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DIES IRiE.
OR
Under the Stars and Bars.
BY CELESTE lllWHISS BARKSDALE.
CHAPTER X.
"Thy lot shall y at be link’d with thine.’’
Bbide of Abtdos.
March.
•Mail!’ cries Lila, ooming up the walk from
the front gate. ‘Two for Mrs.fCrofton, one for
Valerie!’ , , ,
Valarie stretches out her thin hand, while her
eyes turn exultingly toward Eve. Valarie has
been quite sick, and is yet unable to go about
the house. Throughout the short, dreary March
days, she lies upon the sofa near the fire, listen-
ing intently at every unwonted noise, expect
ing, hoping to see John every moment.
She has never lost faith in him. Her eyes
take on a piteous, wistful look that nearly
breaks my heart when I look at her, but her
lips refuse to condemn John for his silence.
•He will write or come soon,’ she says; and re
peats it daily. .
He does not write or come through all the
long days of weary waiting and watching. Eve,
who would be as well pleased to see Penelope
John’s wife as Valarie. has more than once ex
pressed her belief that John and Pen were mar
ried. She goes to the door to meet Lila and
take the letters.
Valerie's fingers tremble and her face flushes
as she essays to open John’s letter, for it is from
John we know by the superscription. Barbara
glances at hers, opens the one she recognizes as
Mr. Rogers’.
•Charlie has eaoaped !’ reading a line or two.
•Maurioe too!—They have gone back to the
army !—I wouldn’t!—Fared miserably while
prisoners '.—Eve! Eve!’ in an eager voice.
The girl starts up, the loveliest glow comes to
her oheek, while into her eyes comes a sudden
light. Does she hope for tidings from Bert ?
Lila is watching Eve curiously, half smiling.
I, who see it, leave Valarie deep in the perusal
of John’8 loving letter, go over to Barbara.
•Tell us what it is,quickly ! Is it about Bert?
Speak, Barbara!’
•Yes ! Are you not glad ?’ Barbara has a fac
ulty, and she exercises it to the utmost, of tor
menting people when she has them at her mer
cy. ‘And he is—’
•Married!’ I ejaculated, as she stops and
looks at Eve.
The girl grows white and red, looking at me
despairingly.
•No!' Barbara says pettishly. ‘You always
interrupt one at the wrong place, Helen.’
•You are enough to try the patience of a saint,
Barbara,’ I reply impatiently. ‘Where is Pen ?’
‘Pen ? Who said anything about Pen ? I am
am sure I did not,’ reading her letter as quietly
as though I was not waiting for au answer.
•Come here, Eve,’ Valarie says, smiling softly.
Swiftly Eve crosses over to Valarie who holds
out John's letter and points to a parapraph.
•What of Pen, Valarie ?’ I ask, giving over my
fruitless effort to get answers to my questions
from Barbara.
Lila's face darkens, and she turns away to her
room.
•It is just as I said always, Helen,’ answered
Valarie. ‘Precious Pen ! had it not been for
her noble exertions John would have been cap
tured. She carried John's horse down to the
river, as you and Eve once did Major Revere's,
and John, fearing that her sudden appearanoe
might excite suspicion among the Federals here
at the house, and thereby cause her imprison-
perbaps death, induced her to 00 as far aa.JV-vm>
expressed a determination to go North to ascer
tain the truth about her brother being at Fort
Delaware; and if she it not here now, she cer
tainly has gone to Delaware City.’
•And Bert, Valarie, has John heard from him?’
I question, eagerly.
Valarie glances p.round the room: Barbara is
deep in the perusal of her letter, and Eve is
oblivious of our nearness.
‘John received a letter from him juBt a few
days before he wrote. He writes principally
about Pen and Eve. She is reading it now, foT
John has transferred it verbatim for her to read.
When he comes home we shall have a wedding
that should have been long ago.’
‘“Should have been,” yes, Valarie. Now,
darling, what does John say of himself? Is he
well? When is tfle *happ' consummation’ to
be?’
•When he comes—perhaps in August Sup
pose I had ever doubted him. Helen, I don’t
think I should ever be able to forgive myself
after reading that letter, ‘ a smile wreathing her
sweet lips.
