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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, May 07, 1865, Image 3

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Sunday Edition. May 1.
THE REJECTED STUDENT TO HIS LADY,
I loved thee—even from a ehild,
And vowed, ere youth had flown,
To climb the hights that Fame had piled
To make thee all mine own.
These hollow cheeks, this burning brow,
And fitful, hashing eyes,
Attest how well I kept that vow
To win—a worthless prize.
I conn’d the Oriental lines
Of many a musty page.
And soann’d the weird and wild designs
Of men of every age ;
I climbed o’er history’s hoary bills,
And trod the classic shore,
To bathe in bright, Pierian rills
Of antiquated lore.
Hour a*ter hour from dreams I stole,
While earth was wrapped in rest;
One sleepless thought within my seal
Inspired me to my best; „
Till with hot hands I snatch’d from Fam©
Bare wreaths ot rich renown, .
Which mere oft than wealth can claim
Its levered brow to crown.
But now, my fairest hopes are gone,
Like evening, lone and bleak.
When Autumn’s sun descends to dawn
On Winter’s chilly cheek ;
And lif e’s ideal dream is o’er,
(That dream indulged too long )
Whicu ever urged my soul to soar
Above the common throng
For golden garland is at last
More valued than the one
That academic hands had cast
O’er Fortune’s humbler son.
And yet, this bleeding heart could view
The misery thine has made,
Hadst thou not thrown thy tauntinge, too,
O’er him thou hast betrayed.
Henceforth, like thee, he’ll be that thing
That mocks at others’ woe ;
That can the clearer, sweeter sing
As do the taster flow
The bitter, and half lava tears
Which burning hearts have poured.
When hopes, to which they clung for years,
IFere withered with a word. J
MY MARRIAGE.
08,
THE DREADFUL WIDOW.
I was making my way through a crowd in
a by-street which I supposed had collected for
the contemplation and enjoyment of some
trifling and contemptible disturbance, but into
which at the time I "was not in the mood to in
quire, when my course was arrested by a pair
of beautiful large black eyes under a lady’s
veil, which met mine with a mute appeal that
I could not, for a moment, resist.
“ What is the matter ?” I demanded of the
possessor of the bright black eyes.
A remarkably sweet voice replied, “ I have
ventured to interfere in behalf of a child I
saw the people abusing, but I am afraid that,
without some assistance, my efforts will be un
availing.”
“We wasn't abusing it,” cried several rough
voices together. “She was only fighting with
little Mike, and she’d a got the best of him,
too, if ye’d let her alone.”
“ It is quite enough,” said the lady with
spirit, her splendid eyes flashing as she spoke,
“that your sex should disgrace itself in this
way. I shall not allow mine, especially such
a little creature as this, to. make a savage
brute of itself, if I can help it.”
“You are right, madam,” I said. “The
man who would see your sex dragged into the
prize-ring must have little respect for his own
mother. You are Quixotic, however, to as
sume the duties of this child’s natural protec
tors. Where are its parents ?’ ’
“Dead,” cried three other little children in
chorus.
“Where—how docs this little girl live,
then ?”
“She lives with Miss Fanny Flink, and
does errands for her.”
“What sort of a person is she?” inquired
Hie dark-eyed lady.
“ She dresses finer than you do, ma’am,"
replied one of the female bystanders: “but
she is not exactly the person to bring up a child
in the way it should go, as she has strayed a
long way out herself.
The pointed truthfulness of this remark
raised a laugh among the acquaintances of Miss
Fanny Fink.
The lady in the meantime, had not let go
her hold on a half-clad, sturdy little girl, whose
face was flushed with passion and discolored
with blood, dirt, and tears. She stooped
down to her now, raising her veil, and said,
“Little one, if you will go with me, I will
find you a good home. You shall have nice
clothes, enough to eat, and be taught to read
and write. What do you say ?”
The sweetness and beauty of the lady’s face
supprised me; the child seemed quite over
powered by her gentle influence, and re
plied, “Yes, ma’am, I will go with you any
where.”
At this conjuncture a policeman arrived on
the spot, and the lady at once addressed her
self to him, explaining the case, and shortly
afterward she walked away, leading her little
charge, escorted by the guardian of the peace.
Although much pressed for time, I lingered to
look after her till she turned the corner ; for
never had I seen a face that seemed to me
half so lovely as hers, and it haunted me ever
after.
I had, however, at that time too many trou
bles of my own to afford time to look after
those of others. A very long and expensive
law-suit had exhausted the once handsome
fortune that had long kept my family in so en
viable a position, and left me nothing but fal
lacious hopes and illusive expectations. My
father died during the slow progress of the
litigation ; the lawyer who had commenced
and so long conducted it also died before its
conclusion ; and it appeared too probable that
my mother, too, would pass away without the
satisfaction of knowing that so much money,
thought, anxiety and suspense had not been
entirely thrown away. very ill; and
I foresaw with certainty that the slender thread
which held her to this life would snap, if the
final decision in our cause, which it was be
lieved would soon be rendered, should be
against us; for it would necessitate the sale of
all that remained to us, and leave us little bet
ter'than beggars. It was our last stake, upon
which all our hopes and confidence had gradu
ally concentrated ; and if that were lost we
had nothing more to lose —nothing but blank
despair to encounter, which we durst not an
ticipate.
The lawyer who, at the time, conducted our
suit was an old friend of my father’s—success
ful, rich, independent, and surly ; and, as he
had undertaken the case more from friendly
than pecuniary motives, did not attempt to
disguise the truth and probabilities from me.
But I could not, would not look forward to
anything but triumph, and chose rather to re
gard his discouraging tone as one of the means
he employed to enhance the value of his ser
vices in achieving success. He was a good
man at heart, that old lawyer, and his pene
tration was wonderful; but ho was not apt to
spoil his medicine by over-sweetening it, and
my pampered palate rebelled not a little
against its disgusting but wholesome bitter
ness.
