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THE EXPIRING YEAR.
ETA. MORSE.
To the fair mind the closing hours of day
Ne'er pass without a thorough winnowing of
The seeds through which their mystic mazes
silt,
Much less the last sad hours of this old year.
'TIS not that meditation drear and sad,
Should always crowd upon the shrinking
And thus embitter all the days of life
fis not that so-called dread eternify
o«*yer present to the mind should be
Or that the singing birds of hope should fly,
Scared by the phantoms fancy conjures up.
Man would belalse to nature and himself—
To God, as well—should he thus murdertime,
By constant dreaming on life to be.
Andyet, and yet, a sadness sometimes comes
At this sweet hour when joy more welcome
were—
When we do wish the winter rose to bloom
When we do wish the sun a brighter beam.
Those hallow'd names—those names of friends
once dear,
Despite ourselves, upon our mera'ries crowd.
'Tis now that we remember those who late
Have passed away—a husband or a wife—
A son, or daughter, or a prattling child—
A sister or a brother once so dear,—
Our thoughts go back to that remembered
time
In early life, when we th«* sports began,
Or, haply pressed with care or toil, we joined
Liie's burdens to relieve or hand .n hand
'Mid winter's blasts and snows severe, we
braved
It all, to gain the goal of our desires—
The school-house on the hill we used to
climb,—
'Tis now that we remember those we knew,
With many more who on life's Journey sped,
Before ourtinie—lite's journey to that land
Immortal, where we all must soon repair.
Who hath not lost a friend ?—a friend most
dear?
And who so base his virtues to forget
These are the mem'ries then that weigh the
heart,
As we the expiring hours ofthis briefyear
Now count and as we write, at close ofday,
The strange, sad news comes clicking o'er "the
wires
Which tells us of his unexpected death—
That he whose youth!ul voice ott cast a smile,
Or ott in sorrow, when in riper years,
Breathed the soft whisp'nngs of a hope ot
heaven,
Is gone—gone to that rest which waits us all.
Ah, yes!—the messenger arrives, nor yet—
Nor yet doth he a warning give of what
The lightly, halt-sealed package may con
tain—
With what sad news the missive now is
fraught.
Again we read those lines,—and is ii thus
A brother!—yes, a brother once so dear,
Hath gone to his long rest beyond the tomb.
Was it an angel then that spoke to us
The solemn sound we even seem to feel,
And now it this sadsound we heard aright,
And rightly »ve interpret that sweet voice,
It comes to us trom yonder spheres, where oft
Before in that sweet»pot—in thatbrightland
That h^ppy land that knows no partinghour—
No closing day, and no expiring year—
That land of beauty and ot periect bliss,
Hath gone a 6eraph there lor aye to rest.
In that bright train do we behold a host
Who've gone belore. Then wherefore sadness
now?—
Thefinalhour of this expiring year
But, ah! 'tis pleasant sometimes e'en to weep,
And sorrow oitenfindsrelief in tears.
And must we then unbidden grief restrain
It cannot be. Let other hearts rejoice—
Let other tcngues their joyous tidings tell
Their cup of^oy may even oveiflow,
And yet 'tis fitting some should oiten weep—
That those whose pathways are beset with
thorns,
And seldom yet have they with flowers been
strewn,
Should thus reflect—should thus these scenes
review,
That they may riper grow in wisdom's ways,
As each retiring day or year brines them
A day's, or year's march nearer to the end
Of lite's short iourney here on earth below,
And nearer, hence, to that bright Heaven
above.
River Falls, Wis., Dec. 31,1875.
A BOX OF DIAMONDS.
[From the Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic
News.]
