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LITTLE NELL,
THE
MANIAC’S DAUGHTER.
BY W. A. POE.
CHAPTER I.
I was returning home after visiting a patient
beyond the suburbs of the city of M . The
rain descended in floods, and I urged my horse
to a gallop. Just as I arrivedat the stone mile
post, I was startled by a cry for help, proceeding
from a house near by. In an instant, I alighted
from my horse, rushed to the door, and en
deavored to gain admission. I could hear
excited voices, as if their possessors were en
gaged in a fierce struggle. For a moment I
stood irresolute; raising my voice, I shouted for
admission; my only reply was a wild laugh
from within. FeariDg that a bloody deed was
being perpetrated, I forced a window, and in
a moment the little glimmering light I had ob
served was extinguished, and 1 was surrounded
by darkness. The sounds of conflict were
hushed, and deep silence reigned. Hastily
lighting* a match, by its flare I observed,
crouched in a far corner of the room, an ema
ciated, ghastly man, and near him sat a young
girl, her face hidden by an apron. Upon a
mall table rested a Japan la'mp, still smoking,
as if recently extinguished. This I soon had
lighted.
•Who are you?’said the man, issuing from
the corner, and advancing upon me in a me
nacing attitude. ‘Who are you,’ he repeated,
‘who dares enter my house unbidden ? Ha,
ha!' he laughed, ‘ your life must pay the pen
alty. I am the avenging destiny—the slayer of
hecatombs of foolish adventurous youths!
Bring forth the cloak of sacrifice, Lucretia.
Place upon his head the cap of martyrdom.
Why do you stand inactive? Do you hesitate
to perform your duty as the high priest’s dis
ciple? Sound the drum, burn incense upon
the altar. Prepare, prepare ?’ cried he, assum
ing an attitude of command.
‘Run for your life ! stay not a moment!’ ex
claimed the frenzied girl, grasping my arm.
‘What do you mean by this mummery ?’ said
I, sternly. ‘ Do you think lam to be deceived
or frightened by it ?’
‘For the love of God—for pity’s sake, sir,, do
not rouse my poor father’s frenzy ! Leave us,
sii, oh, leave us! He will listen to me, he will
obey me,’ cried the girl, her beautiful face raised
to mine in an agony of appeal.
I was in the act of leaving, when in an in
stant the madman was upon, me, shouting,
‘bring the sacrificial knife’’
In my college days, I had given no little at
tention to the art of wrestling, and in a mo
ment I threw him to the floor. Holding him
there, I forcibly administered chloroform from
a bottle I had in my pocket, and lifting his
emaciated form in my arms, conveyed him to a
bed in a room his daughter pointed out. Leav
ing her alone with him, I waited to see the re
sult. After a few moments had passed, she
came out, closing the door behind her.
•He has wakened from the chloroform stupor,
but he seems inclined to sleep. He is lying
perfectly quiet,’ she said.
‘I am a physician. I would willingly try all
in my power to relieve your father. May I ask
if this insanity is hereditary?’
‘The story of my father’s trials is very sad,’
she answered. ‘I have thought that I could
never divulge this secret to a stranger, but. I
long for sympathy. I so badly need a friend.
When alone, surrounded by the ghosts of our
former happiness, my heart sinks within me,
and I long for the companionship of some one
who will give me advice or consolation. We
have lived perfectly secluded because of my
poor father’s misfortune. He is all I have on
earth. He loves me fondly, and it would kill
him to be separated from me. I wanted no one
to know of his condition, both because he
shanks from the shame of it, and because I am
afraid he would be taken to a mad house. I
could not bear that. I had far rather attend him
myself. I am only seventeen, but grief and
care have made me feel so old. My father—but,
sir, I cannot tell you our sad story to-night. I
am too much agitated.’
I hastened to assure her I would call again,
and if she should feel disposed to confide in me
her history, I would be glad to aid her in any
manner possible.
Next morning after seeing my patient and
finding her greatly improved, I stopped at the
little house, surrounded by lofty trees. The
yard was tastefully adorned with flower beds,
indicating refinement and love for the beauti
ful, yet .the close blinds and sombre appearance
of the cottage betrayed that its inmates were in
some way peculiar or eccentric.
Upon rapping at the door, 1 was admitted by
the young lady I had seen the previous evening.
I inquired after the mental condition of her
father.