I had a long hunt after an important female
witness, whom I found at last in a garret, dy
ing of consumption. And whom should I
find, sitting like a ministering angel at her
bedside, but the beautiful black-eyed lady
whom I had lately met, the champion of the
little abandoned orphan girl 1
“It is in such places as this, where a good
angel is most needed, and not in the circles of
gaiety and fashion, that I must seek you, I
see,” exclaimed I, gazing upon her with irre
presible admiration.
The lady blushed deeply ; and, as soon as
she had recovered from her momentary confu
sion, observed, quietly, that she was simply
performing a duty to which an old friend of
her mother’s was fully entitled.
While obtaining the deposition of her pa
tient, I had several opportunities of convers
ing with this excellent beauty ; and her mod
est elegance and graceful ease captivated my
soul.
One evening I was permitted to accompany
her in search of a conveyance ; aud, as I had
resolved to express my sentiments freely to
her on the first available occasion, I was, as is
usual in such cases, much embarrassed when
it presented itself.
“Your patient is dying, I fear.”
“ She is conscious of the approach of her
deliverance ; and as such she regards it.”
“ It is an angel’s office you fill in smoothing
her path to the grave.”
“Do not flatter me, sir. It is but little I
can do, and flattery seems to nre to make that
little less than nothing.”
“I assure you I express my admiration in
most stinted terms; were I to tell you all I
think and feel I might indeed surprise you.”
“ Then let me entreat your forbearance.”
“It is unkind, not to say harsh, in you to
forbid the utterances of a heart so sincere and
full as mine.”
“It is my kindness, my consideration for
you that induce me to check this excessive lau
dation, because I know you will repent it.”
“ Impossible! I not only admire you more
than any being I ever saw, but I feel that you
are worthy of my worship, and that I love
you.”
“Say no more, I entreat. If you knew
who and what I am, you would confess the
folly of which you are guilty. You tell me
you are unfortunate and unhappy ; I pity you
—but there is a gulf between us, and you
would only render yourself more wretched by
attempting, blindly and rashly, to cross it.”
“ Are you married ?”
“Do not aslc, Hgre let our acquaintance
cease. You have fio more occasion to visit my
patient; aud you surely would not deprive
her of the presence of her last remaining
friend, as you will do if you persist in intrud
ing upon her. Here then let us part, and for
ever.”
She stopped a cab, allowed me to help her
into it, and left me in mystery and gloom.
She had cressed my dark path like a heaven
ly apparition ; and her disappearance ren
dered everything about me hopeless anddreary
as despair.
c- o s a e
The treacherous - law, after having lured us
on to ruin, decided against our claims, and ex
torted the last remnant of our property to pay
its ccsts. To communicate this fact to my
mother would have been like inflicting her
death-blow; and after meditating long upon
the subject, I found myself, unequal to the
painful task, and went once more to our old
lawyer, to ascertain whether there was no pos
sibility of compromising the matter so as to
postpone the evil day, aud leave my mother
awhile in possession of her home and comforts.
I met a lady descendlog the stairs, who had
just come out of his office, whose physiognomy
was of that unusually repulsive character which
imprints itself indelibly on the memory, aud
ever after, in dreams and reveries, in sleep aud
in wakefulness, rises from time to time to our
mental vision with horrible distinctness, shock
ing us with the fullest sense of the dread ugli
ness of human malformation. I thought of
the wonderful contrast between this creature
and the delicate beauty I loved in vain.
The old lawyer was in, and grasped my hand
with sympathetic cordiality. I stated the ob
ject of my visit.
“ Well, my young friend,” said he, “ I have
anticipated your wishes, and have just been
talking with the successful party. She is by
no means inexorable ; but, to tell you the
truth, there are no grounds of compromise
left. You have lost all—the widow has won
all. If she accords you anything, it will be
simply a donation —nothing more nor less.”
“ Is there no resource left by which I can,
for the time, ward off this final, and to my
mother, I fear, fatal blow ?”
“ None in law.”
“ In what, rhen?”
“ In yourself.”
“How in myself?”
“In your person. You are young and
handsome. I don’t say so to flatter you, but
to make my meaning clear.”
“ Well?”
“Well, marry the widow.”
“Marry her! I would rather hang myself
at once.”
“ You should know best how fit yon are to
die. I am afraid your education and habits
have totally unfitted you for business and use
fulncrs.”
“ But this marriage is absurd, impossible.”
“lam not in the habit of proposing absurd
ities and impossibilities. If you will authorize
me to act, you will find it no such thing. Will
you do so?”
“ Not for the world ?”
“ Understand that I have not urged this
matter on your behalf, but for the sake of your
mother and sister —especially on account of
your mother, for whose life you pretended a
moment ago to feel an amount of solicitude
that would enable you to make any sacrifice.”
“ For the momentl did not think of them.”
“It is time you did. Since my counsel is
so very unpalatable, perhaps you will conde
scend to inform me what you propose to do.”
“ Anything else; but this is too horrible.”
The old lawyer turned his chair round, and
commenced writing at his desk as coolly as if
he had been an ingenious machine invented
for io other purpose. I thought on his propo
sition till I grew sick and faint. The recollec
tion of the consummate charms of her I loved
added a honor to the aspect of hate, such as
she wore whom I was invited to make my own,
and I could not bring my heart or lips to say
yes to such a destiny. At last I rose and said:
“ I will call tomorrow and give you my de
cision.”
“Very well, replied the old man, without
turning his head or ceasing to write.
I went home and attempted to prepare my
mother for the ruin that had befallen us, but
in approaching the subject found that it was
more than she could endure, aud relinquished
the effort in despair. To my sister I ventured
to tell the truth ; and she wept bitterly, not
for herself, but for our only parent, whom she
assured me would inevitably expire on hearing
the news.
“ Is there nothing on earth that you can do,
Edward, to prevent this?”
“Yes.”
“ And won’t you do it ?”
“ I cannot bring my mind to it.”
“Is it dishonest ?”
“ N—o, I don’t know that it is, but very re
pugnant to my feelings.”
“ I am sure I would do anything for mam
ma.”
“ Would you marry the man you abhor ?”
“ To save mamma’s life —yes.” «
“ Well, then, I will not be outdone by you
in filial affection.”
“ What do you mean, Edward ?”