Well, as I said before, as it's Christ
mas Eve, I don't mind telling you the
story. It's a good many years ago nowHe
since it happened, before the days of the
mail companies and Glasgow clippers,
when a man had to make his will and set
his house in order before putting his foot
on board a ship and when once you had
passed the Eddystone, it was almost a
hundred to one against you ever setting
foot again in old England. However, here
I am, laid up like an old hulk for the re
mainder of my days, with nothing to fall
back upon but my memories of the past
and sad memories some of them are, you
may stake your life. I was a young man
then, and had been knocked about the
Brazils and the West Indies—every
where in South America, I may say, for
I believe I made one of the first parties
of Englishmen to cross the Andes Valpa
raiso to Buenos Ayres, no light feat in
those days, I can tell you. I was a doc
tor by profession, and many a time, by
the exercise of my professional skill, I
have saved my own scalp among the sav
age Indians of the Pampas. I am not
going, however, to tell you anything
about the Indians now—some other time,
perhaps—a slice of lemon Thank yon
—and sugar that'll do. Now for my
story:
As 1 said before, I had been knocking
around a good deal in South America,
and shipped as doctor on board of an old
tab of a trader leaving Rio Janeiro, home
ward bound for Bristol, with a full cargo
and a couple of cabin passengers.
The Good Hope was commanded, by
Captain McFarlane, a hoary.headed old
Scotchman. John Williamson, first
mate, and a crew of thirteen hands, all
told, made up] of Englishmen, Dutchmen,
Swedes, and a couple of niggers, one of
whom was the steward's mate. We sail
ed on the 14th of December, a blazing
hot day, with scarcely a breath of wind
to fill the sails but the captain was
anxious to get away, as Yellow Jack jwas
in port, and he had no mind to Keep
knocking his heels in quarintine any long
er than he could Help. We had, however,
hardly got clear of Raza Islands when a'
breeze sprung up, and we were soon bowl
ing along as fast as an old ship could be
made to step along, all studding sailsjset,
and, so far, a clean bill ofhealth on boiard.
On the 21st, however, I was sitting
for'ard, getting a breath of fresh air,'and
smoking my pipe, when Pete, the stew
ard's mate, came up and summoned me
aft to see one of our two cabin passengers,
Mr. Win. Grierson, who had been very
unwell during the night, and began to be
afraid that he was in for a touch of the
fever. I went aft and saw him, but there
did not appear to be any very alarming
symptoms just at present, so I prescibed
some cooling medicine and left him.
He was, however, worse the next day,
and the next, yet it was not a case of
yellow fever, and there was something in
the symptoms that, I am not ashamed to
say, fairly baffled me. On the 24th he
was so much worse that I began to be
seriously alarmed, and communicated my
fears to the captain.
•'It is not the yellow fever, of that I am
sure."
"What is it then. Doctor?"
"Weli to tell the truth, I can hardly
say. Nothing that I can administer
seems to do him any good, and he is ev
idently sinking rapidly."
"Humph?" said the captain, myster
ious, to say the least of it. Docs he know
of his condition?"
The conversation was cut short by the
arrival of Pete, who informed us that Mr.
Grierson had been seized with a sudden
access of pain, and was apparently dying,
adding that the patient wished to see me
at once and alone. In obedience to the
summons I went below, and having shut
the cabin door, and administered the nec
essary remedies, asked the dying man
(for there could be little doubt he was
dying) the reason for his wishing to see
me.
"1 wish to see you. because I feel that
I am dying, and I can put off no longer
what I wish to say, if it is to be said at
all," responded the patient, feebly.
