of the honor.” I replied. I was unanimously elected, returned my thanks for the compliment bestowed upon me and dismissed the meeting. I looked at my watch and found it was past twelve o’clock, so I hurried home, aud hastened at once to the bedside of my sick child. Her respiration, which had been much obstructed, seemed re lieved. and I remarked to Reginald, “She breathes much easier than she did when 1 left. “She does not breathe at all,” he hissed through his teeth. "Is my child dead?” I screamed, wildly. “Your child is dead, gasped he. “Why did you not send for me!” cried I. ‘'l knew j’ou would uot lux' the mes sage. I asked you to remain at home and you refused to do so. Besides I had no one to send. IV hen the poor little creature was gasping so terrible for breath, I sent Norah tor Norman, think- j ing he might be able to give the relief 1 could not; she lias not yet returned. You know Mrs. V\ orth eau scarcely walk across her room—-the other servants were all gone. I could not leave the little sufferer while there was any hope of relieving her agony—but I was just starting for you when you came iu. There is the doctor now “Norman, you are too late.” Mrs, Somers, hearing from Norah that I was not at home, came with Iter brother, hoping she might be some as sistance to Reginald ; but not dreaming of the dread visitant who had preceded her. When she found that the baby was dead she proceeded in her quiet, gentle manner to prepare the little body for burial. . Tenderly she robed the little waxen limbs in a sunny dress; lovingly she smoothed the soft golden curls over her fingers, and gently bore the stiffening form to the drawing room, and placed it on a table which she had already cov ered with a snow-white cloth. She then stepped into the conservatory and gath ered pure white flowers, which she twined into a lovely garland and laid on the pulseless bosom—then printing a kiss on the cold lips, said, “Dear little angel! carry that kiss to Robbie, from his mother. ’ ’ When she had placed her own soft cambric handkerchief over the face of my dead baby, she came to me and throwing her arms about me, spoke such words of sympathy to my remorse-tor tured heart as only a childless mother could have spoken. When 1 lamented my obstinacy ingoing out after Reginald had warned me of' the child’s danger, she tried to drive away the harrowing thought, by telling me of the subtile na ture nature of diphtheria (the disease qt which my baby died); how impossible it was that I could have foreseen sucli a result. She knew I had done wrong, but in that hour of bitter sorrow she wished to spare me the paugs of remorse. She tried to rouse Reginald from the stupor of grief, into which lie had set tled, when lie realized fully that his child was dead. As soon as Mrs. Somers had prepared the little one for its last sleep, he took his seat by the lifeless body, and never left, it, as long as it was iri the house. He-did not eat or sleep— did not seem to hear anything that was said to him ; saw nothing but that still sleeper. He did not even notice his lit tle boys, who never before failed to win a smile from him. Some times lie would wring his hands as if in agony; some times lie would kiss the cold lips as though lie would infuse his own life into them. He would stroke the little icy hands and gaze on the waxen fingers as if there was no otner object on earth, but tfuib qtllCt iorili. xiC \\OTUU soft ringlets around his tremblffEfmigers and press his pale lips to the golden curls. Sometimes, as if trying to recon cile himself to the dreadful blow, lie would say,: 1 ‘Little Mary is an angel; dear little Mary is an angel.” “Yes,” said Augusta, “little Mary is an angel; how that thought should com fort you ! ’ ’ but lie did not heed her, did not seem to know she had spoken to him. When the little body was put iu the coffin, he clutched his hands con vulsively, but said nothing. He walked mechanically to the carriage and rode in stony silence to the cemetery ; and stood by the grave in the same listlessness of grief. But when the grave was closed, and the dark mound hid his child from his eyes forever, the fountain of His tears was unsealed, and he wept. No one interrupted him —-all felt that tears were a blessed relief to his overburdened heart. At length lie approached my side, and, drawing my arm through his, said: “My poor wife, how dreadful to have to leave our baby here alone! ’ ’ As I drew him gently to the carriage, lie wafted a kiss from his hand toward the newly made grave and said, mourn fully^ “Farewell, my child, till the resurrec tion morn.” Then sighing, “Poor