‘He is himself this morning,' she replied. ‘Oh,
if I could hope that he would remain as he now
is!’
‘I see no reason why this hope may not be
realized. You have not acted wisely in your
endeavor to seclude your father and keep the
secret of his condition. This isolation will in
jure rather than benefit him.’
‘Be seated, sir,’ she said, as we entered the
neat sitting-room. ‘The history of our lives
will explain why we have determined to forego
all human society so far as possible. My fath
er’s name is Alfred Levert, and my own, Helen,
yet in the happy days of my childhood I was
called Little Nell. As our name indicates, we
are French. I remember those happy, happy
days iD beautiful France. I was then but a lit
tle girl seven years of age; but when I review
in memory, as I often do, the scenes that sur
rounded me then, I recall a grand old castle,
situated on a sloping hill above the waters of the
Seine. I hear the merry songs of the peasants,
returning from their work in the vineyard, I see
myself playing under the great elm trees,
and riding along the river’s side on my
white pony. I remember more vividly
still our flight from this |beautiful home.
It was a stormy night. I was sleeping in the
old nursery; by my side lay my dear old nurse,
governess and friend. She was my only com
panion, and in her company my heart never ex
perienced the desolation children feel who are
deprived of a mother’s love. My mamma died
when I was only three months old. To the care
of Mrs. Dupont—Mamma Dupont, as I used to
call this second mother—I was consigned by
my father. Yes, the night was dark, and it was
the beginning of the darkness whioh has so long
surrounded me. I was awakened from my slum
bers and hastily prepared for our journey.
How well I remember those weary days that
followed—the long days spent on the ship in
our passage across the sea; I remember our
landing in a large city—Mamma Dupont and
uncle Ralph and myself. The noise and con
tusion, the strange language I heard, caused me
to grasp Mamma Dupont’s hand in fear. Not a
moment did my uncle Ralph leave the side
of my father. His manner was strange; and
when wejarrived at the little house,away on some
back street, I rushed to my father to receive
the caresses that were wont to be bestowed upon
me. Oh, sir, could words describe the surprise
grief I then felt? He did not know me—
own, his only ohild—but madly pushed me
from him, muttering some incoherent words I
did not then understand. I was taken from the
room by Mamma Dupont, at the bidding of my
uncle. It was five long years before I saw my
my father again. I was told to quiet my fears—
that he was in the country for his health. I en
treated to be allowed to visit him. This en
treaty was denied me. I have since learned
that my father was the inmate of a private asy
lum for the insane, not many miles from the
city of New York. I had passed my twelfth
birthday when my father returned to us.
In his caressses, a new life—a happy life—
was enjoyed by me. He was his former self,
and I the child of his love. For three short
years 1 eDjoyed this happy existence, at the ex
piration of which time, a deep gloom rested up
on our hearts. My uncle, who was never ro
bust, faded day by day, .until at last we buried
him among strangers, far away from his beloved
France.
A few months after my uncle's death, my
kind, true friend, Mamma Dupont returned to
France. As I watched the departure of the ves
sel which rapidly separated us, need I tell you
sir, it made my heart sad. Imagine my fate, a
voung girl of sixteen, unacquainted with the
great strange world, alone, save the companion
ship of a father, pursued by a melancholy he
could not resist, I did not complain that my
friend left me, othe duties, other cares called
her away. Takingrmy father’s hand, we return
ed to our desolate lodgings.
Six months after Mamma Dupont’s departure,
again the mania came upon my father. I knew
not how to act, but determined to conceal his
misfortune from the world. As soon, therefore,
as this period of insanity passed, I insisted on
removing my father. My persuations alter a
time gained his consent, and we came here. I
have been his only companion for a year. I
could welcome death as a deliverance, but who
could supply my place? I must live, I must
bear my sorrow unaided and alone.’ Her voice
faltered, tears flowed down her pale cheeks. My
heart was touched.
‘Will you allow me, my dear young friend,’ I
said, ‘to assist you in this sacred duty. Your
case is indeed a sad one. It ever a heart need
ed that comfort which friendship alone can of
fer yours does. Human strength cannot endure
such a strain upon it unless supported by sym
pathy. Do you want means ? Do you wish
counsel? If so, I beg you will not hesitate to
call upon me. It will be more than pleasure to
me to aid you.’
She looked at me a moment, her eyes speak
ing her thanks more forcibly than words.