"Fetch that box from off the top of my
sea-chest, and listen—"
I brought it—a small oblong mahogany
box—and laid it by his side upon the
coverlet, and Mr. Grierson, laying his
hand on it, and at the same time detach
ing a key from a string|by which it was
suspended round his neck, with which
his linger played nervously during his re
cital, continued:
"I am a murderer. Aye! you may
stare, and think perhaps my mind is wan
dering, but is is the truth. Twenty-five
years ago—twenty-five years of misery—
I committed the deed which I am now, in
the presence of my maker about to con
fess. I was a clerk in a banking-house
in London, and the facilities and opportu
nities for speculation offered me were too
much for me to withstand, but circum
stances occurred which convinced me
that discovery could hardly be much
longer delayed, and I was casting about
how to make my escape whiie there was
yet time. Just at this juncture one of
the senior clerks in th.« house had to be
sent down to Bristol in charge of a very
large sum of money in gold, and I was
deputed to accompany him to guard the
treasure. In those times matters were
differently conducted from what they are
in the present day, and we£had to take
the money in a box, strongly secured and
sealed, with us, by the mail coach, which
started from one of the old inns in the
city for the west of England. There was
a sum of 2,000 guineas in the box, and
the idea suggested itself to my mind that
if I could become master of such a sum I
could get clear away by seme ship leaving
Bristol for foreign parts before the bank
could become aware of the fact of my es
cape. But how to get rid of my compan
ion. Briefly: for I feel my strength
sinking, and I must hurry forward to the
end of what I have to tell you. I pro
cured poison, which I poured into the
leathern bottle, in which I carried my re
freshment on the road, and, watching my
opportunity, offered it to him to drink.
sank back into a corner of the coach,
and in a few minutes was a corpse.
Emptying the remaining contents of the
bottle out of the window, and placing the
dead man in such an atitude as would lead
people to suppose he had died naturally'
in his sleep, I hailed the guard with every
simulation of trepidation, and stopped
the coach. The outside passengers got
down, and a scene of great excitement
occurred. At the next village, the local
doctor, who as it happened was a man of
no great skill, was sent for and dexter
ously insinuating to him that I had known
my companion to have suffered from the
heart disease of some years' standing,
with many compliments to the profes
sional acumen of the doctor himself, that
worthy was not long in pronouncing it a
case of sudden death from disease of the
heart: and I was suffered, in view of my
representations as to the urgency of my
mission to Bristol, to proceed on my
journey. This is the bare outline of my
crime, the details would only weary you
and my time is short, I succeeded in
leaving England and reaching Brazile,
where I have amassed a fortune. That
fortune is within the box which lies be
neath my hand,"
He paused, for a violent spasm seized
him, and it was not for some time that I
could recover him sufficiently to enable
him to proceed.
Raising himself in bed with difficulty,
he unlocked the box, and disclosed an
array of unset diamonds, whose brilliancy
fairly dazzled me.
"Here are $50,000 worth of diamonds,"
proceeded Mr. Grierson. "I have conver
ted all my fortune into these gems, and
these I intrust to your care. Take this
box at once to your cabin and return to
me for your instructions as. to the dispos
al of the contents."
I hesitated but he was imperative.
"Not a word. I am dying fast, and I
implore you to accede to my last re
quest."
I took the box, locked it, and left the
cabin.
AsJ opened the.door, I ran up against
Fete!
r.'
"What the devil are you doing here
"Nothing, Massa."
I passcdjon alone the main deck tow-
ard my cabin forward, and on my way I
met Captain McGarlane.
"How is your patient, Doctor
"Dying I fear. He cannot last long."
I passed on, and, depositing the box in
a place ofsafety, returned. Grierson was
rapidly sinking, and in a few broken sen
tences he instructed me as to the dispos
al of his property. Ten thousand
pounds was to go the bankers, Messrs.
Holt & Wardley. of Lombard street, and
the balance to the family of the murder
ed man, whose name was given me, and
whose representative I pledged my word
to do my best to discover.
Finally, binding me over not to dis
close what I had just been told, except
to the parties named by him in his dying
request, Grierson relapsed into a partial
insensibility, from which I in vain at
tempted to rouse him, and before half an
hour had elapsed the unhappy man washad
no more.
Going on deck communicated the
news to the captain, who gave the nec
essary directions as to the funeral, which
took place the next day and once more
we were plowing our way through the
blue waters as if nothing had happened.