little Mary will be so lonely,” relapsed into his former silence. [to be continued.] DARK DAYS IN CALIFORNIA. Rich iUen Impoverished—Tlutunitnil* of People Stilf'eriii* for Hie Very Nccea fcnrie* of Rife—The Burstinx of the III* Bonanza, [San Francisco Correspon-kmee of the New York Graphic,] I find things in a frightful condition here. East of the Rocky Mountains, you have no idea of the terrible depression on this coast. We are suffering from a com plication of disorders. The great mining bubble has bursted, and has ruined every one. I mean this literally, for not only have the rich or the middle class suffered, but the mania for speculation has spread to the very servants, and they are ail to day out of pocket and in debt. Men who but three or four months since supposed they were rich, aro to-day begging for employment; and probably throe persons out of ev*. ry four are now making their first acquaintance with extreme poverty. The whole community seems to be beg gared, and to add to our affliction we have just passed through a great drought; our cattle are dying by the hundreds of thousands. Their carcasses cannot be sold for any sum, however small; and the ruin of cattle dealers will inevitably bring a great deal of the land now held in masses into the market to be sold for a song. People East, who have money, could not do better than come out here in order to take advantage of the reckless way in whieh ail kinds of property are sold. Valuable farms and ranches can now be had for one twentieth of their value, and city property is for sale at prices which would have seemed ridiculous a few years back. Tbe depression is so great that it cannot last much longer in this city. But the suffering is intolerable, and bad as times have been in the East, they are as naught compared with the disaster which has overtaken the residents of the Pacific coast. Thousands are going to Arizona, where there is said to be gold for the dig ging; and the agricultural population will be increased, although at present agriculture is the most depressed indus try we have. Word has been sent to John McCullough, in New York, that there is no use in his returning to the Pacific coast, and that his the-ttre will have to be closed. This is the second year of drought since the settlement of California. Southern California is described as an “ash heap, ’ while the Sonoma, Sacramen to and Sonora valleys are burnt to a crisp. One one ranch alone 25,000 sheep were killed because they could not be fed. The costly exchanges here, far superior to any you have in New York, are vacant, and have proved to be California’s great est folly. Look out for trouble among the representative millionaires of the Pa cific coast. Farmers in California are threatened with ruin because of the protracted drouth.' (SUBSCRIPTION $2 00 a rear \SINOLS OOPIBS a cents." - SOUTH FLORIDA. .Tiidgr t'oeke nt Volusia Court—A Cutl on Criminal Docket and Curious In dictmenta—Model t'!inr*p to tlit Grand J ut *V Watters and Generally, [Correspot.dence of the Morniug News.] Enterprise, Fla , May 12.—Here, at the Mecca of Florida tourists, whence the winter seeker after semi-tropical pleasures, sallies forth, armed with rod and gun, to “do” the Indian river conn try—from this place, with its superb view of Lake Monroe and its abominable water, your correspondent, after many months of silence, resumes the pen, now thickly merusted with rust. THE GLORY OF WINTER has departed. No languid iuval and paces the verandahs of the hotels, inhaling the life preserving air; no boisterous tourist from the far North cracks j >kes with the motley colored population, or prepares for the inevitable hunt. The scenes of winter have departed, no! to reurn again until Jaok frost rups at the doots of out Northern brethren. Nevertheless, Eu terprise is lively at present, for THIS IS COURT WEEK, and the village is full of lawyers, wit nesses and jurors. Our reform Judge, Hon. Wm. Archer Cocke, has this week made his ,debig. on the bench of the Seventh Circuit, and as a Judge bids fair to rival his career as Attorney General of Florida. Since his arrival here Judge Cocke has won golden opinions from all with whom ha has come in contact. If he had not come here possessed of a repu tation for ability and integrity, which few men in Florida enjoy, his address alone would have gained him friends. I have seldom met a more thoroughly fascinating gentleman. Com tty in liia manners, polished iu his speech, a ripe scholar, possessed of conversational powers of a high order, and of unusual amia bility of temper, it is not to be wondered that