‘Happy John to have so true a heart to love
him,’ lory, kissing her.
Look at Eve !' she whispers.'
I do look, and my own heart grows glad at the
sight of her joyous face. She looks up and
catohes my eye bent upon her. She rises from
her knees, where sbe has been kneeling like a
priestess before a shrine, and comes to me,
•I am so, so happy, Helen ! Kiss me, and tell
me that you are glad with me. Nothing more
will ever sadden my heart I shall alwayn be
happy.’
•It seems to me a strange way of doing for
Penelope to assist John in escaping before
Maurice, • Barbara says, breaking in upon our
congratulations, deliberately folding up her let
ters.
•Not so strange to those who know all the cir
cumstances connected therewith, • replies Lila,
who has entered unperceived.
Barbara is our ‘death's head at the wine, • I
hasten to say to Lila:
•You heard from Maurice? 1
•Yes, He escaped with Mr. Rogers, and ha^
returned to the ranks once more. I met Dr.
Eustis just now, Miss Helen, and he tells me
that his sight is completely gone. He cannot
distinguish daylight from darkness.
‘Helen, he was such a dear friend of father’s,
has been so kind to us in our troubles, and is
so alone and desolate, had we—ought we not to
offer him a home with us ? questioned Eve.
‘Yes, dear Helen, please do, • cries Valarie.
My own heart appeals strongly to my judge
ment to offer our afflicted friend a home. I am
older than these girls, I look farther into the
future than they can possibly do. 1 see many
privations, much suffering before us. This sad,
cruel war has not done all for us that it can.
We have suffered, yet we could suffer more, un
dergo more privations, which oar poor, blind
friend, did he come to us, must do too. I tell
them plainly, more plainly than I have ever yet
done, our straightened means, our growing pov
erty and total dependence upon the negroes’ la
bors. I am willing to divide my share with
him, are they ? Will they make little sacrifices
to add to his comfort?*
They are only too willing to prove their devo
tion to dear father’s memory by taking the care
of his boyhood's friend upon their hands.
Eve and Barbara go to him with the request,
that he will consider our home his home. It is
worth while making sacrifices to gain happiness
for others-
the Wilderness, and engaging them in a long
and fierce conflict at Spottsylvania Court House
we again mourn the loss of one of our noblest
and most gallant generals.
‘General J. E. B Stuart, the pride of the army,
the idolized of his men. fell in the battle or af
terward. For six hours, with one thousand
men he fought, and defeated Sheridan with
eight thousand. In the ardor of the pursuit, he
beoame separated from his men and was shot by
one of the foe who was lurking in ambush. It
is needless to say that his cavalry are inconsol
able over his death. They have been placed
under the command of another excellent leader,
but who can replace the dead ?
‘One of the most thrilling soenes of the war
occurred during the battle. General Lee, in
order to encourage the men, rode to the front
and stationed himself near the forty-ninth regi
ment of Fengram’s brigade. Through every
man there ran a thrill, and with it a determina
tion to do our best Would he, we asked our
selves, place himself there as a target for idle
bullets? Such seemed to be his determination,
when one of Georgia's younges* and most gal
lant officers spurred bis horse forward and
dashed to our Commander-in-chiefs side, seiz
ing his bridle, and urging him in an impassion
ed manner to go to the rear. Our hearts were
enthused with patriotism, and we fought des
perately. We lost between seven and eight
thousand, while, it is rumored, that the enemy
lost between eighteen and twenty-five thous
and.’
The negroes are working famously for them.
Our household of five women and a white-haired,
blind old man pursue the even tenor of its way.
We have long since exhausted the contents of
the library, and every other for miles around.
We amuse ourselves and the servants learning
to spia. We knit sooks for the soldiers and
renovate old dresses at other times.
Will this never end ? Will bappiness never
abide with us again ? Shall the song of Lamech
be ours forever ?
Down in the depths of my weary heart I cry:
•Will the shadows never be lifted from our
hearts ?'
Midnight.
Out on the verandah the moonbeams fall. The
world, our little world, is wrapt in slumber.
The ghost of the past haunts me and I cannot
sleep. In dressing-gown and slippers I paoe to
and fro, looking idly out upon the lovely, moon-
kissed scene, that has never been mere beauti
ful even to my partial eye.