I was an altered man. The strange
commission with which I had been intrust
ed weighed on my mind. Over and over
again in the stillness of the night, I open
ed the box of diamonds, and gazed on the
brilliancy of the gems. What proof was
there that they were not mine! the box,
with its brass plate bearing the owner's
name, could be destroyed in a moment,
and then—. Over and over again the devil
whispered to me, but, thank God, I re
sisted the temptation. I would fulfill the
trust confided to me, and 1 prayed fer
vently for strength to resist -the evil
promptings of my baser self.
One day I sat alone, the box unlocked
on my table, gazing with an irreppressi
ble curiosity, which I was unable con
trol, on the jewels, which scintillated
with a devilish luster before my dazed
vision. The door suddenly opened, and
Captain McFarlane entered.
"I beg your pardon, Doctor. Didn't
know you were engaged." But before I
could close the box or reply his eye had
caught the shimmer of the brilliants.
"Halloo! what's herd"
With a firm hand he closed the lid and
read the name upon "the plate. Innocent
as I was, involuntary stung by the re
membrance of what my thoughts had
been but a, moment before. I quailed be
fore his eye.
"I know all now—that man was poison
ed—consider yourself my prisoner."
I endeavored to explain. I told every
thing as it had occurred, and I appealed
to the captain to believe the story, or at
least to await its reasonable confirmation,
before acting on his rash conclusion. He
was incredulous. One concession I ob
tained, and that was that all should be
kept secret till our arrival in poit, and
that I should not be publicly branded as
a- suspected murderer before the crew.
A fortnight passed away, a weary fort
night, during which I repeatedly endeav
ored to shake the conclusion at which
Captain McFarlane had so hastily arrived.
Suddenly, without a moment's warning,
the captain fell sick. I begged him to
accept my services.
"Never you shall not poison me, too."
Davs passed, and the captain got worse
and worse he babbled in his delirium of
poison, and stolen jewels and night and
day I watched at his bedside, jealously
excluding everybody who might per
chance overhear his ravings and rise up
in judgement against me.
One day the crisis came. A few hours
would determine all. If he died 1 was
once more a free man, free from the im
putation of afoul crime, free to carry but
my honest intention of fulfilling the dead
man's wishes, but also free from the
dread of exposure which to me would be
worse as a bare suspicion than death
itself.
If the captain could but sleep his life
would be saved. How easy to make that
sleep his laEt—the devil was at my elbow,
the laudanum in mv hand. But at my
sorest need the strength to resist was
given me. I poured out the proper dose,
and advanced toward the cot in which
the captain lay. A strange light was in
his eyes. Rising suddenly, and throwing
the bed-clothes off his tall, lean, sinewy
form, he half leaped from the bed andcions
seizing the box of diamonds, which he
had throughout his ilness never allowed
from beneath his pillow, in one hand, he
shrieked—
"Never, never! Will you allow me to
be poisoned like a dog Help some
of you." The effort was too much:
clasping the box to his bosom he fell
back on his pillow—a convulsive shudder
passed over his frame—he was dead.
I don't pretend to analyze my feelings
at that moment. My reason well-nigh
deserted me. I did not stop to think of
the possible consequences. Snatching
the box from the relaxing grasp of the
corpse I rushed from the cabin and fell
over Pete, tha negro, who was just out
side.
"See to the captain he is dead," and I
sped onward but the powerful negro had
his hand upon my arm.
"Massa Doctor not go so quick—Massa
Grierson dead, Cap'n die, too—Doctor
got his box of jewels. Give up dat box,"
and the negro seized me in his grasp and
struggled with me for the possession' of
the box.
At that moment the strength of a lion
was in me I wrestled with my assailant,
and. freeing myself from his grasp, made
for the companion stairs. I had reached
the deck, with what intention I knew not,
but Pete was again with me, wrestling
with the strength of a demon for the pos
session of the prise.
The ship was rolling heavily in a dead
calm, and, as we fell together, we slid
across the deck towards the ice scuppers.