“ I will tell you to-morrow. In the .mean
time cheer up. I will save our mother aud
you, but at great sacrifice—Heaven only knows
how great.”
My sister flung her arms around my neck,
kissed me affectionately, called me by many
endearing names, and I felt as if I almost de
served them, exaggerated as they were.
I communicated my decision to my lawyer
the next day, telling him that since I could
not marry for love, I would marry for hate.
lie uttered a sort of grunt, and replied :
“ Few marriages begin in that way ; but
with too many love is merged in antipathy as
soon as the honeymoon is well over. Your
prospect of connubial happiness is the brighter,
as it cannot change but for the batter. If you
knew the lady as well as I do, you would en
tertain no misgivings on the subject.”
On the second day after this interview I re
ceived Mrs. Barrington’s card, and a written
request from my lawyer that 1 would call upon
her without delay, as he had settled the pre
liminaries in the most satisfactory manner. I
did not fly on the wings of love to the stately
mansion of my bride elect, as there had been
little choice in the matter, but walked thither
like a man who had volunteered to be hanged.
On my arrival I was ushered into a hand
some drawing-room, in which I was kept wait
ing for about a quarter of an hour, when, at
last, the lady appeared. She did not look
handsomer than when I met her on the stairs,
leading to my lawyer’s office. On the con
trary, the relation in which she now stood
with respect to myself, and the finery she had
piled upon her person, rendered her, in my
ey es, more hideous than ever.
I responded to her salutation, and remained
silent for a few moments. She appeared de
sirous of manifesting a certain measure of
maidenly coyness, aud I was not indisposed
to allow her all the leisure she required for the
performance ot the part. When she had en
acted the role to her satisfaction, and lost a lit
tle patience, she opened upon me with the
voice of a dying screech-owl, that made me
shudder :—“ Well, Mr, Ingleton, the object of
your visit, is I presume——•”
“ Yes, madam, it is as you say, to propose
for your hand and heart; they are convention
ally supposed to go together ”
“My hand and heart! - ’ she exclaimed,
laughing.
What a laugh it was! A ruined hurdygurdy,
a maniac’s scream, and the serenade of a starv
ing cat combined were music to it.
“ Yes, madam ; and does this appear so ab
surd to you ?”
“ Extravagantly so.”
“My lawyer has been authorized by me to
make a proposition, which he has given me to
understand has been favourably received.
Has he deceived me?”
“ Not at all; but you have made a slight
mistake in the person.”
“ Are you not Mrs. Barrington ?”
“ That is my name ; but I presume you refer
to my niece.” ■
“ This is very ridiculous. Shall I have the
pleasure of seeing the right lady ?’ ’
“In a moment. She sent me to prepare
you for her coming.”
“ I do not see the necessity.”
“I presume not. I will explain, although
the subject is a delicate one to handle: A
better-hearted girl than my niece Clara never
lived, but she has some personal defects which,
perhaps, only the eyes of affection can over
look. I mean to say, for instance, that she
does not enjoy the same personal advantages
as myself.”
I locked at the speaker for a moment in
amazement, and an involuntary groan escaped
my lips.
“It cannot be possible! Is she deformed ?”
“ Oh, no ; she is as perfectly shaped as I
am.”
“Indeed! What is it then?”
“ A slight obliquity of vision, which adds a
puzzling and peculiar expression to the eyes.
Her hair- is of that color against which there is
a very unmerited prejudice ; but, for myself,
I think I never saw a finer or more brilliant
red. With these exceptions, there exists a
strong family likeness between us, especially
as respects the width of the mouth, the round
ness and height of the shoulders, and the size
of the feet.
What an image of horror was cohjurcd up
before me.
“Say no more!” I exclaimed, wildly.
“This suspense is too dreadful. Let me see
the. woman herself, though the sight of her
kill me!
“Then turn and look upon your death!”
cried a sweet voice behind me, in a mock tra
gic voice, followed by a silvery ring of laugh
ter.
I turned, and, to my inexpressible delight,
beheld my adored black-eyed beauty.
“And you—you are ”
“Not Miss Eastburn. That was my maid
en name ; but Clara Barrington, widow.”
I fell at her feet, half disposed to worship
her, covered her hand with kisses, and finding
no resistance offered, sprang to my feet and
clasped her in my arms.
“ Clara Barrington, will you become Clara
Ingleton ?”
“In what excellent practice you are! We
shall have you proposing to the whole family.
You have begun bravely, first to the aunt and
then to the niece within five minutes. Aunt
has fled, as well she may, from so dangerous a .
creature. What would have become of her
had I not rushed to the rescue, heaven only
knows ! I promise you I shall be dreadfully
jealous of her and the superior personal ad
vantages she enjoys.”
“Ob, you have been playing a rare game
with me!"’
“A fair one. I have won your love fairly,
and learnt at the same time that there was
right on your side as well as on mine , and I
will be my own court of equity, and do justice
more even-handed than the law.”
“ May I not praise you now ?”
“ No, but you may— —”
“ Do what ?”
“ Love me just as much as you please.”
(Written tor the New York Dispatch.]
THE SPECTRAL CHILD:
BY OK. A.. H. ROBINSON.
It has been said there is a tinge of supersti
tion in every human being’s mind. The basis
of this element is, that man is supposed to be
a religious being by nature. That we are both
religious and irreligious by turns is probably
true.
“ I see the right, and I approve it too,
I know the wrong bui still the wrong pursue.*’
was sung by Horace two thousand years ago,
and less than two hundred years afterward St.
Paul reiterated the sentiment by saying:
“ I find, then, a law in my members that,
when I would do good, evil is present with
me.”
But this religious element in our nature is
dormant, when active, or takes a wrong direc
tion, as wrong reasoning, intense affections,
peculiar religious theories, or incidental causes
predispose or influence us.
Intense affection, with its unfilled void, longs
for reunion here or in another state, while the
loved and the absent seem ever present in
their remembered words, doings and shadowy
forms. And whether we dream or reason on
the point, once the idea or theory that the de
parted revisit our world is adopted, we em
brace the consoling truth, and await with awe
struck souls and obedient minds the imparta
tions of the returned messengers.