High above me, the Pleiads
“Glitter like a swarm of nre-flee tangled in a silver
braid.”
There is a freshness of full-budded spring on
the balmy air that blows gently past me. How
fair a world God has made for us 1 How daz
zling a sky to lure upward our earth-born, earth-
enchanted g8ze! Eden, in all its young beau
ty, cannot have been lovelier than this broad
stretobing valley, threaded by silver rivers and
streams, brightened by flowers and woods.
Eden, my Eden, stretches before me. I, alas,
cannot appreciate it. Something carries me
back, beyond the war; beyond the time when
gray hairs and I were acquainted; beyond
the time when carmine cheeks and I had not
parted.
The exquisite scene steals over me, pervades
my being.
•Hist!’ says a voioe, near me, breaking in up
on my sad reverie and self communing;
1 pause a moment
•It is the wind,' I say, half startled, looking
around to see from whenoe the voice oomes.
'Hist! Are you alone ?’
'Yes,’ I answer, half inclined to run into the
house.
Thev call me ’ “*• jr” T
I walk slowly to the end of tbe verandah, peer
out into the shadows.
•Who are you, and what do you want ?' I ask,
with a peroeptible quiver in my voice.
I stare with all my might at the figure advanc
ing toward me. I utter an exclamation of aston
ishment, for it is a woman!
Who are you ?’ I ask, a second time, some- |
what reassured by the appearanoe of my noc
turnal visitor. I
•Who are you ?' she asks, in her turn. 1
I start, for there is something Btrangely famil- j
iar in the sonnd of her voioe. It is a soft, sweet
voice, but it awakens distrust
tbe other languishes in your wretched prison.’
‘Young woman, a year ago Penelope's brother
was taken from his mother's grave, not
permitted to see her buried, and sent to Fort
Delaware. There is one heart breaking for him,
one sweet face paling and growing old before
its time because of his absence. There is his
sister, God only knows where, hunting him
throughout the North. My mother died only
last October, and her last words were, ‘if John
would come, if I could only see my boy.’ She
died, died of a broken heart because of my
father’s death and my brother's absence. If
yonr mother laments her sons why sent she
them to murder our brothers, our sons?' I ask,
coldly.
•I had expected to find a woman, and, oh,
God ! I find one who ’
‘Knows, feels and resents her wrongs,’ I say.
•By that suffering I implore you to aid me !’
the giri says, falling upon her knees. ‘Remem
ber your mother's sorrow, your father’s grief,
your own woes and be kind to me—for my
mother’s life I beg!'
She looks up at me through fast falling tears.
The link in memory’s broken chain is supplied.
I recognize her now, though I have never seen
her before. Eyes, hair, lips, expression, voice
are Henry Jerome's. This girl is his sister, it is
for his release that she pleads.
There comes to me a day, sunshiny and cold,
when we sat in the parlor looking into mother’s
woe-stricken face and sad eyes, saw father tot
ter in, white and shaken,ail because of this man.
There oomes to me a day nearlv a year after,
when Eve lies white and stunned before ns; and
then, again, when she sits on the river bank,
pale and trembling waiting for the Federals to
come after Bert. A bitter cold night looms up,
three delicate, daintily reared women wearily
push dirtfajo a,yawning grave, while sobs are
heard above the low wailing of the wind. Get
tysburg and all its horrors presents itself. Can
I, remembering all this, can J help this girl ?
While I am debating all this, she rises to her
feet, saying, proudly:
•You thought we had no devotion in our
hearts, that Southern hearts were truer than
ours. You make an egregious mistake! Pen
elope Revere is not more devoted to her brother
than I am to mine; and she goes to release her
brother, so I go to mine. You parade your suf
fering and sorrows in a phalanx before me. I
too have had my sorrows, Brother, oousins,
friends, acquaintances have gone down before
the fire of v your men. You have suffered, so
have I, anew by that suffering I adjure you to
save my mdther.’
My mother's sweet face rises before me and
pleads for Henry Jerome's mother. Compassion
and sympathy are knocking loudly at my heart.