With a superhuman effort 1 freed my
right arm, and, with all my force, threw
the box over the quarter-deck railing. It
flew open as it fell into the sea, and" Sfi
the moonlight the diamonds fell like a
shower of falling stars into the black
water.
The negro, seeing my movement, left
his hold of me, and sprang forward to
catch the box as it fell. A heavy lurch,
and I was alone on the deck.
The rapidity with which everything
had taken place seemed to have stunned
me, and deprived me of the power to ut
ter even one cry for help—Pete and the
diamonds were gone forever.
I look round—the deck was deserted,
save the man at the wheel, who half hid
den by the wheel-house, had not seen the
struggle.
Can I be blamed? I held my tongue.
The captain was burried at dawn, and
the chief officer took command of the ship.
It was clear that Pete had fallen over
board, and.no one suspected the share I
had in the catastrophe. In due time
we arrived at Bristol, and, for my own
satisfaction, I instituted the necessary in
quiries as to the individuals named by the
man Grierson. The bank had long ceased
to exist. I trased some vague rumor of
a man having died suddenly in a stage
coach while passing through an obscure
village in Somersetshire, but could never
obtain any clue to his representatives. It
was, perhaps, as well that I failed. I am
still a poor man, but I would rather die
so than accept the possibility of becoming
rich at the terrible risk which attended
the unlucky bequest of the Box of Dia
monds.
PURSUED TO THE DEATH.
In the year 1812, the western portions
of Pennsylvania, embracing the mountain
ous regions between Chambersburg and
Pittsburg, presented little more than an
unbroken wilderness, through which the
great road from Philadelphia to the head
waters of the Ohio valley passed and at
that period it was a lonely and dangerous
pathway to all wayfarers between the I
Eastern cities and the great Western
wilderness of Ohio and Kentucky.
About midway of this road, and in a
dismal locality, was located an inn, kept splintered
by an honest Well-to-do German named
Stottlers. The house was a small one,
but the accommodations were ample suffi
cient for the travel that came that way.
In the spring of the year mentioned there
came from the stock-raising region around
Pittsburg a drover, who, with hisflockof
well-fattened bullocks, was on his way to
Philadelphia. He was well armed, and
mounted on a horse of spotless whiteness.
In conversation with the inmates of
Strottlers' inn—the mosjt of whom were
ordinary hunters—he stated with reserve
the objects of his trip, and communicated
the fact that on his return he would stop
at the tavern with the proceeds from the
sale of his cattle in his possesson.
On the day following his arrival the
stranger departed for the East. About
three weeks thereafter, or at the time he
was expected to return, two Canadian
Frenchmen, of villainous appearance and
both heavily armed, arrived at Strott
lers', and, after breakfasting, continued
their journey eastward. In less than an
hour they returned, accompanied by a
third traveler, who was mounted on a
white horse that closely resemlcd that
ridden by the Pittsburg drover. This
third party, in the course of his conversa
tion with the landlord, stated that his
name was Pollock, that ho lived near the
residence of General Arthur St. Clair, in
Westmoreland county, and that he was
on his way to rejoin his wife and his chil
dren, from whom he had been separated
for some weeks. He stated also that he
was a farmer, but possessed of small
means. The contents of his purse were,
however small they might be, at the dis
posal in equal shares with destitute trav
elers, such as those whose companv he
was in, and whose expenses to Pittsburg
he expected to pay.
After partaking of some refreshments,
the three men then took the road west
ward. In less than an hour Stott
ler and his brother-in-law, John Lam
bert, a blacksmith by trade, and thorough
frontiersman, were startled while in con
versation on the porch outside the inn,
to see Pollock's riderless horse approach
ing them at a gallop. As the animal
neared them they saw that he was be
spattered with blood, and Lambert, who
had just been communicating his suspi
of the Frenchmen, insisted that the
farmer had been murdered, and urged an
immediate pursuit of his companions.