Sceptics may question, doubt, scrutinise,
philosophise and deny, but once the mind
gives itself up to the belief, especially where
the affections and intellect are involved, all
reasoning ceases, while proofs and demonstra
tions are admitted, which science and reason
ing may laugh at and ridicule, but are impo
tent in lemoving or destroying.
Faith or superstitut ion—whichever the read
er may choose to call it—will penetrate where
science or reason cannot enter; and the unseen,
the unreal made apparent to the religious eye,
as the horses and chariots were seen by the
aged prophet on the mountain tops of Sama
ria, when the young one beheld nothing but
clouds of doubt and thickening dangers.
Thus was it with Mrs T -0, the mother of
two interesting children, who, so far as we
know up to the present hour, has been under
the influence and direction of what we shall de
nominate her Spectral Child.
Elsie, the elder one, seemed to chiefly en
gross her maternal affection in life, anil not
without some show of reason, as she cer
tainly was precccious in intellect, beautiful in
form and feature, and of a most amiable and
loving disposition. The absence of the hus
band and father on frequent and long commer
cial journeys, seemed to draw them closer to
gether, equalise their tastes and ages, and form
an aftectional band more like lovers or sympa
thising friends than parent and child.
The other child, though a boy,and parental
ly loved and cared for, never seemed able to
enter into his mother's “spiritual magnetism,”
as some would term it, and was esteemed ra
ther dull, plodding and unspiritualised.
At about twelve years of age they were both
smitten with that scourge of infancy and youth,
scarlatina, of a most malignant type. But as
is too often the case, proper help was not
sought for until the disease had so involved
the sufferers, that human skill was unavailing.
All the anxieties of a mother’s heart were
intensified, as she was frankly told the proba
ble consequences of her error, and all of the
terrible sequoia!, dropsy, in two weeks, already
began to develop itself. In one short month
the two children lay side by side robed in the
beautiful flowers and white shroud of the
tomb, ready for the “ last of earth,’ and the
beautiful burial service, “ ashes to ashes, and
dust to dust.”
Upon the ordinary Orthodox creed of the
day, Mrs. T —s had engrafted a firm belief in
the doctrine of modern spiritualism. This view
of a future state, and its connexions with the
present world she had indoctrinated her child
ren in, and the little girl seemed almost as
much interested in it as her mother.
Toward the end of her fatal sickness, she
was as eager for conversation on the subject
as the mother, and frequently, even when the
latter was engrossed in her many maternal,
and nurse-room duties, Elsie would say,
“Mother, sit down, and talk to me about the
spirit-land ; I’m nearly gone, and shan’t have
much time left in this sick body to talk to
you about it.”
On one of these occasions the mother tear
fully inquired of Elsie, “ Ely, dear, you will
come to me, won’t you, when our bodies se
parate?”
“ 0, I am so tired, so weary of life,” whined
the child, ‘ 1 but when my spirit is free, and no
fever or sickness troubles me, how glad I shall
be to come again to you, and tell you all I
can, if God permits me.” “Mother,” she
continued, “I saw lloby last night (her sick
brother), and ho was dressed in white, and
was so happy. I tried to speak to him, but
as I came close to him, he disappeared, but an
angel stood right in the place he had stood in.
I began to cry though I was not unhappy ;
only I was sorry he left me.”
“ And you were in Heaven, were you ?”
“ I was in a beautiful large enclosure, with
sparkling stones, and gold colored pavements
beneath my feet, and a covering of stars and
bright flaming lights over my head, and the
music! Oh, the music! was beautiful. I nev
er heard such sweet music before.”
“And your poor mother and father, where
were they?”
“I didn’t see you, dear mother, nor father,
but may be I will when I get there next
time.”
“ Then you are going there again ?”
“0, yes. I have been there before ; only it
was not so beautiful as last night. Was I
dreaming, mother?”
“ You were not alone ?”
“ Thousands were there ; some away off so
high I could only just see them and hear them
sing ; and some away below me, who looked
larger, and were not so white, and did not
sing to nice, but, the many ! Oh the many
children, all around me, made me wonder where
they all came from, but one sweet, little girl
came to me and said, “ Elsie, this is our home
now : isn’t it beautiful? don’t you love it? I
do." ,
Elsie next day breathed her last, and the
grief of parents and friends was but natural.
The little boy followed his sister next morn
ing. There was about the mother a mix
ture of deep anguish and spasmodic joy.
Sometimes she wept, and sometimes she
smiled, as she gaw.il on the faces of her dead
children. But, whatever she did or said, there
was an abstractedness aud incoherence that
plainly told her thoughts were not in what she
was doing or saying. Her eyes often wan
dered, and she frequently spoke alone to her
self.
Everyone near her knew the subject of her
thoughts. They were in the coffin with her
beautiful Elsie.
On the morning of the day of the funeral, I
was summoned to her. She was reported very
ill; restless and nervous all night; with an
increase of her incoherent mutterings and ex
clamations.”
I found her reclining on the sofa, dressed for
the funeral, but in a sea of mental agitations.
She started to her feet as she beheld me, recog
nized me in her usual polite way, and lay down,
covering her eyes with both hands for some
time. Presently, she almost ecreamed :
“ I see her ! I see her ! My child ! my child !
Oh ! my Elsie ! my dear Elsie ! you have camo,
God be praised ! I’ve been waiting for you,
c*cd you have come.”
Sh’e started to her feet, aud requested us
“ all to leave the room,” as she wanted “to
talk to Elsie; for no one must be present, as
she had something to communicate to her.”
Her husband objected, fearing some mishap ;
but, as I saw no danger in leaving her alone,
and as I desired to test her eanity, as algo to
NEW YORK DISPATCH.
watch her movements, they all, at my permis
tion, left her to herself.
Through the slightly-open doorway of the
adjoining room, and a dark bedroom circular
window, the husband and myself beheld her
movements.
When alone, 'she rose from her seat and
calmly kneeled down in the centre of the room,
her eyes widely dilated as if to see some one,
but wild and wandering, and her hands firmly
classed together. Her lips constantly moved,
but whether in conversation or prayer, we
knew not.