•Vengeance is mine, / will repay.* He will re
dress our wrongs 1 Tears spring to my eyes, I
stretch out my hand to the girl, saying:
‘Blanohe, it is not for you or me to seek ven
geance. All that I can,I will do for you. 1
The girl conies to me, lays her head upon my
shoulder and bursts into passsionate weeping.
She is quiet at last, and she tells me that she
was brought here by a soldier under Major Je
rome's command. While she is speaking, Eve
glides into the room*
do. What a set of croakers you are! I was nevei
in better spirits. The moments fly on rosy pin
ions, I wish they would fly with lightning swift
ness until August comes with John.’
‘I wish I had a part of your gay spirits, Val
arie,’I return, sighing.
•Eve is generally wrong in her prognostica
tions, Helen, so you need not let her make you
fear any evil through her prophetic sayings.'
•I am not aimer- eperdument with our latest
comer,* Lila remarks.
'She seems to be a nice girl, and she is cer
tainly a refined and accomplished one, • I re
turn, reprovingly.
•When is she going?* questions Valarie.
•Just as soon as she is able to travel.’
•I heard a scritch owl last night, ‘Lila says,
with so much solemnity that it causes a burst of
laughter.
• ‘The scritch-owl, scritohing loud, puts the
wretch in remembrance of a shroud,’ 1 quotes
Valarie, her lovely face dimpling with laugh
ter.
‘The basket is ready, girls, Take good care of
the doctor, and don’t stay long,’ I say, as I fol
low them to the door.
Valarie takes the basket, Eve leads Dr. Eustis,
while Lila carries a fishing pole. At the gate
Valarie turns, runs back to me.
•That is for you,* she cries, kissing me.’
•These are for John, • kissing me twice ‘some
how, • she laugh’s uneasily, *1 feel Lila's and
Eve’s gloom creeping over me.* It is foolish, I
know. If anything should happen to me though,
which is not likely, if a blue coat gobbles me
up or I fall in the water and drown, tell my
darling John my last heart beat was for him.
There is’nt that a tragic message ?•
She laughed, but I say that her mirth was
forced.
I stand and watch her until her lithe, young
form is no longer visible, feeling that John
has made a wise ohoice in selecting this noble-
girl who will make him a true, tender wife.
Then I go back to my patient. I find her dress
ed as I enter the room.
•Will you not go into the parlor?’ I ask, for
she has been in no room but this sinoe she has
been with us.
•You aTe so kind to me, and I was so rude
when I first came,’ she saye.
T carry her into the parlor, place her in an
easy chair. She looks around. I interpret her
look, and say:
•It is not the room your brother.knew. It has
been plundered as has every other house around
us,'
Her face reddens. There are roses blooming
out in the garden sweet as those that perfume
the air about Paestum’s rivers. One lovely bud
pressed by the wind against the blind. Blanohe
reaches forward and plucks.
•Lovely isn’t it? I have a withered bud that
your sister gave Harry—long ago. Miss Ross,
you did not like my brother?'
I feel the blood rising to my cheeks as I re
ply:
•We will not bring up my likes and dislikes.
Shall I read to you?’
She assents, and I get Pollock's ‘Course of
Time,’ and read an hour, perhaps longer. I am
interrupted by Barbara, who oomes flying into
•I heard you talking and came to see who you l the room in abjeot terror.
had with you,* she stops short, oatehes her )
breath. She sees the resemblance, knows in
tuitively, who it is that eyes her so steadily.
‘Blanche Jerome, how came you here?’ Eve
asks as she comes closer to us.
•I come to seek my brother,’ returns the oth
er, still eyeing Eve curiously.
They stand full fifteen minutes and look at
each other, these two who came so near being
n t wt<Va;
sisters, but wMare more widely separated than
if peas rilletf “*peen th^m.^I.watch them with
lp'nce: ' J w '
No wonder mat he loved you! And vou would
not leave your home for his, your land for his,
your friends for bis! Have you any conception
of bow much he loves you?*
Major Jerome's love is a matter about whioh
I think little,’ Eve replies, haughtily.