The servants about the inn were at
once mounted and sent out to scour the
country for assistance, while Lambert
and his less energetic relative busied
themselves in preparing their horses and
arms for the chase. By noonday about a
dozen of men residing nearest the inn,
congregated at the general rendezvous,
and, with Lambert for a leader, were soon
in pursuit of the murderers. After a
journey «f about one mile, the party
came to the scene of the murder. Here
they discovered the evidence of a terrible
Struggle. The snow which lay upon the
ground was much trampled and greatly
discolored with blood, and a few feet
away from this scene lay the corpse of
the murdered man, wedged in between
two logs, and covered with the rubbish
of leaves and broken twigs. Two balls
had passed through the body, and in the
breast were several gaping wounds that
had evidently been inflicted with a large
hunting-knife. One of the hands of the
deceased was terribly disfigured, as he
had evidently grasped the knife, which,
being drawn through bis fingers, nearly
cut them twain. His clothing was
badly torn, while his countenance indi
cated the intense agony of his dying mo
ments.
It appeared, from the foot tracks in
murderers had set their horses free or
.. .- I suffered during that confinement God
the snow leading to the west, that the only knows. Now I am livine in the
same town and street in which my
been compelled to part with them, and daughter resides. I see her daily play
this seemed a wise precaution on their ing with other children, and almost ev
part, as the mountainous condition of ery day she comes to hear me play on the
the COUntrV ahead «f ttlMn nn^«r»J «n«nnv." »o eti» o.llo "«,,y ni.n/.. II«_
panny,"asshe calls "m piano How
travel by, ^qpt, to .those accustomed to my heart yearns to clasp her to my bo
such exertion, far more expeditions than som and tell her that lint her mother,
by horseback. Lambert and his com
panions knowing this to be the case, de
terminded to follow their prey on foot
also. Accordingly the major part of the
party at once continued on the trail,
while three or four of the men removed
the body and the horses to Stottler's
inn. Shortly after night had fallen,
Lambert's associates became dissatisfied
with their errand, and in a body returned
to the inn.
The intrepid blacksmith notwithstand
ing this demoralizing defection, contin
ued the pursuit alone. After traveling
in a northwestern direction for twelve or
fourteen miles, became to an old and
disused road, running nearly parallel
with the one he had left. This was ctlled
the "Old Pennsylvania Trace," .between
Philadelphia and Red Stone Old Fort,
situated on the waters of the Mononga
hela river. It was the first road ever
opened between Eastern Pennsylvania
and the head-waters of the Ohio river
and the ancient land-marks, "three chops
and a blaze" were still visib'e by dav
light on the old trees. This ancient road
and land-marks were adopted by the sur
veyors and openers of roads in the West
to propitiate Heaven in favor of the first
settlers of the great western wilderness
and hen the first chop was for the
Father, the second for the Son, and the
third for the Holy Ghost and the blaze
was merely designated to attract the eye
of the observer.
When Lambert struck this old road,
he discovered on the north side of it a di
lapidated log-cabin. Approaching the
cabin, he noticed a light within, and,
feeling satisfied that the murderers were
close at hand, he gave a loud cough.
This brought to the rear door of the
house the old woman who occupied it,
and who obtained a living by selling
cakes and beer to passing wayfarers.
Lambert, in a feigned voice, asked to
spend the night within, and was at once
admitted. He had but crossed the
threshold when the report of a musket
was heard in the next room, and the ball
the woodwork above his
head.
Without a moment's hesitation, Lam
bert, with nothing but bis tomahawk in
his hand, sprang into the next room and
struck down the man in whose hand was
the still smoking musket. The villian's
companion, ths smaller man of th two,
at once fled the house, but before he had
passed beyond the light of the fire with
in, the avenger with the wretch's own
rifle, brought him to the earth in a strug
gle with death that lasted but a second.