both bar and populace are delighted with him. It is alike the hope and fear of everybody that the next Legislature will reward liis great and unequalled ser vices to the State by sending him to the United States Senate. Judge Cocke’s CHARGE TO THE GRAND JURY was a model of excellence and deserves an extended circulation. I will sen and you a copy of it for publication. It was just such a document as was to have been ex pected from the man who, for four long years battled single handed against Stearns and his horde of corrupt fol lowers. Iu this charge Judge Cocke gave utterance to great political (ruths, and he also gave assurance to all people of a rigid execution of the laws without fear or favor. No person car. read it without recognizing the applicability of its senti ment to all parts of the” Union, the catholic spirit pervading it being admira ble throughout. THE WEEK’S SESSION has been marked by no specialty note worthy event save ir> one respect. It perhaps furnished an explanation of the curious feature presented by the criminal docket of Volusia county. The record of previous terms of the court shows that where one indictment has been tried four have been nol prossed. A more scanda lous court record I cannot imagine, and this week’s exposure must satisfy every Citizsu of Volusia county. was THE EVIDENCE TAKEN BEFORE THE GRAND JURY, so as to become familiar with the facts on which the indictments were based. Heretofore, and by order of Judge Price, this evidence has been been sealed up and filed iu the Clerk’s office. Among the indictments were three, found at the spring term of lSi’O, against tho same-set of men. The first charged them with the murder of a man named Sanders; the second charged them with assaulting a woman named Rentha Hunter, with intent to murder her (she was Sanders’ mistress); aud tho third charged them with whipping a man named Fred Holden. These three indictments embodied the great Ku-Klux cases which were ventilated in the Radi cal papers last spring, and out of which political capital was sought to be made. NOW FOIS THE SEQUEL, No man ever sought more earnestly to convict criminals than did the present State’s Attorney to obtain the evidence to support these indictments. At the very outset he was informed by the Ole-k of the Circuit Court that the evidence taken before the grand jury that found the indictments had never been filed with Jam. The State’s Attorney was, there fore, compelled to wait until last Monday, when the witnesses assembled, to obtain any knowledge of these cases, the late State’s Attorney having declined to fur nish any information, alleging that ho re served to himself the right to appear for the defense—which was all fair enough. After four days of almost killing labor, after scouring the country for witnesses, the fact became apparent that these indictments had been found either upon the flimsiest and most con temptible of evidence, or upon no evi dence at all! To illustrate, take the case of the alleged assault on ltantha Hunter. This woman stated in open court that no body had ever assaulted her; that if any body had ever tried to murder her she did not know it! She also stated that she had told the same thing to the grand jury that found the indictment. The next witness, Hiram Cowart by name, swore that he knew absolutely nothing of the case, and that he had so told the grand jury. Of course, the State refused to prosecute under the circumstances,and is it to be wondered that Judge Cocke in dignantly exclaimed: “I am amazed to think that an indict ment could have been found in the face of these statements.” WHO IS TO BLAME ? This is a hard question to answer. In some exculpatory remarks in response to an indignant speech by the State’s At torney, Mr. Thomas Emmet Wilson, the late State’s Attorney, -placed the re sponsibility on the grand jury. If that be the case, while the grand jury are greatly to be censured, Mr. Wilson is not ■altogether blameless. It was his duty to have turned the accused loose immedi ately by refusing to prosecute, and not thrown upon his successor the embarrass ing and unpleasant duty of publicly cen suring somebody—whoever it may be. I do not use too strong language when I say that the exhibit made by thesa indict ments is disgraceful, reflecting as it does upon the administration of justice in this county. It is is not my purpose here to reflect upon Mr. Wilson, who is a very clever and amiable young man, and withal a good lawyer, but the facts are as I have stated. It is to he hoped, how ever, that Volusia county will show a better record in the future. THE