She now bent her ear as if to catch the sound
of footsteps, or some one addressing her, and
occasionally smiled and nodded her head, as if
she was please,d, and approved what had been
told her.
Some five minutes was spent thus, when
she started wildly, looked disappointed, and
then, getting on her feet, seemed to follow
something around the room, as if to overtake
and compel it to remain.
“ Once more,” she exclaimed, “ to satisfy a
mother’s longings ! Oh, Elsie ! once more,
eie your sweet body is covered with the clods
of the valley.”
In one coiner of the room, with her pale face
to the wall, she •’ once more” knelt down and
seemed to hold converse with, as she evidently
thought, the departed spirit of her “ sweet
Elsie.” This over, with fixed eyes on the
ceiling, she slowly walked to the sofa and sat
down, bathed in tears, with the alternating
paroxysms of an hysterical laugh.
We re-entered, but there was no revelation
of what she had seen, and she lay with her
eyes closed, and as quiet as if she had followed :
her children in the death march to the tomb,
herself.
Apprehending I might attempt medication,
she motioned me to her, and calmly said :
“I am not sick, Doctor. lam nervous, it
is true ; quite so—the effect of the death and
return of my dear departed one; but I need no
medicine, and when I get used to her I shall
feel less agitated.”
Here was a puzzling question, truly. Was
she really sane, or insane in a minor sense,
even.
True, she reasoned well enough from her
premises, but were her premises correct ? Then
again, was her case another of those spectral
illusions, like Luther’s devil in his room, at
whom he threw his ink-bottle? Johnson’s
black dog of London, which followed him
about so persistently through the streets ? or
was she a monomaniac, right on all subjects
but this one—the subject of spiritualism, and
the return of her child’s spirit to earth to
communicate with her ?
These thoughts were working their way
consecutively and slowly through my mind as
1 eat beside her. She instinctively divined
them, and hastily replied to them, as if she
knew their precise character.
“You think me crazy or in an hallucina
tion, or bereft of reason in some way—at least
that lam not as formerly, Doctor; but you
are quite mistaken—quite so, I assure you ;
and as for my child, I know she has been with
me since her death, and in this room where we
now sit, just as really present as we three are
now. ’ ’
“What evidence have you of this, Mrs.
T-—s?”
“ What evidence have you that I am
here?”
“I see you, madam, and hear your voice.”
“ And I saw my child and heard her voice.”
“ Did she really use vocal organs ?”
“ No; but she impressed me, which is the
same. Is there no language but vocal speech ?
What of the beasts, birds, and human unspoken
language? Don’t we Areoio by each others’
looks—the eyes, the muscles of the face, the
movements of the hands and body ? Has God
no way of making known His will or com
mands but by oral speech? And who knows
but He has, even with His creatures—angels
and men—means of intercommunication, be
side oral speech?”
“You reason, Mrs. T s, like a philoso-
pher, but is it convincing ? Are we to expect,
in ordinary life, other than the common modes
of dealing either with God or man?”
“ Extraordinary becomes ordinary when it
ceases to be strange to us.”
I saw there was no use of further question
ing or caveling, and thought it not bast to aid
in overtaxing her already excited brain.
The funeral took place in the afternoon, and
although not present, her husband informed
me she was tolerably calm during the service
and on the way to the cemetery ybut when the
children were lowered in the grave, she sud
denly screamed, started, and trembled violent
ly, and without shedding one tear, seemed to
tally bereft of reason. Her wild looks, violent
gestures, bloodless face, and hurried manner,
alarmed the friends greatly ; they almost car
ried her to the carriage in waiting, thrust her
in as quickly as possible, and drove off, hoping
to divert her mind by the various scenes she
must pass through. But nothing diverted her
mind; and in the evening, when I saw her,
she seemed near the yawning gulf of total
maniacy.
Her hair and her clothing, as fast as renewed,
were tom in shreds, and her startling and ever
recurring cry was,
“ Elsie, Elsie, my beloved child, where are
you ? I’m waiting to see, to hear your mes
sages of love and kindness, Elsie, oh, Elsie !”
All night long we labored with her, some
times restraining her, sometimes humoring
her and sometimes striving, when a paroxysm
had passed, to reason with her, but in vain.
Medication, except by violence—which did as
much evil as good—proved ineffectual, for as
the poet has it,
“ Const thou minister to a mind diseased!”
A private asylum was the only resource, and
to cne—the nearest ( we could" find—she was
carried, though as in most cases, by a process
of deception, only justifiable in such extreme
cases, for the insane have too vivid remem
brances, when well, to overlook such things,
which often work up prejudices to the end of
life. They become the scars of the mind, when
that mind has ceased to feel the power of the
cause of them. By a ruse, she was to visit a
youthful friend of Elsie’s, who was to be con
veyed to the asylum. She permitted herself
to be conveyed thither. But when there, and
the sight of the child over, she vaguely com
prehended the purpose in taking her there,
and began to be frantic with rage. The
power of the physician—a power only acquired
by painful and long experience, was brought
into immediate, requisition, and she became
calmer. When she parted with her husband
an abstracted look at him, with a faint beam
of returning sanity, seemed to wake her up,
when she strove to embrace him, but in an in
stant, the ray of light departed, for shegshud
dered, ran from him, aud crouched in a corner
of the room, and gazed, at him with looks of
aversion and dread.
As the door closed on her, the silent tears of
her truly devoted husband were a sid com
mentary on the mountainous weight of his sor
row in the death of two lovely children, and
the, at present, more than decease of his wife.
Three months sufficed to restore her to
health and sanity, and her recovery was as
sudden as her sickness.
For weeks she. alternately raised and parti
ally convalesced, but during the second month
she teemed even worse than before. There were
no lucid intervals whatever. Day and night
were obliterated ; friends and foes" alike were
shunned and hated ; food and drink, except
when the fiercest hunger preyed on her, were
neglected ; and lying in bed, or tied to it, with
or without the insane vest and hsndgirdle, she
raved or muttered, screamed or shouted, until
nature became exhausted, when a disordered
sleep ended the scene. But the last terrible
paroxeym at the end of three months, evident
ly exhausted the fierce fires within her, and
like the last of a candle or the oil in a lamp,
there was a few terrific flashes, each one grow
ing less in intensity than the previous one, the
last one eventuating in sanity and a flood of
tears.