Blanche draws herself up, and looks at Eve
I with disfavor. I interrupt them by saying;
‘You have had a long, wearisomejourney. Let
| me show yon a room where you can sleep, for it
is already late.*
I So we have Henry Jerome's siBter for our
| guests. Truly, ‘no man knoweth the things of
•What do you want ?’ I ask, impatiently. I
The woman gives a bound and is at my side |
before she answers.
tomorrow.
CHAPTER XI.
“A precious sample of humanity I”
The Defobmed Tbansfobmed.
May.
‘Wo lid that I could always write good news,’
writes John. ‘After repulsing the enemy at
•I want protection and help.’
I am at my wits' end. It is evident that she
wishes to conceal her identity and her designs, j
I withdraw some distance. 1
•Afraid of me, are you ?' she laughs, scornful
ly. *1 have been told that you ware brave as [
Jean D’ Arc. I see that you have been over
rated.'
•Perhaps,’ 1 reply, ooldly, for what she says
jars disoordantly upon me. Her very laugh is
so dissonant to my feelings that it increases my
dislike for the unknown.
•I was told if I should see a medium sized
woman, with sad, hazel eyes and brown hair
threaded witn white, a pathetio face and haughty
manners, that woman would be Miss Ross, Hel
en Ross. I see such a one before me; I presume
I address Miss Ross.’
•I am Miss Ross,’ I reply, haughtily.
•I am happy to meet you, Miss Ross,’she con
tinues, with elaborate courtesy. ‘I have come a
great distance to see you and your sister.’
•Whom have I the honor of addressing ?’ I ask
in ioily polite tones.
•Not many weeks ago I had the pleasure of
meeting a friend of yours, I may say a mutual
friend of ours now,and had the power of assisting
her when in trouble. I needed similar assist
ance, and she direoted me to you as one who
would render me service for her sake.’
•That mutual friend was —’
•Miss Penelope Revere!'
I thaw in my manner. If this is a friend of
Pen’s then she is entitled to the courtesies of
our house. This much I say, and bid her fol
low me -
Once in my room she lets the wrap around
her head fall away, and I have a fair view of the
unknown. About Eve’s age, certainly not old
er, with a fair, fresh face so like some one I have
known at sometime of my life, known and dis
liked I feel, and a wealth of long, yellow curls.
Dressed, as we are, in dead black, but richly
and tastily. She smiles, and that smile disfig
ures her face that is very lovely in repose, and
says:
•You see the resemblanoe and dislike me for
it! I did not come for your love but for your
assistance. Help me! help me!' she entreats.
‘You are like some one,’ I admit, unwillingly;
‘but I cannot tell who it is or where I saw them.’
You come to me in Penelope Revere’s name,
that assures you of all the assistance in my
power.’
•What I want your assistance for is this 1 my
dear'y loved brother is a prisoner in ,» I
start at these words. This girl is a Northerner,
I know now. ‘You have friends in that town
who are influential: write me a letter of intro
duction to these friends. I will see my brother
and get him released.'
‘You wish me to connive at the escape of a
Yankee prisoner?’ I ask, contemptuously. ‘You
do not know me.’
•You mnst! you shall!’ she cries, excitedly.
‘I left my mother sick, sick unto death beoause
of the prolonged absenoe of my brother, beoause
CHAPTER XII.
"That clear-featured lace
Was lovely for she did not seem as dead,
But fast asleep, and lay ae though she smiled. ’*
Lancelot and El a ins.
•Helen,’Valarie says, ooming into my room
where I sit beside Blanche Jerome, who has
been quite sick, ‘Eve, Lila and I are going fish
ing, under Scab’s supervision, and if you will
prepare the basket of food for Mrs. Denison we
will carry it for you.’
•I smile up into the face of John’s darling, as
I answer slowly:
■There is a report of Federals.
‘You all look upon Federals as if they were
devils, especially Mrs. Crofton,* says Blanohe
looking at Valarie admiringly.
‘Sensational stories, my dear Helen, ‘ Valarie
replies, gaily. ‘If there are I don't suppose that
they will tomahawk us as the Indians did Miss
McCrae.’
•I am not so sure, • I say seriously.
•If they attaok us we will imitate those Cia*
brian women,* Valarie laughs gaily as she an
swers. ‘Put up your knitting; Miss Jerome will
excuse you long enough to fix the basket. •
’Oh, yes. Pray, Miss Ross, do not let me
detain you from anything,’ Blanche adds,
hastily.
