Newspaper Page Text
VOL. VI
J. H. & W. B. SEALS’} PROPRIETORS.
ATLANTA. GA., JANUARY 15 1SS1.
Terms in Advance: {wSiil.c"®**, 2 #™'
NO. 2S3
George Eliot.
Judge not! The been, the diamond-pointed
pen
Hath fallen from the woman’s weary fingers
And on the mouth which spake high truth
for men
Death’s lowly silence lingers.
The eyes that sought life’s mysteries to scan.
With daring glance from which no depth
was hid.
Now rest content to see no farther ihan
A straightened coffin lid.
We crowned her brow the 'queen of such
wide fame
as seldom man’s more ardent thought hath
wooed;
But still our hearts were heavy for theshame
She brought to womanhood.
Judge not! It Is not Genius, it is Death
Who lifts her error sacred from our blame.
Weep for the passing of her mortal breath,
And praise her noble na.n e 1
MARY ANDERSON
AND
Peacock the Mineral
ogist
the m;ck of a toog
Soi l’ll 1CICA GIKIa
BY CHARLES T. PECK.
CHAP!Ell XXL
When ihe ruffian felt satisfied 1 hat Peacock
had made good his escape, Le released Mary.
She bad exbaustid all her stiei gth snug
gling with him and bad now fainted and lay
lifeless. \\ hen she revived, the lull realiza
tion of her horrible stale flashed full upon
her mind. Now she had lost all she cared to
%e 4i be* burst cf . cc y scroan ed
.Wildly:
“Oh! my child, oh! my dear child. May
God have mercy upon you. Oh, what a tool
1 was! 1 am to blame for all this. Why did
1 not make an eflort to escape, or to write
the truth of my condition tome and ask for
help I Ohl I can see now what my fear and
my lying letter has done. Too late now!
Probably he has ruined my dear father to
raise that money.”
bailie was Irigbtened and crying, and day
light found the two in the detpest agony.
No sound inside of the bouse but the deep
sobbing of the two; outside, the sun shone as
bright as if all were joy and gladness; noth
ing was heard but the gurgling stream as it
flowed on; the slight rustling of the leaves t
and the cow bells in the distance. How calm j
and quiet was all nature around them! But
in that hut, oh heavens! wbat misery I Mary
could not stay’ in it, she went to the creek
and laved her brow in its cooling waters,
she then took Silly’ and went to that den of a
store and found that the men were just up.
They were a rough looking set. She told
them her sad story and her wretched looking
face and weeping eyes made them almost
shudder. One cf them had often show n M iry
little kindnesses; he looked pained and said:
“Peacock made us believe he was kind to
you, and now ibis is a case so bad, he ought
to he arrested and brought to justice.”
“Is there such a law here!” Mary asked.
"Oh, yes. I am a justice of the peace and
I w ill issue a warrant and make him suffer
for this.”
An t ffioer was dispatched with the warrant
on a fast horse. He soon got on the track ol
Peacock and was satisfied he would soon
ovei take him. He inquired of him at every
bouse he passed and asked of every person he
met, whether man, woman or child. He rode
rapidly on and knew Peacock w’as making
for a near cut to get into North Carolina and
if be did then he could have no further juris
diction, hut riding nearly all day as fast as
was prudent for the safety of his horse, he
came to a small post* ffiee and ei quired how
far it was to the North Carolina line, and de
scribing Peacock, asked if they had seen such
a man with a young child.
“Yes, he passed here an hour ago, going
on at a rapid rate in that direction and must
be there now.”
The man, hearing this, gave up all hopes
of catching him and turned his horse’s head
homeward.
Peacoe'k was satisfied he was now safe and
stopped at a small inn for supper. They had
not stopped for their dinner. He called lor
a room and w as determined to tell Kate his
intentions. Kate, when going to the room,
knew there was something wrong and was
very much frightened. She was fatigued
and rervous too. When inside the room he
locked the door and sat down beside Kate
and said he had news tor her. She turned
deadly’ pale and asked what it was.