Thought resumed its wonted coherance and
con seen'iveness; imagination no longer guided
the mental powers, and the cheering rays of
conjugal aiffection once more shed its benign
rays, on a heart long bereft, but now rejoicing
in its cheering influences.
For months, however, I thought there were
specs on the sun of her mental light, a few last
waves of the late storm, throwing up its “mire
and dirt,” but she gradually overcame even
those, and assumed all her former really strong
mental powers and influence among her
friends.
But though all this took place, neither in
her sane or insane moments did she, as far as
I could see, for one moment relinquish the
theory, the alleged pleasure of her favorite doc
trine, that she held interview’s with her
Elsie’s spirit; and to the present time there is
no more firm believer in it, and but few I have
met with who will defend the doctrine by a
better logic or more convincing argument.
Frazee’s Magazine says that a
young Unitarian minister of its accquaintance
once visited the region of the Potomac to plant
some of his doctrines, but was persuaded by a
sagacious resident there that the
thing was medically impossibe. “Everybody
almost in this Northern neck of Virginia has
more or less the liver disease ; they are sure
to be Calvinists. You’ll do more near the
mountains. You’ll never get the belief in
everlasting hell out of this neighborhood
except by better drainage, with less bilious
fever.”
[Written for the New York Dispatch.)
THE ACTRESS’S CHRISTMAS EVE.
By Clarence F. Buhler.
In darkness radiant to her fate, she soothed her babe
whose sight
Caught from the consuming fires within a strange and fit
ful light,
We bieed with wounds of those we love; and more than
lips could tell
Her faded cheek, where tears, like dew on marble ruins,
fell.
Tjien, eloquent with language of the soul, gazed her wet
eye
Where shivering stars were bivouacked along the wintry
sky ;
While lancy, turning, Midas-like, all that it touched to
gold.
To that sad Christmas eve restored the charm it wore of
old.
The cobwebs changed to mistletoe, and the Yule-logs at
her leet
Blazed high to mock the pale thin hands she stretched in
vain for heat;
While rarg a laugh that once was hers when life was gay
with bloom
That o’er the desert of her heart still breathed a faint per
fume.
But, hark 1 were those her native bells? Alls, the belfry
near
With iron tongue, whose merry chimes were death knells
in her ear,
Proclaimed the hour when she must go to act a blithesome
part.
Her forehead wreathed with roses but the cypi ess round
her heart.
She went; and in gay robes that mocked her pain, won
new renown,
Yet heard a faint, despairing cry, that plaudits could not
drown.
And when she reached her home to find a mute cold shape
wes all
Left of her child, who died with none to heed its dying
call,
She looked the woe she could not speak, and in that jour
ney <iri ad.
Whose milestones are the stars, hers soon o’ertook the
spirit fled.
th gob m fpfe.
Escape of a Young Woman from an
English Convent, after Finding Herself
Pregnant Considerable commotion has bean
occasioned at Chelmsford, Eng., owing to a ru
mor that a young woman had escaped from New
Hall, under extraordinary circumstances. New
Hall is a Roman Catholic nunnery, situate about
three miles from Chelmsford, on the Witham
Road, and according to the last census it con
tained 114 inmates. The facts of the case ap
pear to be as follows: On Sunday morning, about
half-past six o’clock, a railway signalman,
named Thomas Furze, while on duty at Chelms
ford station, observed a young woman on the
platform, carrying a small bundle. Her dress
and her hurried manner arrested his attention,
aid while wondering what she wanted so early,
she came up to him and said, “Do tell me when
I can get to London.” He replied, 11 Not till the
parliamentary train arrives, a little after half
past ten o’clock.” She said, “I am very sorry;
but can you tell mo where I can get something to
eat He told her it was too early, especially
for Sunday, but he would go with her to Mr,
Gardiner’s Railway Tavern and Coffee House,
opposite the station. He went with her to the
house, and wakened Mr. Gardiner up, who called
out from bis chamber window that as his servant
was not yet up he could not get the young wo
man any breakfast. Upon hearing this, the
young woman, in tones of entreaty, said, “ Pray
do, sir; I have walked some miles, and am al
most fainting. Upon this Mr. Gardiner and his
servant came down stairs, and some breakfast
was prepared for her. While partaking of the
meal, which was eagerly devoured, she made a
statement respecting her flight from the nun
nery. She said she had been disgracefully
treated at New Hall, and had escaped that morn
ing before break of day from the window of her
room, which she said was higher than that one
above the station-door (pointing opposite to the
railway station) and that she effected her escape
by means of a rope, having tirst thrown two
feather beds out of the window to alight upon
when she let go her hold of the rope, which was
not long enough to reach the ground. How she
got down from such a bight she said she did not
know, but she was determined to leave the nun
nery. She had been eleven months in the place,
and they had never even allowed her to soo a
newspaper. She said her name was Ann Maun,
but in 'the convent she was known as “Sister
Lucy,” and was introduced there as “Lady Brew
erton.” She was, however, she added, no lady,
having lived with a Protestant family in London
as cook for three yesrs and a half before going
to New Hall. In the convent they were all work
ers if capable of doing anything. After finishing
her breakfast she asked permission of Mrs. Gar
diner to change her attire, she being at the time
dressed in garments such as are worn in the
nunnery. When in Mrs. Gardiner’s room she
offered to sell a pair of stays which she said were
too small for her—a fact which it appears Mrs.
Gardiner had already noticed, the young woman
being evidently far advanced in pregnancy. She
repeatedly expressed to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner
her indignation at the way in which she had
been treated at the convent, and affirmed, we
are told, several times that she would baa sec
ond Maria Monk to the principals of the estab
lishment. One of the fathers at New Hall had
told her that they desired to send her to another
nunnery. She, however, refused to go, and, to
avoid unpleasantness, adopted means to escape.