•I do not like tbe idea of your going so far
away, Valarie. Federal troops are not infre
quent visitors now, ’ I say, when out in the hall
alone with Valarie.
‘What a timid fawn you are, sister mine! We
have not seen a blue coat in several weeks, not
since Miss Jerome made her advent among us.
Dr. Eustis is going with us; indeed he planned
the excursion, and it will be too bad to disap
point him. The Federals are too busy trying
to take Richmond to think of us.’
•But there may be stray handfuls of troops
with no responsible officers over them, stroll
ing over the country to plunder and depre
date. These are to be dreaded far more than
the regular army.’
‘Of that I am aware; but they have long 6ince
taken all the horses except two old mules, all
the cattle but one or two cows, all the sheep,
all the hogs, trampled down all the crops, have
taken all the household goods they can —there
is nothing worth their while ooming now.*
•I am not convinced,* I still object.
•There are none so blind as those who will
not see. ‘ Pray, what remains that will attract
any of them?’
•There are none so deaf as those who will not
hear, ‘ I retort. ‘Seriously, Valarie, I have been
very uneasy since Blanohe Jerome has been
with us. ‘
Yet you have nurse! her faithfully. You re
call the fable of the farmer and the snake. Here
are Lila and Eve, ‘ as the girls join us in the
dining room.
‘I feel gloomy, ‘ Eve says, laying her lovely
head against my shoulder. ‘Something bad is
going to happen to us again. •
I‘m blue also, • Lila says, leaning over on the
•The Yankees!’ she gasps.
‘And the girls are gone,’ I cry in consterna
tion.
Blanche smiles and saye:
•I think your fears are groundless. There are
none of them dastardly enough to injure, inno-
oent, unoffending girls.'
While she is speaking a soldier, an inferior
officer by his dress, enters the room. He is very
courteous to us all, calling us tbe aliases Ross,
and begging we’ll not be troubled on his sc
at home, for he lights his oigar, and endeavors
to carry on a conversation with us. My replies
are curt, Barbara’s hysterical, Blanohe is si
lent.
Troops appear in the streets. The maroh of
booted feet around the house plainly says that
it is guarded.
‘Why do you place your guards around us?’ I
ask, emboldened by Blanche’s presence.
’Orders, madam,’ sententiously.
'Indeed! Pray, whose?'
•The Captain’s laconically.
•Where is he?* I ask, curiosity getting the bet
ter of discretion.
•Jnet around the oorner. This honse, we are
are old, contains valuable information to us, in
the shape of letters from your brother, concern
ing Lee’s movements.’
•It is an egregious mistake. My brother never
writes to us about the designs of our generals,
knowing we are subjeot to raids,* I say with
dignity.
■Allow me to judge of that,* he says coolly.
•There is a young lady in the house who is be
trothed to your brother,’ looking hard at
Blanche.
•Since you assert it, I need not answer,’ evas
ively.
•Sbe receives letters from him regularly?’
•That is nothing to you. •
'We want those letters. •
•You won’t get them. •
•I guess we will—•
•Miss Ross. I would not stand this man’s im
pertinence.* Blanohe cries, for the first time.
•If you know where they are, Helen, get them
and let him go,‘ ories Barbara, beseechingly.
•I have no right to dispose of other people’s
property, Barbara,* I answer, resolutely. ‘Here
are the girls,* as I catch a glimpse of Valarie as
she carefully leads Dr. Eustaoe up the street.
‘TTaU.I’ nrips a. afontnpian vnion
Mrs. Amory comes in just then. Even her
loquacity is checked at the sight of \ alarie.
Go to your room, Helen,* she says to me. 1
will attend to everything.*
Once in my room, alone, fortitude gives away.
Sadly 1 recall Valarie’s coming among us. T re
member that she has wept with us over our sor
rows, rejoiced with us over our joys. Beloved
bv us beoause of John’s love, but dearer tor her
own true worth. My own grief is intensified by
the thought of the great sorrow that has come
into John’s life. It almost breaks my heart to
think of him. T
Some one raps at the door, and Blanche Je
rome enters. Her eyes are red with weeping
her voice falters as she says:
‘Oh. God! this terrible war! Who can realize
its horrors but those who are made to feel them.