“Well, my dear chil l, your poor sister.
Mary, is dead. This is my r child and her
dying request was that, you should be my
w’ife and be his mother. I* did not w ish no
distress your parents an i n surged it in this
way. lei tne to that mountainous country
ano left her e. t and took you there to see
it.”
Kate listened in dumb horror. Peacock
saw she was about to taint ana lifted her to
the bed v h >re she lay lifeless. He did every
thing to restore consciousness, but get ting
fright ned, ran dowr and asked for a physi
cian, but was told there was none nearer
than five miles. He was sent for in hot haste
by the landlord, and on bis arrival was very
much fr gbtened at her condition. All the
ladies in tl.e house ren dered every assistance.
The d •ctor said she was dead and had died
from some very sudden shock.
Wner the officer returned and told Mary
he was unsuccessful and that Peacock had
made his escape into another State, she then
asked the merchant if he would purchase the
ftw th ngs she had which was some trunks
and a few clothes. He said be could not do
much with Hum, but would be willing to
give her half of what she asked for them.
Getting th“ r> oi ey, she got up what she could
carry, and bidding Pallie an affectionate
good-bye and cautioning her with regard to
those s le associated with. she told her never
to forget baby or herself and if ever the time
’ came w Leu she could assist ter she w culd.
THci l l.i l’II lM Ai «6-<«
She was now going to try to find her child.
She would try to get some work to support
life while she made the effort to find her dar
ling babe. She started in the direction Pea-i
cock went and had to carry her little bundle |
herself. Sallie grieved exceedingly at part- j
ing and went to her parents’ but and begged j
she might go with her, but they’ could not be i
prevailed on to consent and began her wofu! j
journey’ alone and on foot. Her intention j
was to walk to a small village which w’as j
sixty miles distant. She made her way the j
best she could, going nearly all day without |
eating and without stopping, and would eat
her biead as she trudged along. One evening,
more tired than usual, she seated herself on
a rook beside a spring, and was holding the
hard crust bread in her hand when quite an
old man came along; seeing her and thinking
she was sick, he came and a;ked if he could
assist her. This kindness from a rough old
stranger cheered her. She said she would
like to find some place to stay all night, that
she was tired and sick.
“My’ house, miss, is humble and poor, but
it is always open to the weary and sick and
you are welcome to the best 1 have.”
“I do truly appreciate your kindness, for
if ever a poor mortal needed rest, I do.”
The old m in took up her little bundle and
said:
“Come witb me.”
They went slow ly along until they reached
the spot where his cabin stood. When in the
house she asked how far it was to the town of
Yale ns she was going there.
“Miss, it is forty miles, and you don’t ex
pect to walk there, do you?”
“That is my only chance to get there. I
see no other way.”
“Well, miss, if I had a horse, you wouldn’t
go there on foot, and I would go w’ith you.
but you see I am a poor old man trying to
make an honest living on very poor land.”
Mary thanked him for his well meant kind
ness. She knew she had a long and weary
trip before her, but to find her baby was the
mainspring. She could forget hunger and fa
tigue m her exeitions.
When morning came she was a little rested
and wanted to pay something for their kind
ness, but they refused to take anything. She
thanked them kindly and began again her
weary journey.
Olio evening she stopped in a pretty grove
and sa’ dow n to rest; a while after she saw a
gang of rough locking men coming toward.-
her and prnyi d that they might not see her,
but they soon bawled out to her:
“Old gal, come take a drink with ns.”
She did not answ (r, but was greatly fright
ened. They came up to her and one said:
“By jingo! she was out late last night.
Look at her eyes how red they are. ”
Tremblingly she sai l:
“Oh! please, gentlemen, do not trouble me.
I am a poor, defenceless woman, trying to
make my way to some house.”
