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1 MISGUIDED;
i. 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