•May God bless you for your kindness sir—
the God of thfe orphan and the distressed. I am
not in want of any comfort money can give. The
income from my father’s estate, more than sup
plies our wants. At regular intervals these amount
are sent to my agent; I say my agent, for I am
forced to act as head of our humble establish
ment. I need sir, nothing save friendship.’
‘Why do yon not return to your native coun
try ? Perhaps the old familiar scenes of home
may awaken, invigorate, and restore your fath
er’s diseased mind.’
•We are oulawed from home, driven from
country and friends by my father’s crime. Pity,
pity me sir, my father is a murderer an escaped
criminal.’
‘Y'ou mistake, my friend,’I interrupted, ‘in
sanity is an excuse for crime.’
T know sir, that the penalty of death, would
not be visited upon my poor father, so long as
his mind is affected by insanity. But during
the lucid intervals of this derangement, the law
would seek to punish him as his crime deserves.
And then the shame that would be his! And my
father’s—my dearly loved father’s shame is
mine; my love and devotion belong to him.
Th3 victim of my father’s murderous vengeance
was my mother’s brother. A feud of many
year’s continuance existed between them, this
coldness in time became hate, until it terminat
ed in blows and death. Accidentally they met
upon the highway, bitter words were spoken,
my uncle struck my father with his riding whip;
then pursued his way. That night my father
went to his home, called him to the door, shot
and killed him. The murderous deed was done,
the murderous aim was true. We became wan
derers from home, exiled from our country for
ever. Sir, I have confided this to you because
my heart is so full; I can no longer keep my
own counsel. 1 am afraid I have done wrong,
but your kindness seemed so earnest. Oh ! sure
ly you will not betray us. You will not injure
my poor, suffering, worn out father. Swear to
keep my secret, never to breathe to living soul
this bloody deed.’
‘I swear it to you young lady, I will keep
your secret as if it were my own,’ 1 replied.
‘Thank you and bless you, dear sir,’ said she
solemnly. ‘I will leave you now. I hear my
father calling me.’
Several days afterwards I again visited Miss
Levert. As I entered the gate this afternoon, I
was surprised to observe her seated, by the side
of her father. Eagerly she c&me forward to wel
come me.
‘This, father,’ said she, ‘is the kind Doctor I
have spoken to you of.’
‘I welcome you sir,’ said he urbanely ‘to our
little home. A great many of the comforts of
lifeare wanting here,but, as one of your English
poets said, “What I have, I give it with good
will.”’
‘You forget, father,’ she said, ‘that wo are in
America not England. Though I see no reason j
why Americans should not be proud of the
greatness of England’s sons.’
‘I spoke of the poet, not as an Englishman
but as an English writer. What news have you,
sir? Isolated as we are from the great world, I
fear we will forget the simplest usages of socie
ty.’
The surprise I felt at hearing this gentleman
converse so rationally caused me to hesitate
some moments before replying.
‘ Though in the society of my fellows, con
stantly,’ I replied, ‘I fear the little news I have
to communicate would fail to interest you. The
life of a physician, as you know, acquaints him
with suffering and death.’
'Speak not of death sir ;’ he replied wildly,
‘ Nothing of death, sir ; he is my master, I am
his high priest. Ha, ha, I have many dealings
with my exacting master. Do you know, sir,
that 1 furnish the King of Terror more victims
than even disease can give.’
‘Come, father;’ interrupted his daughter,
growing pale, ‘ we will show the good doctor our
little garden. Yon must excuse, sir, its lack of
ornate beauty, 1 alone attend to these few flow
ers. Though my father is fond of looking at
my pretty pets.’
‘ I would speak, Nell, to the stranger of my
priestly office.’
‘ Another time, father ; please come with me,
you can so much better explain to the doctor
your plan of enlarging our little garden,’ said
she, taking his hand and looking persuasively
in his face.
‘ Well, well, Nell; you always have your
way,’ said he, affectionately stroking her hair.
‘The world, Bir,’ he continued, * attributes to
woman a great amount of vanity. My daughter
I pronounce an exception. Would you believe,
sir, she will not speak of the position she oc
cupies as my assistant and disciple, though I
am indebted to her for a large amount of the
dignity that has been conferred upon me by
my master, the. King of Tenors.’
‘Father, what is the name of this flower?
she interrupted, *1 am ashamed, sir, toadmi
that I am compelled to refer to my father for
the names of my little pets.’