One ot the gang said:
“Well, how- would you like a handsome
fellow like me to take a trip with you threugh
this country,” and at the same time started
tow ards her.
She screamed aloud in her terror. Provi
dence protects the innocent, and just then a
carriage came dashing np the road. A gen
tleman in it, hearing tue screams, stopped
and came running to her. When the scamps
ran off, she soon told her pitiable tale of
wrong and how weary’ and tired she was. He
said:
i "You must go to town with me in my car-
! riage and not run these risks.” He told her
j he hud been taking his wife to see her sick
father. She told the gentleman as they went
on that she must find some employment to
get money to proceed on her journey. He
saw she was an educated woman and despite
her poor appearance, could see she was a lady
who had seen better days. He told her he
would assist her and would do anything in
his pow er to help her. She thanked him so
much for his kindness.
They arrived in town. She got a plain,
quiet, nice place to stay at and after looking
for a day or two, with the assistance of the
gentleman, secured a good situation in a mil
linery establishment; where she got a good
salary and lived comfortably and easy and
had hopes she would yet find her baby-. Her
unuttered prayer w’as, “Oh, God! protect
my child**’ This was her thought, day and
night.
CHAP1ER XXII.
Months had passed since Peacock and Kate
had left for New York, and no word was
heard from them’ The family could not im
agine wbat was the matter. Mrs. Anderson
saw that Mr. Anderson was in great trouble
and first thought it was at not hearing from
Kate; “But then,” she said, “there is some
other trouble beside that.”
He had been acting differently from his
u-ual custom. He had been riding over the
country to see men he had not been in the
habit of visiting. She would ask what
troubled him, but in a gruff and surly man-
he would answer, “Fools, let me alone t”
But ah! there was something wrong and it
was very serious. The money mortgage had
become due. Rollins had been to see him
and said he would be bound to have the
money right away and must close the mort
gage." Mr. Anderson asked for time. He said
Peacock was a very reliable man and would
send the money very soon He had not yet
heard from him, but he knew be was all
right and Kate and Mary who were in New
York now, ne knew would w’rite soon and it
wouldn’t be long before they would all come
with plenty of money.
“When did y ou last hear from Peacock?’
asked the pompous Rollins.
“Not a word since he left here.”
Rollins had set Peacock down as an im
postor and now he knew it and said old An
derson had not only lost one daughter, but
two. The Colonel was not a roan w ho would
listen to excuses, especially where a
dollar was at stake, and determined to close
out if he did not get the money the nex’
week. Anderson had written to New York
to ’lad Peacock and gave the name of the
street he said he lived on; but when an an
swer came saying no such man was living in
New York, tuen the old man was frightened
in earnest; he knew he could not get out of
paying that debt without losing bis valuable
land. He went home in a terrible rage: went
into bis room threw his hat on the floor and
raved in such a manner that his wife ran iu
to see what had happened, but all she could
get out of him was:
“Ob. yon cursed fools, you have ruined
me! Yes, I will Lave, I will leave and nev
er return! Oh, you cursed fools!” Hi got
out the letter and from New York and said:
“Look at that! look at that! Oh. where can
that man be with my daughters. ”
“Mr. Anderson, maybe it will all turn out
right yet”
“Yes, it will turn us all out of doors where
we will perish.”
“How can that be?’
“You know you all meddled with my busi
ness so much—you are always meddling,
curse you; I never can do anything, but you
, are meddling with—I will leave and never
sei one of you agin; then see whom yon
will meddle with. See what I have tried to
do for that lying scoundrel Peacock. He
has lied to me, he has lied to me! He brought
me a note from Mary, requesting me to send
her some money; they would only need it for
a short time. To accommodate them I gave
Rollins a mortgage on my farm for the three
thousand dollars”—here he yelled—“and to
morrow we wi 1 be sold out and God only
knows wr.it will become of us.”
Mrs. Anderson and Eva left the room near
ly distracted, not knowing what to think.