Oh, Miss Ross, believe me, this will be beyond
belief when told! Yet—yet six months ago I
hated every Southern woman. Don-t look so
shocked; I will tell you. Before the beginning
of this straggle, I was to marry a man in our
city—before Eve was to marry Harry—and I
loved him with a purity and fervor that I now
know no man was ever worthy of. He came
South, to Baltimore on business. There he fell
in love with a Southern beauty. I wrote to
him time and again, but my letters elicited no
replies. I was utterly cast aside, dethroned,
uncrowned. I am proud, prouder, thau any
woman should be, and I hid my feelings. ‘I
scorned to be scorned by one that I scorn.’ A
deadly hate sprang up in my heart for all
Southern women. When Harry came home, so
sad and dispirited, I hated them the more. And
why not? One had taken my lover from me. an
other bad blighted my brother’s life. The night
I stood on the verandah with yon I bated you,
hated your sisters. Yon have conqnered my
heart; you have taught me that others have sor
rows beside myself. The rest I have just learn
ed as I saw that fair girl shot down. Do not
condemn me for it—do not think that I am the
Jonah who has brought this upon yon!’
I only bow my head and sob. What words
can express my feelings, my thoughts ?
tTo be Continued.)
ROBBERY AT CLINTON.
How a Burglar and Thief Got the Drop on a
Law Officer.
of his oaptivity. She oalls him day and night, | table.
day and night, and she will die if he does not. *1 feel depressed—‘I begin, but Valarie inter-
come. One son is dead, killed by your men, j rupts me, with a happy laugh and ‘hush girls,
Halt!’ cries a stentorian voice.
•Advance one and give the countersign, • I say
mockingly, to the yonng officer. ‘Manassas!’
They do not appear to hear, bnt continue to
advance.
‘Halt!’
Vaiarie takes her arm out of Dr. Eustis,’ and
onr blind friend continues to grope his wav to
the gate.
•My God! don’t fire! dont fire! he is blind,’
Blanche cries wildly.
•Fire!*
Shall I never forget the sound of that voice?
Will it ever ring in my ears? I clasp my hands
convulsively together, spring to my feet. In
stantly four muskets are discharged at the feeble
bent form.
They reaoh a fairer viotim. Valarie throws np
one hand, presses the other over her heart as
she falls forward.
With a wild cry, I spring out the open win
dow, elnde the detaining arms of the gnard, fly
to her side. Frantically I catch her in my arms,
call her to speak to me, peer into her half-closed
eyes. They open wide, her lips qniver as they
frame the words, so tenderly, even in death:
•John, dear John.’
A long, quivering sigh shakes her. a faint
moan, like the plaint of a dove, and Valarie,
onr sister, John’s kve, lies dead in my arms.
Eve kneels beside her, Lila and Blanohe are
sobbing over me. Barbara has fainted. Dr.
Eustis, who has groped his way to us, says
brokenly:
‘Why not take the old and broken and leave
the yonng and beautitnl! Take me, O God, but
spare her!'
The frightened servants come to ns. Tender
ly they lift the dead girl and bear her into the
house. The officer meets us at the door savin*
humbly: B
‘I am very, very sorry, Miss Ross. It was un
intentional. •
■Hash!* Blanohe says sternly. ‘Nothing yon
oan say is of any avail; nothing can right this
great wrong!’
They had a little sensation in the quiet hamlet
known as Clinton a few days ago. During the
storm of Monday night last a negro named Pete
Robinson entered the store of T. G. Rice & Co.
and robbed it of nine pairs of boots, twenty-one
pairs of shoes and seven dollars and a half in
money. The morning when the articles and money
were missed suspicion at once attached to this ne
gro, who was known to be a bad character. A
party of gentlemen therefore waited upon Robin
son, whom they found chopping wood a short dis
tance from town. When asked about the robbery
he denied any knowledge of it. He was then told
to give up the key to his house, which was near
by, that it might be searched. Robinson said he
had left the key at the depot, but that he would go
after it. Of course bis little trick of going after
the key was understood and appreciated, and he
was not permitted to go alone.