* I am surprised, Nell, you do not know this
flower, seen in every farm garden. I doubt not
that the stranger thinks you somewhat of a
diplomatist. As this question was surely pro
pounded to divert my mind from the all absorb
ing theme, my master and my priestly office.’
‘ Yon mistake my intention, dear father. I
asked for information.’
‘ The flower, my child, is named the sychnis
divica, usually called the bachelor’s button.’
‘ Will vou wear ihis one, sir.’said she, pluck
ing and presenting me with a flower.
‘ I trust you do not place me along with those
old fellows, thename-sakesof this flower?’ I re
plied, humoring the jest, and encouraging her
endeavor to change the thoughts of her father.
‘Not for a moment would I put you in that
crabbed category,’ she answered gaily. ‘Noth
ing in your face indicates that yon belong to it.’
‘After this compliment, I certainly will not
make any acknowledgements,’ I replied.
‘ Pray excuse the liberty I took just now,” she
sadly remarked later in the afternoon. ‘My wish
to change the channel of poor father’s thoughts,
I trust you will deem a sufficient excuse.’
‘ Most assuredly, Miss Levert, I am glad my
presence enabled you to accomplish your pur
pose.”
‘ Call me little Nell. I would have those who
are my friends thus to speak to me. If you
will accept this bouquet,’ she continued, ‘I will
gladly give it.”
the will of one, incapable of pity, an unrelent
ing, an avenging master, whose appetite for
blood is never satiated. You are a man, sir, ca
pable of reason, with the powers of self-will;
hurl defiance at this creature, be yourself, be a
I stammered ny thanks. The grace and
pleasant mannerlof the yonn girl, caused an
awkward blush fA suffuse my face.
‘I shall be pleased soon to meet you,’ said
her father advancing to where his daughter
and myself were standing. ‘ Then, perhaps,
I may explain to you the mission that has been
assigned me by iuy master.’
‘Gladly I will avail myself of this kind invi
tation, I replied.’
‘I bid you good evening, said he extending
his hand. I have this moment received a sum
mons to prepare the sacrificial altar; I trust you
will excuse my abrupt departure; my com
mands are positive.’
He entered the house, leaving the daughter
and myself upon the pleasant piazza.
‘I think’ said I, when I call again ‘I will see
your father alone, I would understand the na
ture of his delusion. By argument perhaps I
may convince him of its folly.’
‘I thank yon sir,’ said she, ‘but our Physi
cian in New York, made this effort without
success. However the trial can be made.’
‘May I ask yo* to mail this letter,’ said she as
I bade her goodmvfning. The old woman who
usually attends to the out door duties of our
household, has not made her appearance this
afternoon.’
‘Do not apologize, I will gladly perform this
mission for you, or any other that you may en
trust me with’ I answered eagerly.
* With curiosity, which my interest in the
gentle, brave young girl, warranted. I glanced
at the address of this letter, ‘Mr. Adrien Casag-
nac, Rue Temple, Paris. Who is this person?
I asked myself. Is he the agent of Miss Le Vert ? |
Acting on a sudden impulse I wrote a confiden
tial letter to this Monsieur Casagnac, and mailed
it with the letter given me by Little Nell.’
Returning to my solitary bachelor apartments,
I found myself oppressed with an unwonted
feeling of loneliness. The boquet given me, by
the yoHDg girl,carefully refreshed with water, sat
on my table beside me, scenting my room with
fragrance and reminding me by grace and beau
ty ef their lovely doner. I bent down and
kissed the ro3es, and the next moment I blushed
at having been betrayed into so sentimental an
act—I a grave physician whose youth was already
past, and whose busy life had given him small
leisure for seu'dinent. Only after years of wear
ing exertion I Pad succeeded in gaining a share
of profession A uytronage, not however sufficent
oi- certain ! 'permit the tnjiyiueGt V.f
connubial happiness. I was a bachelor from the
necessity that -knows no law,’ and forced to
fight the battle of life alone. To-night, this
loneliness affected me more than usual. As I
looked upon the surrounding room, my heart
longed for companionship, for the society of
one whose presence would bestow happiness,
whose love would fill the void within. I wonder
ed at myself, Can it be’ I asked ‘that the kind
ness of this young girl has awakened these mel
ancholy longings.’