She also stated that she had discharged the du
ties of cook in the establishment, but had not
received any wages. It appeared that she locked
her bedroom door before she dropped from the
window, and brought the key away with her.
On showing the key to the porter at the station,
he told her she had better send it back, when
she asked him for a piece of paper, on which to
write a note to send back with the key. This he
gave her, upon which she wrote, “You shall hear
moie of this.” She then put the key inside
the rote, and directed it to “ The Lady Su
perioress of New Hall.” After folding up the
note she said, “ I was born a Roman Catholic.
I am one at heart, and wish to die one, but no
more nunneries for me.” In her confusion or
excitement, however, instead of handing the
note to the porter, as she at first intended, she
put it into her pocket. She contrived, with some
ingenuity, to manufacture a rope long enough to
< fleet her escape by cutting out the sash lines
from the window of her room, and tying them
together, and also tearing up the window-blinds
into shreds, and twisting them so as to lengthen
the rope [sufficiently for her purpose. It
has transpired that the young woman entered
New Ji all on the 11th of June last, and those
who are in search of her say they have no par
ticular desire for her return thither, though they
wish to see her for special reasons. Wo need
hardly add that this almost romantic adventure
has roused the curiosity of the public ia the
neighborhood of [Chelmsford, and that rumors
of various kinds are in circulation respecting it.
It is to be hoped the authorities will deem it ad
visable to publish the real facts of the case, so
that the prejudice which the present rumors are
sure to engender may be promptly allayed. Tho
following statement of the matter by tho lady
prioress of the convent, attested by a county
magistrate, puts a somewhat different complex
ion on the case. The prioress says in her state
ment that Ann Mann, or Mahan, came unexpec
tedly to the convent to offer herself for a lay sis
ter on Sunday, the 15th of last May. Being in
want of a servant, and compassionating" her
state, she was received as such on July 11th.
jinn was evidently unfit for a lay sister, and
marly all the sisters thought so, her conduct
being very unsatisfactory in many respects.
Time produced but little change for the better,
and when she became aware that she must
leave, her madness broke out. A new dress and
a pair of boots had been bought fur her, but an
unforeseen circumstance occasioned her sudden
exit. Previous to this time several things had
been missed, and could not be accounted for.
A suspicion fell on Ann Mann, because she her
self had mentioned that her former mistress
had accused her of theft. A box near her.
room was found despoiled of its con
tents. She was mildly informed of the
circumstance, and asked if she would
allow her box to be looked at, which would acquit
her, if not guilty-. She passionately refused, but
after going up-stairs lor some time she called
the nun who bad spoken to her, and said that
she would show her the contents of her box.
She did so, and there was nothing but what be
longed to her. The nun afterward went up by
herself, while Ann was absent, and, searching in
an adjoining room, found under the bedding
(nobooy sleeps there at present) a large parcel,
tied up in the sheets taken off Ann’s bed. There
were not only the articles that had been missed,
but many others which she had prepared to take
with her ; new purple serge, cut into a petticoat,
the covering of a straw bed, turned into kitchen
aprons, and a nice new cloth cloak, with the col
lar cut off, &c. Finding on her return up-stairs
that these things had been taken away, she took
other measures to repair ner loss; she was heard
walking about all night, and from several trunks
in a spare room above she collected a large bun
dle of clothes, which she enclosed in green baize.
From the window of another room, by the help of
a rope, she first let down two feather beds, and
then herself and bundle, upon tho flat roof of a
building, about six or seven feet below the win
dow she left, and having thrown down her bun
dle, she drew herself up again by the rope, and
quietly left the house about five o’clock A. M.,
having been seen by Sister Cleofar to cross the
court-yard at that time, and also by a man who
was then going to milk. Ann Mahan has ac
knowledged that she was once locked up on a
charge of theft. Such are the facts repeating
the conduct of tho unfortunate, or I should rather
say wicked, perhaps insane, Ann Mahan. I have
emitted to notice one statement of hers which
should be answered. She said she had no wages.
She did not wait to ask for them; but £5 had
been spent on her drees, and she took 13s. from
the apartment of the porterees. This statement
wae sworn to before a magistrate, and a list of
the articles stolen from the convent by Ann Ma
han was also attached to tho document.
The Result of Marrying a Widow—
A New Way of Playing upon a Piano The
plaintiff in this case was Mr. Charles Middleton
Kernott, M. D., of West Cowes, Isle of Wight.
Plaintiff was also described as a doctor of laws
and logic, doctor of philosophy, and member of
the Royal College of Surgeons; and the defend
ant as a national schoolmaster, living in Can
ring street, Liverpool. The plaintiff’s case,
stated by Mr. Aspinall, Q. 0.. was that in Janu
ary, 1864, b.a married Mrs. Clarke, a widow, at
Bristol. His wile went with him to Cowes, leav
ing some of her furniture at Bristol, and they
lived together until May, 1864. She tjien left
him, returned to Bristol, and. afterward went to
Liverpool, where she furnished a lodging-house
first at Soho and afterward in Eastbourne street,
Everton. The latter house was taken; in the name
of Mr. Morton, the defendant, a married man.
Plaintiff traced her to Liverpool, and. accompa
nied by his son, went to the house in Eastbourne
street, where ho remained until he was turned
cut by the defendant and a number of people.
On the following day the defendant gave plaintiff
into custody on a charge of having broken into
his house and stolen his furniture, but the charge
was dismissed by Mr. Raffles, the stipendiary
magistrate. Mr. Aspinwall dwelt upon the in
jury which the plaintiff had sustained by the ex
posure at the police-court, and observed that the
defendant should have known that whatever
property Mrs. Kernott had belonged also to her
husband. He denied that any cruelty had been
exercised by Mr. Kernott. The plaintiff, in his
evidence, denied that he had given bis wife any
cause of complaint. She had a fearful temper.
She used to knock his head against the wall. She
would drink half a pint of gin at a time, and
then throw the glass at his head. Other witness
es proved the main facts of the plaintiff s case.