MEMBERS OF THE BAB are here in full force, fit the head, and deservedly so, stands Mr. E. K. Foster, Jr., both in ability and in the extent of his practice. He is one of the most fascinating speakers I have listened to, and exercises great influence over a jury. Ex Judge Price has been conspicuous during the session. His eight years ex perience on the bench has, of course, rendered him only the more “learned in the law,” and now that he haa resumed the. practice of law, the other lawyers will find him a formidable rival. Oolonel W. McCall, whose fame as a jury lawyer is known throughout Florida, has also been here. Judge Brucknor, a clever gentleman and lawyer, and Mr. La Peno tiere. with comprise the localbar. Mr. Thomas E. Wilson, a pleasant gentleman and a really able lawyer, fresh from the experience of four years as State’s Attorney, and Mr. IT. L. Summer lin, a rising young lawyer of Orasge, who will some day rank high at the olude the list. No, I forgot to mention Judge Stickney, who is not only a very able lawyer, but is also one of the pleas antest and most amiable of men. POLITICS ARE DEAD, “Deader than a door nail.” This county being now a Senatorial district, wants Hon. D. C. Brantly to take up his residence here and represent her‘in the Senate. Brantly is at present State Senator from Orange and Volusia. Orange wants him to go back to the Senate as her Senator, and so if Mr. Brantly desires further legislative honors he can obtain them easily enough. It is always pleasant to write well of a public man, and it is with special pleasure that Record the fact of Mr. Brantly’s popularity. No man in this or Orange county better deserves it, for whether as a citizen, laboring for the mivancement of his people, or as a legis la tor, striving for the prosperity of his State, Mr. Brantly has been eminently successful. His re-election to the State Senate is a certainty if he consents to Ue a candidate, and early as it now is for campainiug, his friends are already unani mously pressing him to make the race. Sandy. TIIE FATAL EMERALD. An Unlucky Set of Nero Minstrel Jew elry. [New \ork Correspondence of the Washington Herald.] In every theatre in town last week there has appeared a brilliant spectacle, composed of equal parts good clothes, diamonds and Pony Moore, the London minstrel mauage'r and performer. Mr. Moore is well aware of the weakness of his brother minstrels for dia monds, so in London he picks up some showy stones and makes a trade over there which pays all the ex penses of his trip. Almost every member of the burnt cork business has had or has gota diamond that once belonged to Pony Moors At p:csc.,; he wenrs in hi> shirt front tv.o , larger than the famous Fisk diamond, an I far more brilliant than the Tweed chandelier, which erstwhi.cs blazed upon that patriot’s bosom. As far back as the first minstrel troupes, when West and Peel sang “Luoy Long,’ and “Fi, Yi, Vi,” Pony Moore sold an emerald set, with good sized diamonds, to Luke West, then in first rate health. The emerald was set in a ring, and great was the envy it produced in less favored mor tals. Finally, in return for Matt Peel’s kindness through a long illness, Luke be stowed upon him the coveted ling. Peel wore it a year and died. After his death it was soid by tho widow to Hiram lium sey, one of the most gorgeous specimens of health and manhood that ever faced the footlights, ltumsey went to Europo simultaneously with possession of the emerald, aud losing tho fortune ho made here, came back to die. Sitting in a room in the city hospital, at tho time sit uated down Broadway, the thin, worn, dying man said to the writer : “I have never had a stroke of luck since I bought that fatal emerald.” “You should certainly get rid of it, then,” said George Christ". “No use now, it’s done its work. Matt Peel took it from Luke West before Luke died. It did not avail, and Luke ‘slipped’ in the early spring.” ( m not. afraid of the ring,” persisted George. “I’m not superstitious about a bit of jewelry. If you want to sell it I’ll buy.” And buy he did, for a few days after ho sportod the big emerald in a scarf pin on his “mashing” tours to Broadway. Hiram ltumsey lingered in a terribly paralyzed condition in his house at Newberg, and in a few months thereafter, Christy, smit ten with awful epileptic tits, lay dying in New York. The emeraldhad been parted with long before his death, and Sher Campbell had taken it from Eph Horn in part payment of some loaned money. Slier never wore it; but one day in com pany with Dan Bryani, Unsworth and Noise Seymour, the fatal properties of the stone were discussed. “It’s sure death to wear a red flannel undershirt if you’re unhealthy,” said tho unctuous Unsworth; “I'm tough enough to tackle that grave-stone if you don’t want it.” “No one will own it again,” answered Slier; “I’ll pulverize it and feed it to coekcrcaches for Paris green first.” Unsworth wore it away to Europe, wow f>w*v Oemt'HnJl di°d r;,, V. mjk J£t oro-gu/vut, oigc Hrav- during the long engagement at ti nsworih and), Nelse Sey mour at' all times jvore the “grave stone." 