* “Mamma, can this be possible?”
“I am afraid it is too true,” sobbed the i
heart broken woman.
Mr. Anderson, left to himself, threw- over
cba!rs and tables, upset everything in bis j
way as he stamped through the room swear- |
iog and cursing everybody but himself.
“Oh. what will Mary and Kate think when ,
they return and find we have no home.”
“Oh, Eva, I am afraid they will never be |
permitted to come to us. I care less about
the loss of land. I am in deep dread for my
children’s safety.”
Poor woman! she disparaged no one to
save herself, but all knew’ she did rod ap
prove of Mary’s hasty marriage or Kite’s
going with Peacock. 8be now knew some
deep and dreadful villainy was going on
through Peacock. She as usual blamed her- j
sflf to spare that old fool husband of hers.
She was suffering untold agony for those
two poor lost children: she groaned in dis- i
tress at the thought of what might be their
fate: every thought brought pain worse than
death. Her husband cursed and raved at
her about the loss of his land, but she would
answer very meekly and try to console him,
which only made him worse.
One morning men began to gather in from
all parts, and some rode into the pretty yard
and hitched their horses to the shrubs and
shade trees. Anderson knew now all he had
was to be sold and his old friends were eager
to buy at as good a bargain as possible. At
last the sale began and as it was bid off, O'!
onel Rollins would ride back and forth in
front of the house to show his authority and
that he w r as the big man of the day. Agen
wanted to be there mighty bad to buy some
thing he had warned very much; but such is
the force of habit: he had always stood in a
sort of fear of Anderson’s mighty magnifi
cence. and it was nothing but a sheepish fear
that kept him away. Nintby said:
“Go, White: they are nobody now, and
hit’s jist what I always said they would corae
to, tne poor stuck ups. Hit does me real
good to see sich come down,” and she shook
her fat sides laughing. She got all the news
from the aistressei household by hailing
every passer-by. white or black.
The sale was over. It brought a few hun
dred dollars morp than the mortgage. Mr.
Anderson got notice to vacate in a short
time the home his wife and daughters had
beautified. No kind and friendly word was
spoken to these distressed ones. Envy had
hardened the hearts of some, and self-inter
est had made enemies of others.
Anderson resolved to leave the country and
go where he was not known and try to make a
living at something. It is almost useless to
try to describe such wretchedness as theirs.
With the mother this loss of property was not
; like the loss of or uncertainty about her poor
. children. In the depth of misery she and
; Eva bade a weeping adieu to their once hap
py home. UId Anderson feared the fatigue
he would have to undergo, thought it migh'y
i hard that he had to go to work m his old age
; and thought Mary was very mean to have
; asked for that money, to ruin him in order
to pamper up herself and Peacock.
As they traveled on for days—days of mis-
ety—he still cursed and grumbled. At last
they reached the village whe - e they exnect-
i ed to make their future home. It was a
small place, but only ten miles from a large
! city. The money they had left forced them
j to use the strictest economy. They rented a
small house with a few acres of land and
went to raising chickens for market. Eya
got up a little school where she made some
thing to help along. Mrs. Anderson took in
sewing and helped take care of the chickens.
Soon they werequi'e comfortable astophysic
al ronforts but the poor rr o'her still mourned
her lost children and the deep marks of unut
terable misery were too deeply marked on
her face to d< enve.
Old Anderson got the “chickenry” started
by every one but himself doing the work.
He would spend most of his time up town
w here, as he said, “he was very much dis
tinguished for his elegant conversation and
Lad got to be immensely popular.” While
he was idling away bis time his poor wife
was writing ro ail parts of the country try
ing to hear of her children, receiving no an
swers. She had to work with a broken
heart;, tryiDg to keep up, hoping that God
would some day take pity on her and help
her to find those loved ones.