Though fatigued by the exertions of the day,
it was long before I was sufficently tranquil to
sleep.
Several days elapsed before I visited Miss Le
vert and her father. As I requested, during my
former visit, I was conducted by the young
lady into a room he had set apart as the Temple
where his rites as High Priest wore solemnized,
I entered the room alone. Upon a raised plat
form was seated this self-constituted Priest,
wrapped in a loose gown like the surplice’s usu
ally worn by the Catholic Priesthood. Upon a
huge block rested an old rust-eaton sword, de
nominated by him the sacrificial knife. He re
moved the scarlet three cornered cap, when he
observed my entrance. The surroundings of
the room, except the altar alluded to, did not
convey the least/idea of the character given it
by the manu-c. ’ His imagination however sup
plied the appurtenances necessary to transform
the room into a Temple of human sacrifice. I
remained silently gazing upon the unhappy
man, After some moments, he gave utterance to
the following wild words: “From the regions
of terror, over the burning billows, I have come
as the duly appointed Priest of thriving of Ter
rors, to demand in his name a suitable sacrifice.
I proclaim, as my authority pertmis that before
the evening sun ceases to shine upon the earth,
this victim must present himself before this altar,
as a willing sacrifice, to appease the appetite for
blood which now consumes my Master. Thrice
will I proclaim this mandate, let those who hear,
bring forth the victim ere the sun sinks behind
the hill tops.”
His face was averted while he pronounoed
fervently this imaginary command of his spec
ter master. Gazing upon me a moment, he quit
ted the raised position he occupied, advanced to
where I was standing, then passed out of the
door. Soon, however, he returned; on his arm
was a gaudy cohflred cloth.
“Put on the sacrificial robe,’’said he, handing
this garment to me, “prepare for the great or
deal, while I chant the song of sacrifice. ”
“Why, sir;" said I forcing a smile, “you are
an adept at personating an Aztec priest of the
bloody rites. I am not, however, surprised at
your exact personation of this cruel monster.
The French are adepts as mimics.”
“By the Eternal King, ’tis false!” he cried,
excitedly. “I am no Frenchman! never have I
dwelt upon French soil.”
“Why,”8aid I, calmly, would you deny tome,
your friend, your laud of nativity. I know your
bloody secret.”
“Ha, ha,” he laughed, “you would dissuade me
from performing upon you my priestly office,
you know my bloody secret! Ha ! ba! Yes, the
fiends in hell shriek its story ! The fiends in
hell will gnaw with teeth of fire, upon this liv
ing flesh. ”
The door opened hastily, and in rnshed his
terrified daughter.
“What have you done !” she exclaimed, exci
tedly.
“Retire,” I whispered, “I am doing your
father no injury.” My earnest manner had the
desired effect, and she quitted the room, leaving
me alone with the maniao.
“I am surprised Mr. Levert, I said, that yon
will allow this imposter, this dark mysterious
being, whom you denominate the King of Terror,
whom yon call yonr Master, to have such an in
fluence over yon. I beg you to cast from you,
this delusion, for yon, my friend are subjeet to
I spoke with all the power I was capable of.
My language caused him to pause a moment in
his madness. By accepting his belief in this
being, created by his wild imagination, I hoped
to convince him of his power to reject and dis-
pise his influence.
For a short time he remained silent as if im
pressed by my words. The Demons which sur
rounded him soon gained way, and he replied
excitedly,” Ha! ha! you know not what you ut
ter, sir ; you have little conception of him I call
Master. Think you, that I could desert him!
Think you, I dare hoot at his authority ! while
around me crowds of fiends of darkness hover
ready to cast my body into hell, at their master’s
bidding. “See! Look!” said he, wildly. “They
come and will crush me!” As if to conceal
himself from these imaginary spirits, he
crouched himself into a far corner, his face
blanched with terror.
“Come!” said I, taking his hand, “stand
forth. Let the manhood that is within
you strengthen you. See! I can meet them
I fearlessly. I fear not their power.”
j “You fear them not,” he whispered. “You are
j sinless, you are guilty of no man’s blood,
i Whilel—Help!”heskouted, “Saveme, saveme. ’
| Overcome by his excitement, he sank powerless
j upon the floor.
Again the young girl rushed into the room.
“Get me a glass of water, said I.”