1 Within one year that famous trio were dead. During the last night of Nelse Seymour’s life, his brother, Harry Sanderson, came across tho fatal stone. “That’s an accursed bit of property, C do believe,” he said to Tony Pastor, who was keeping watch with him that night. “But its work is finished, or I’m no friend of poor Nelse,” responded Tony. Together the men wound up the career of the death dealing grave-stone, for they reduced it to atoms on tho kitchen hearth and scattered the gleaming scales on a glowing fire. THE FIGHTING IN THE EAST. Graphic Account of the Sinking of the Turkish Monitor. A correspondent of the New York Herald telegraphs from Jassy interesting details of the sicking of the Turkish; monitor by the Russian batteries before'. I brail, on the river Danube, on Friday. V He says the entire Turkish flotilla, con- I sisting of soveral heavy armed monitors I and a few gunboats of the first and second I class, appeared before the town of Ibra-ilft and on coming into position began bom barding the place. The fire of the Turk ish vessels was at once returned by the Russian shore batteries. At length two 1 shells were fired from a piece in one o the Russian batteries, under the direction of Commandant Samailla, at one of th monitors having two turrets nfftr three masts, and named the Loufigelli—meaiC ing “The Grace of God.” The vessel fired at was at a distance of two miles from the battery, yet both of the shells struck the monitor. As they fell the vessel seemed for a moment to be rising out of the water, and in less than a min- * ute after she sank. There was no explo sion. and the monitor went down so sud denly that it is believed that the fata, projectiles did not strike the j.owci; magazine, but fell into the hold when they exploded, no doubt tearing iun - holes in her bottom, the water rushiru in so rapidly she sank without any warn ing. As soon as the catastrophe wan comprehended in its fuller extent the Russians made an effort to succor their enemies. A boot was dispatched J-*u u the shore to the scene cW the -wT6J!S’ TbS which was an officer of marines, an aid de-camp and Lieut. Doubonoff. They were unsuccessful in finding any of tha officers and crew in the” water, but Lieutenant Doubonoff had the honor of capturing the flag of tho sunken monitor. The ill-fated vessel was under the command of Hedjet Bey, and had two hundred men on board at the time she was so suddenly destroyed. Out of this number only one man was saved, and he was picked up at the distance of a mile from the other Turkish vessels. None of the Turkish commander ; made any attempt to succor their comrades m distress. The Grand Duke Nicholas* having been apprised of the news, at onc|l telegraphed to His Imperial Majesty, the ' Emperor Alexander, reciting the facts. During the same night the Czar tele graphed to the Grand Duke asking for the name of the commandant of the battery whence the shells were fired, and that of the artillerist who pointed the gun. According to the rules of the Rus sian service both the officer and the man are entitled to receive the Grand Gross of St. George, Feabfcl Retribution. —Tho Kent News says that on Saturday of last week a terriole retribution befel a tramp near Sassafras in Kent county. On reaching the house of Mr. John Gibson, situated near the roadside, ho found Mrs. Gibson reclining at a window fronting on the road. It was about noon; she had pre pared dinner for her husband, who wa3 at work in the field, and was awaiting his arrival. The stranger accosted her, and said he was ooming into the house. She remonstrated, and told him there was a bad dog in the hall that would certainly bite him if he effected an entrance. He persisted, however, and* on entering, at tempted to commit an outrage upon the person of the lady. The dog rushed into the room about this time and made a savage attack upon the tramp, inflicting a terrible and excruciating wound in an unfortunate locality, maiming him for life. Tho stranger then made his exit from the house, and when last seen by our informant he was lying beside the road near Sassafras suffermgexcrui^Mfc