As soon as he had fired the shot, Lam
bert turned upon the prostrate murderer,
who was about to arise, and struck him a
secand time, felling him to the floor again.
He then, with a rope furnished him by
the old woman, bound the villian's hands
and legs securely. In the morning the
avenger .borrowed a horse from the wo
man, strapped upon its back the living and
dead murderers, and before nightfall ar
rived at^Stottler's inn. On the following
day the living man was publicly lynched
in front of the inn, and the bodies were
then consigned to an unhonored grave.
Lambert's companions, craven-hearted
as they had proven themselves, were
loud in praise of their daring leader, who
until the day of his death, was a hero
in the humble circle of life in which he
was placed.
IN
HISTORY OF A DARK ROMANCE
REAL LIFE.
[From the Vallejo, Cal., Chronicle, January 8.]
The letter below, printed Verbatim tt
literatim from the original, was picked
up many years ago on a trail in the Sier
ra Nevada mountains. Bearing in mind
that it is not a fictitious effusion, but a true
narration of facts, which now appears in
print for the first time, it is beyond
doubt one of the most touching and "sim
ply pathetic things ever -written. Pro
fessional novelists who study pathos as
a fine art might read it with profit, the
man who could resist such an appeal
must have a heart of stone
WHEELING, May 1st, 1857—My dear
Ebcn: Long and weary have been the
hours and days since last I heard from
you. Oh, why am I thus neglected and
forgotten What crime have I committed
that you should thus abandon me, forgot
ten and alone But I will not repine at
the decrees of fate, although my lot be
ever so hard: Could you but rightly
judge of the love that dwells in this heart
of mine—that love, pure and stainless as
the driven snow—could you but feel that
this love is all your own, clinging to you
as the ivy tendrils to the giant oak—
could you feel this, and experience but
one-half the love for me that I do for
you, I know that I should soon be happy
in your presence. This horrid suspense
is killing me—dragging mej slowly bat
surely to my grave. I have received but
two letters from you within the last year,
and over six months has passed away
since you wrote the last. Oh, Eben. do
write me and let me know the worst. If
I am forgotten and forsaken—if those oft
repeated vows of yours were only made
to be broken—if you do not intend to re
turn and make me your wife, then tear
away the veil, and let-me know the truth,
should it pierce like a dagger to my
heart. Oh, have I not aright to ask you to
fulfill those oft-repeated promises of mar
riage which only can make me an honest
woman, and give to our daughter her fa
ther's name Six long years have passed
away since our little Mary first saw the
light of day and, oh! what years of an
guish to me, deprived of my child before
it was scarce an hour old, before I had
time to clasp it in one fond embrace, or
imprint but a single kiss upon its cheek
—then bid it farewell forever. Oh, what
and that she is my own dear, dear child.
Could you but know*the anguish of a
mother's heart, separated as I am from
her child, seeing her every day and not
daring to acknowledge her, having Her
climb into my lap and wipe the unbidden
tears from my eyes and kissing them
from ray cheeks, pillowing her head upon
my bosom, and I not daring to express a
mother's love in return—could you but
feel the same blighting anguish that I
then feel, you would, 1 think, pity and
compassionate me, and make me your
lawful wife in the sight of man as I am
already in the sight of heaven and God.
Now 1 entreat you to let me take our
daughter and join you in California. I
am still young, not yet twenty-three
years old. To be surei sorrow has some
what faded my cheeks, but your presence
and that of my child would soon make
them rosy again. My father's estate is
now settled, and I am his only heir, and
have enough for us both during our nat
ural lives. With £6,000 you could estab
lish yourself in a business which in a
short time would make you independent.