! She left the room, soon returning. I gave
i him a dose of that soothing drug, opium.
| “Oh, sir! I fear yonr conversation has injured
my poor father,” said she tearfully,
“No,” I replied. “I have learned the cause of
his madness. I hope to cure him.”
“How !” said she eagerly.
“I do not know, perhaps my efforts will be use
less. When I call again, you shall hear what I
hope to do.”
“God grant you may be able help him,” she
said, clasping her hands and raising her beaut
iful eyes to heaven.
CHAPTER V.
For a month I made regular visits at the home
of Little Nell, as I had learned to call this young
girl. At times her father conversed with as
much rationality as the sanest of men. These
lucid intervals, however, were of short dura
tion. Unexpectedly, and without apparent
cause, his manner would change, and his speech
become wild, as he excitedly proclaimed his
office of High Priest to the King of Terrors. If |
I had done no other good, I had at least re- j
lieved Nell of a portion of the weight of care j
and anxiety that had pressed on her when she j
fulfilled her melancholy task alone. Her eye |
had grown brighter, her cheek fresher since I j
came to her with my sympathy and friendship, j
Friendship—ah ! it was more—I, the lonely old
I bachelor, had learned to love this sweet, self- I
| sacrificing girl, and it was the happiest moment
| of my life, when I learned that my love was re-
I turned.
We stood together one evening, her little
| hand in mine, ‘Do you think, Arthur,’ said she,
j blushing, as she always does, when she had
j uttered the name I begged her to call me, ‘that
I shall ever know the happiness of seeing my
father sound in mind and body ?’
‘My darling,’ said I, kissing her fair fore
head, ‘Hope is not denied us. You who have
borne so great a sorrow uncomplainingly, must
have been strengthened by this divine gift.’
‘Now that I have your counsel, yonr love,’
she replied, ‘I can bear my trials, endure all
God chooses to afflict me with. And yet, how
I long to clasp my father rouud the neck,
Knowing that he is capable of feeling the great
joy my heart then would experience. Yet,
would he even know happiness again ? I often
think, our Heavenly Father, in mercy, has par
tially taken his reason.’
How I longed to comfort her ! With my life
how gladly would I have removed this cloud
from the life of this dear being I worshipped.
But words were idle, advice mockery, retribu
tion would have its way.
When I returned to my room that evening, I
found on my desk two letters. One was from
an old friend whom I had continuously corre
sponded with for years. The other bore a
foreign post mark; this I opened and discovered
was from Monsieur Casagnac. On I read; the
night was far advanced before I laid this j
volumnious communication aside. In my joy
I almost shouted aloud. No sleep visited my
eyes that night. In my restless eagerness to
see my little Nell, how slowly the hours went
by. Day at last dawned. Hastily breakfasting,
I mounted my horse and rode swiftly to the
little brown cottage of the recluse.
‘Where!’ said I, after a hasty greeting to little
Nell, ‘where is your father?’
‘Oh! Arthur,’ she cried, much agitated. ‘What,
oh tell me what has happened ? Has every
thing been discovered ? Must we fry for safety ?’
‘Yes, fly,’ said I, gaily, ‘and summon yosir
father. No bad news Nell, but the best you
ever heard in your life.’
She needod no further bidding, but hasten
ed from the room; soon returning accompanied
by her father, who I was glad to see was more
collected than usual.
‘I have,’ said I, when they entered the room.
‘a letter containing such good news, that I
would not, nor could not wait for a more sea
sonable hour than the present to communicate
it. Be seated, sir, and you Nell must remain
near your father, a3 the contents of this letter
concerns you both.’
Before they had an opportunity to reply, I
began to read the following letter:
Paris, June—187—
Monsieur Roberts M. D. Dear Sir.—Your
letter having date April 18th, asking that I
would visit the castle of Baron Walfenstein,
and enquire into the circumstances of his death,
the date, and where his lady lies buried, was
received. As I was unable to leave my office,
I entrusted to my confidential clerk this mis
sion, who has returned the following report.
The facts sustained by two near neighbors of
Baron Wolfenstein.
I have sir, the honor to be your obedient
servant, Adrien Casagnac.
‘Report made by D. Moseney confidential
clerk to Adrien Casagnac Esq.’
‘At your bidding, sir, I began my journey to
north western France three days ago, to make
definite enquiries concerning the manner of
the death of Carl Walfenstein, also the date of
his demise and the place where his lady was
interred. Alter two days fatiguing travel I
arrived at the village of—situate, five miles from
the castle of Walfenstein. Here I halted and
was soon engaged in conversation with the pro
prietor of the village house of entertainment.