CHAPTER XXIII
The old uncle’s family continued to treat
B -ss e worse and worse the longer they were
together. Mrs. Mitchel, the nurse who had
had charge of her since her infancy loved her
as a mother. Colonel Laurette in his affec
tion for the little waif would never allow her
to be neglected; he saw that Mrs. Mitchel’s
watchful care of her and it caused him to
make a confidant of hi- plans. He made her
promise him upon honor and her love for
Bes-ie, never to cease that watx hful care.
Truly and faithfully she obeyed him, and
watched with ceaseless love and care the
beautiful and witching girl who was left to
her. Tie new family were never from un
der her surveillance, not a moment except
when they slept. She even watched them to
their sleeping apartments. As all their sleep
ing rooms were contiguous, they would very
often meet there to discuss the time and pro
cess of driving Bessie into the street,
“Just let her do agin what she did to-day
and out she goes ”
“What on arth has she been doing agin.
She is aggravating, I do say, but I ’low I
w 11 fetch her down.”
“Why, pa, when Mr. Smith came express-
edly to see me she wouldn’t leave the draw
ing-room, as she calls it, but there she set
and set. She made him talk to her and she
wouldn’t let him say a word to me.”
Each had some similar complaint except
Apollo, who said:
“If she was rich I would marry her, for
she is dead in love with me, and I believe I
am a sick duck too. I do think she is real
purtj’, and I feel kinder sorry she loves me
sc, as I can’t marry a poor liody.”
There was one listening—as all advantages
are fair in war times—who with this knowl
edge could ward off the evil time of being
thrown “on the street,” as the enemies
termed it. But Bessie herself was now grow
ing weary and beart-sick at the rudeness and
almost brutality of the father, mother and
sisters. As for Apollo, he followed her con
tinually to tell her of the love be had for her
He would intrude on the privacy of her room.
At fir-t she ordered him ont in a jesting,
1 good humored way; but she was not obeyed,
i and to get rid of him would run down stairs,
j he following and bawling:
“When I ketch you I will kiss you.”
■ Mrs. Mitchel, the nurse, was never far
| from Bessie and saved her from his polluting
| t ueb. There was no rest for her here; this
i last scene made Bessie say: “I shall leave;
j they art always saying m company, ‘That
! gal! no such can stay in my house,’ aud that
wretched fool sot, that boy, why, he alone
will prevent my staying. I will not remain
among such had people. To be with bad
| people chokes me, 1 cannot feel natural
among them, and nurse, if these persons were
j good, as the term goes, why their ignorance
would di-gust me beyond measure. Nurse I
dear nurse! do invent some plan to let us get
! off and live somewhere quietly; I shall choke
| to death if I stay here much longer. 1 cannot
! stay w ith had people.”
Bessie burst into a passionate fit of crying,
and throwing her arms around her nurse*
neck, plead w ith her to carry her off some
where. The nurse said:
“Well, I will go and get the little mcney I
have and we will get ready to leave. I will
save your jewels for ye u, they were given
you by your dear papa.”
“Oh nurse, how can you saye them?”
“My dear child, I will give them tolawyer
Ford "and he will put them in the bank and
these creatures will never he the wiser.”
Mrs. Mitchel had charge of Bessie’s ward
robe, diamonds and other very valuable jew-
e a. Bessie never bad been troubled to take
charge of anything. Her clothes had always
bien laid out for her, every suit to fit the
occasion, as though she were some princess.
So nurse selected the jewels that were to be
put in the bank and leit the remainder for
Bessie’s use.
“Must I, dear nurse, lock myself in?”
“No, dear, but go to the library, they
never go there; go and select what books you
will want and what we can carry.”
“No, they never go there, but I vnll lock
the door I am so afraid of that sot. Ar.d
nursie, don’t be gone long, please, I am
always so nervous when you leave me.”
Mis. Mitchel saw’ Bessie safely in the
library, and then she went out, walking
very fast until she esme to law-yer Ford’s.