Having reached the depot, he remembered that
he had left the key somewhere else. His custodians
told him not to mind the key, that they could
break the door down. When they reached* Robin
son’s house he found the key in his pocket and
opened the door. Upon entering Robinson’s house
the money was found spread out on a table and the
boots and shoes scattered about the room. The
stolen property was restored to the owner, and Rob
inson was put in charge of Constable IFoosly to be
taken to Jackson and jailed.
a horse, the constable being mounted on another
horse, and together the two started for the county
* he P™!?"; After they had ridden some
f from Chnfam the prisoner, taking advan
tage of the constable’s un watchful ness, thrust his
th ® la t w . 0 {H cer ’s collar, and, quicker than
lightmug jerked him to the ground and fell from
his» own horse on top of him
The constable had his hand on his pistol-he
carried two of them before he fell-hut the negro
Sir dvantage, and managed to wrest the
nf hls 8™fP u Havi »S obtained possession
of ,°ne of the pistols, he pointed it at the constable
and forced him to surrender the ether
Bereft of their riders, the horses turned around
and scampereil back toward Ciinton, and the con.
stable, bereft of his firearms, started in pursuit of
the horses, while the prisoner walked leisurely and
calmly in the opposite direction, master of the
Ueld and the possessor of two fine pistols,
accounts he had not been re-arrested.
—
A WILD WOMAN.
At last
Frightened Away from Memphis, She Roams
Through the Woods Sad Lack of Humanity
Among Christian People.
[Little Rock (Ark.) Gazette.
Mr. J. Handlie, who has just arrived in the city
from Crittenden county, reports rather a sail storv
in regard to a woman who is now roaming around
in the woods of the Mississippi river'’bottom.
Shortly after the yellow fever appeared in Mem
phis tho woman, whose name is Mrs. Annie Har
per, left the city, crossing in a skiff to the Arkan
sas shore. She lost her husband and two children
last year, and when the fever appeared again she
became wild in her manner, and declared that she
would die unless she left the city. But leaving an
infected city is not a perfect assurance against
trouble, if it does sometimes prove a safeguard
against disease. Mrs. Harper wundered around in
the dense forest almost crazed. Tht bottoms are
very sparsely settled, houses in many instances be-
mg sevend miles apart. When the woman applied
at the first house a man came out with a gun and
demanded her immediate change of scene. In vain
the woman pleaded. The man explained that it
was better for one person to die than to he the
cause of the death of a dozen. Plodding to an
other house, the woman was just entering the gate
when a man came out and said that cSming in
would be more disastrous than a case of yellow fe-
ver The poor woman wailed aloud,*declaring
that she cei tainlv bore the mark similar to that
worn by Cam. At the next house a man save her
something to eat, but advised her to move on.
Thus she has been wandering around, getting a
morsel to eat here and being spurned there. She
turned toward Memphis, but lost her way in the
woods, almost tropically dense. When she went to
i e n ?‘Tu h ! H u e ’ ,"'^ ere a Mr. Woodson lives, she de-
> ar nr?i^ hat / he hatl the fever- ami wanted to spread
it. 1 his, of course, excited the inmates of the
maruled IU * woman s * lasfc y departure was de-
Mr. Handlie saw the woman near Blackfish. The
woman had been wandering aimlessly, and had at
last reached the railroad. Having heard of the
woman, Mr Handlie asked her several questions.
f_m wild, the woman said. “Yellow fever is
footstep^’’ 3 a b I oods hound, it follows my
Then, in a quiet manner, the woman related har
sad experience, and then in a moment she became
wild again, and, with a wild shriek, she dashed off
into the woods. Mr. Handlie followed her, but she
paid no attention to him, wildly exclaiming that
she was dying with the tever. Mr. Handlie says
that from what he can learn Mrs. Harper belongs
to a respectable family, and that her husband was
quite a prominonf plumber and gas fitter of Mem
phis. Something should be done for the woman
as to continue in this way will only prove to be her
death or total destruction of her mind.
Columbus died at Valladolid in the 71st year
of his age, and by his own request the ohains
with whioh he had been ao unjustly confined
were buried with him. He was a tall, well-formed
and muscular man, dignified and grave of