Enquiring of him the direction of the castle,
remarking that I intended visiting the grave
of Car1 Walfenstein.
‘Carl.Walfenstein,’ he repeated, ‘I suppose,
sir, yon refer to the German Baron by that
name, residing five miles from my house ?’
‘No,'said I, ‘not this one, but the one killed
by his brother-in-law, Alfred Levert, many
years ago.’
‘Ah! I understand you are a lawyer’s clerk,
and have a question to answer. I assure yon,
sir, this is the same person, not killed, as was
supposed by Alfred Levert and by many others.
I remember well,|sir, the night he was shot by
Levert Immediately after hearing that the
Baron was dead, I hastened to the castle and
there saw him lying appearently lifeless npon
his bed. He recovered, sir, after many weeks.
Alfred Levert married the sister
fenstein. The difficulty was bnt t ®J“ ina -
tionofa long standing fend. Levert escaped
the night the murderous assault was commit
ted with his daughter, a younger brother and
the governess of Miss Levert. I have heard the
governess returned to France and died.
8 As the day was not far advanced, I procured
a horse and began my ride to the castle to sat
isfy myself of the truth of this story. It 18 °se-
less, sir, to dwell upon its incidents whmh w e
of little moment. Arriving at the castle, l wa
conducted to an apartment where wasi seat d
Baron Walfenstein. Informing him of the na
ture of my visit, from his own h P 3 * b y h
a repetition of the facts already written. I have,
for the sake of certainty, Procured affidavits
from two of Baron Wallenstein's nearest neigh
bors, substantiating these facts. I send this y
post, as my other duties will not permit me to
return to Paris for many days.
With esteem and respect, your servant,
D. Moseney.
‘Help oh help my father !’ screamed Nell, as
he fell from his chair insensible upon the floor.
For weeks we watched by the bed of the suffer
er; his life at times seemed pasing away, the
removal of the burden had been too sudden,
excitement too great ior his enfeebled consti o-
tion. But good nursing, tender attention »■-
last turned the scale. He slept—a deep refresh
ing sleep; when he awoke, the crisis was j>ast;
he wonld live,—live. The cloud had passed from
his brain forever. His reason had resumed its
sway.
It was on a bright May morning that Nell and
I were married; the sound of merry wedding
bells were not heard, there were few to witness
the ceremony. Yet onr hearts were happy, our
joysurpeme. My bachelor lodgings were let to
a new tenant, And now, after the labors of the
day are done, my little Nell welcomes me joy
fully at our cottage home.
Enjoy Life.
What a truly beautiful world we live in! Nature gives
ns grandeur of mountains, glens and oceans, and thou
sands of means ior enjoyment. We can desire no better
when in perfect health; but how often do the majority of
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such maladies as Dilliousness, Indigestion, Sick Mead-
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Head, Palpitation of the Heart, and other distressing
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wonderful effect. Sample bottles, 10 ceuts. Try it.
146
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NEW ADVERTISEMENTS.
Mart Hill, 'j
vs. - Libel for Divorce.
Andrew Hill, j
It appearing by the return of the Sheriff that the defen
dant cannot be found in Fulton county, and it beingrep-
resenSed that the defendant resides beyond the limits of
the State of Georgia, ordered that service be perfected by
publication in the Sunny South once a month for four
mouths: and that the defendant appear and answer by
the next term of this Court, or be considered in default.
April 25th, 1878. FRANK L. HARALSON,
Petitioners' Attorney.
A true extract from the minutes.
April 25.1878. W. H. VENERABLE, D. C.
150-lam tm
Georgia, Fulton County.
M. J. Vauciin, 1
vs. f Libel for Divorce.
E, E, Vaughn. ) [ ,
It appearing by the return of the Sheriff in the above
stated case that the defendant can not be found in this
county, and it further appearing that he is out of the
county, it is hereby ordered by the Court that service be
perfected bj- publication in the Sunnt South once a
month for four months; aud that said defeudant be and
appear at the next term ol the Superior Court, to answer
said libel. By the Court.
R. H, BRUMBY,
Attorney for Libellant.
A true extract from the minutes.
April 25, 1878.
W. H, VENERABLE, D. C.
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143
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