She went up the 6teps and rang the bell. The
old gentliman was standing by a window
and saw her—one would think he bad been
waiting for her. He eagerly and softly
opened the door himself and conducted her
! into a pr ivate parlor. After they; wero
seated, robbing his hands together, he quick
ly aake £
“Welt, Mitchel, how is my pet? and are the
vipers still snapping at her?”
“Oh, sir, they grow worse day by day;
she s-ys it will kill her to stay there.”
“Does that young devil still worry and
torment her with his love?”
“Oh, sir, it is that she says she can bear
with less patience than the others’ abuse.
She is begging me to go somewhere with her
and says she will work”—here a grim smile
wrinkled about the lawyer’s lips—“gome
place where she will be safe from insults. Oh,
tie poor child begs so hard to get awag.”
“Mitchel, you know about the will Lau
rette made." It has been recorded in the
place where he formerly lived, as he wanted
no one here to suspect she would have any
thing; he wanted to try the friendship of
relatives, lovers and friends; you know he
was a peculiar man and he wanted no man to
man y Bessie for her money. Now that will
says the property was to be left to Bessie and
his brother, who, by the way, he always had
a contempt for, and the brother was to have
charge of it until Bessie married, and that
she must live with his brother and his fam
ily for one year, and if they treated her
kindly they were to have two-thtrds interest
and Bessie one-third, but if they were malici
ous and unkind to her, or made threats of
driving her away, or used abuse toward her,
then they were not to have one cent’s worth
of that property and Bessie would inherit all
and every portion «f it. He tried to prevent
her being a prey to fortune hunters or dis-
I simulating friends. If left as his heiress he
was airaid she might be the victim of design
ing people. In her innocence she suspected
no one, but I think she has been made to learn
a sevtra lesson inexperience by this time,
poor child! Now I will give you some
directions how to proceed and I will hand
over to you the necessary funds to take you
to the citv you will see named in the direc
tions. Your means will be ample but I
don’t think it.prudent to take Bessie to a large
hotel. You will find here a letter of intro
duction aud a check for a thousand dollars.
Now keep Bessie in ignorance of these things.
Let her believe you must economize, it will
do her no harm to think she must depend on
herself, and she will not be thinking every
man and woman she meets is perfection
itself, let her know that everything that glit
ters is not gold.”
After a few more directions about the
route and so forth, the nurse left and
walked home very fast, as she had staid
longer than she anticipated. Arriving at
home she found the household in an uproar.
The uncle and aunt were in a terrible rage
because Bessie had struck their boy in the
face, drawing blood.
“Oh, she has knocked my teeth almost out
with that book,” he yelled.
The father screamed: “Leave my house (
this instant, you vile pauper, I will not let
you stay here to murder us alL”
Nurse took Bessie’s hand and asked how
all this came about.
“G t outen ray house, vouold sarpent, don’t
stand there ax n’ that pauper how it came
ab> ut,” screamed the mother.
Nurse paid no attention to the master’s and
mistress’s commands but listened to Bessie,
who said:
"That fellow saw me in the library through
a window, and slipping in, caught me round
the wai.-t and attempted to kiss me. With
the book in my hand I began beating him to
make him release me. At last I got away,
but to do so I had to hurt him,” and in her
excitement she fairly tiptoed, and looktng
bravely up she said:
“We are allowed to kill foul reptile* that
attempt to bite us.”
“Oh, husband, call in a policeman to put
her outen our house, for you see she gloues
in trying to kill our poor Mose*. Oh, hus
band be quick.”
“Oh, Pa w hy don’t you, for she told ms on
ly this momiDg that she would go in the par
lor to see just as much company a* she
pleased.”
The old man yelled at the nurse and Bessie
and asked what they were standing there
for? and if they didn’t make haste a nd get
oaten his house he would have them up be
fore a Justice as vagrants.”
Mitchel said, “When my young Mi* tres*
[CONTINUED OX EIGHTH PAGE.]
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