Do I pray you, grant my request, and if
you will not marry me, then let me be
your mistress, as 1 am in the sight of
heaven your wife. I was your mistress
once—had I not been I migth have been
your wife. In an unguarded hour, where
you threw all of your seductive wiles
around me, and swore to make me your
wife, I yielded and fell. I was yonng
and trusting, loving with all a woman's
heart and soul, worshiping you as my
idol, believing and placing implicit confi
dence in your word, trusting my honor
in your hand?, and my destiny at your
disposal. True the world knows not of
my dishonor. The precautions you took
screened me from ihe eyes of the world.
Only three know that 1 am a mother—
yourself, myself and the attending phys
ician. The people to whom 70U intrust
ed our Mary have been unable to fathom
the mystery and find out the mother of
their charge, ner do they even know the
name of its father. They have often
told me the full circumstances of their
receiving the child, the stipulation made
betweaa you and them, and the punctual
receipt of S100 per year for its support
from California but can give no clue to
her parentage. How oft have I been on
the point of confessing all, but my oath
to you I will keep. 1 have of late had
strange, wild dreams. I dreamed that I
was forgotten, and that you were about
to marry another, and that I should
never see you again. Oh, tell me—say
it's nothing but a dream and that you
will fulfill your vows. How much I have
suffered for you—how much endured.
Now do, 1 entreat you let me have my
reward. Once more, 1 beg of you, let me
come to you, and make me your wife—
yes, your menial, and I will bless you
and love you with all of a woman's fond
and ardent love. A few words in regard
to our child, and then I am done. She
is a very interesting child she has the
hair and eyes of her father her form is
perfect her features are perfect, and
Mrs. S told me one day, resembled
mine. How my heart throbbed! and it
was with a superhuman effort that I
controlled my feelings sufficient to avoid
suspicion. She is a most beautiful child.
Oh Eben, does not her father's heart
sometimes yearn to see and clasp his
daughter in his arms Have you no de
sire to see your Mary, your daughter I
know you must. She is worthy of an
honest name and an acknowledged father.
Do write me on the receipt of this, and
relative to my sorrowing heart. I have
had several offers of marriage, but re
fused them all for I am yours aisd
yours alone. Do write, and I pray
and beg of you to acceed to my wishes
and your promises. From your affec
tionate and loving
It is clear the poor, betrayed creature
who wrote the above was a woman of in
telligence and some education. A sadder
case of lifelong misery and anguish could
not be found.' Invention could hardly
add a circumstance of more dramatic pa
thos to this real tragedy. For the credit
of human nature, it would be well if we
could say that the letter did melt the
heart of the person to whom it was
addressed. But unhappily, from the ev
idences of anotherletter found with the
one copied above,'it is pretty certain
that the recipient did not at least imme
diately comply with the petition nrged
with such touching eloquence. The
finders of the letters identified the man
who received it with a reasonable degree
of certainty, and found him to be a team
ster and a former resident of a town in
Ohio directly opposite Wheeling, Virgin
ia, whence the letter was sent.
"ANUDDER ME MB AH OB DE LEGIS
LATURE."
[From the Atlanta Constitution
A lean, hungry-looking darky debark
ey from the Macon train yesterday after
noon, and, with a slab-sided carpet-sack
dangling in his grasp, approached one of
the negro hackmen at the entrance of the
depot.
"Pardner, kin yer tell me whar I kin
find a cheap boardin' house
"How cheap ?', asked the hackman.
"De cheapes' in de town I isn't par
tikler whar it am said the stranger.
The hackman eyed the slim negro a
moment and then he gave an awfully aud
ible guffaw.
"What's de matter now asked an
other of the Jehus.,
"Hyar's anudder membah ob de legis
latur hab arriv!" was the response.
Amid the laughter of the crowd the
lath-like darkey disappeared.
An Indiana editor says spring is ap
proaching for he saw two snakes the
other day. But when an Indiana editor
sees snakes it is a stronger sign of a fall
than spring.
"Oh, we don't mind: the fourth story,"
said an Ohio Congressman's wife in
choosing Washington: lodging the other
day ^we can go up and down in the ven
Itilator*"