On the part of the defendant it was admitted that
the defendant had acted illegally in giving the
plaintiff into custody, but it was contended that
under the circumstances the very smallest coin
would sufficiently compensate him. The defendant
it was alleged, had supported the plaintiff’s wife
and educated her children, when the plaintiff had
deserted her; and he had honestly bought the
furniture (part of which had never belonged to
the plaintiff) to enable her to pay the debts and
live. The plaintiff’s wife was called, and stated
that the plaintiff had used her with great
cruelty while she lived with him. He had Been
nearly always drunk, commencing drinking early
in the morning. He would hammer the piano
keys with a stick, curse and swear, call her bad
names, break the things, and otherwise annoy
her.. He did not str ke her, but he frequently
threw her down, tripping her up with his foot,
and pushing her upon her back. She was often
covered with bruises. She left him on that ac
count, and went to her mother at Bristol. She
sent word to the plaintiff that she had sold the
furniture. When she went io live with him after
ward in Liverpool, he began to ill-use her as be
fore, and she took a summons out against him
for assault. He left her; she returned to her
mother, and afterward went to Liverpool again,
and took a house in Soho street, in the name of
Smith, for the purpose of eluding the plaintiff.
She passed as a widow; and when the house did
not- answer, she sold the furniture to the defend
ant for £147. He removed it to Eastbourne street,
and allowed her to stay there till she could get a
situation. In cross-examination by Mr. Aspinall,
Mrs. Kernott said she had written the following
letter to the plaintiff from Clifton (Bristol), after
she had left on account of his cruelty:
“ Prospect place, Durdham Down, (received 1
August 27. 1864. j
“My dearest Charlie,—l have this moment re
ceived your dear kind letter, and really you have
not been absent from my,thoughts since we
parted. Note down in your memorandum book
Tuesday, 23d of August, if our little girl chances
to have escaped from certain causes which were
then at issue I think we are now safe of our anti
cipations. I have so many times pictured the hap
py moments of last Tuesday and Wednesday, and
pictured to myself our extreme happiness dying in
each other’s arms. Princes would envy our hap
piness, yet we do not appreciate it ourselves until
we are separated from each other for a time, and
I hope now we shall not be severed long. I hope
you are happy dwelling upon the thoughts of tna
blissful future. Ido not think I shall ever see
anyone in Bristol but mother until I see you
again. With one thousand kisses and fondest
love from your affectionate wife, Eliza.”
She knew a lawyer’s clerk named Topham, and
he had written the following letter to her :
“ Talbot Chambers, 3 Fenwick st., Liverpool,
“ Aug. 15, IStti.
“My Dear Madam: Mr. Wynne informs me
that you are about taking a house in your name
(last). This will be bad. It matters not what
name you take a house in. If you adopt any
name connected with yourself your husband can
walk in and lay his hands on the furniture. I
would recommend you to get a house furnished
(imaginary) by some one who would stand by
the bargain. He should advertise the libuse to
bo Ist furnished. You. oftn answgr the advertise
ment, and so the matter will stand. If there
are any articles the doctor can swear to, get
them altered a little in color or shape, or sell
them by auction after you get them here. You
had belter take apartments for a week or so,
rather than plunge into difficulties. You may
command my name and services freely. Apolo
gizing for my intrusion, I remain your well
wisher, Robert Toeham,”
“P. ?.—lf you please you can address me
there, Mr. Wynne.”
The Judge said : It was evident that whatever
cruelty there might have been had been con
doned by these letters. He thought the justice
of the csss would be met by a verdict for the
value of the furniture. After consultation the
counsel agreed to this course, and the jury found
a verdict for the plaintiff—damages, £l4O.
An lowa Divorce—Some of the Infi
liciths of “ Marbying fob Money.”. —The plain ■
tiff in this suit commenced an action for divorce
on the ground of adultery. Tho defendant, in
his answer denied this, and set up that he had
married plaintiff in. 1853, and that four weeks
after she abandoned him. He then obtained a
decree of divorce in lowa, and subsequently
married for the second time. The case was re
ferred to S. Jones, Esq., referee, who reported
his opinion as follows: ‘ ‘ Tho defendant claims
that he obtained a valid decree of divorce from
plaintiff in lowa, and that, therefore, his subse
quent marriage and cohabitation was not adul
terous. Th as plaintiff abandoned him without
any excuse; would not live with him, and that
by reason oi se doing, she has debarred herself
from obtaining a divorce for adultery, subse
quently committed by him. That a divorce is
not matter of strict right, but is merely a mat
ter of statutory enactmentjpassed by a State for
the regulation of the domestic status of its di
miciliaries ; that the statue oi this State is per
missive not mandatory, and that the court is not
bound to grant a divorce because adultery has
been committed, but may, if there is good rea
sons for so doing, withhold a decree. And in
this connection, defendant urges that plaintiff
married him for his money—that failing to gat
what she wished in that respect, she, after liv
ing with him for three weeks, abandoned him
without any just cause, and Uai kept aloof from
him for ten years—that in the meantime ho ob
tained a divorce from her in lowa, which he was
advised and believes to be perfectly valid,and sub
sequently married again, and has issue by said
marriage which issue is now living, and that this
suit is brought alter the lapse often years. There
are other minor points raised. The plaintiff com
bats these several points, and as to the lowa di
vorce, claims that it is utterly void, because
there was no personal service of process on the
plaintiff in this action, who was defendant in
that suit, and she did not appear therein. On
the second point raised by defendant I have de
cided against him. On the .-first point I have
decided that, as the evidence now stands, the
lowa divorce is valid and binding. On the
third point I have expressed no opinion a,s
yet. The case has been set down for re
butting testimony on behalf of plaintiff,
This resume shows that important and some
what novel questions are raised in this case.
The labor in this case has been great, There
were commissions issued to four different states,
and a number of witnesses examined on those
commissions. The iaterrogatcrios and cross
interrogatories were very numerous and lengthy,
and necessarily so. There have been quite a
number of meetings before me, and will un
doubtedly be a great number more. The de
fendant is v.orth at least 8150,000. I think, tak
ing in view the questions raised, the voluminous
character of the testimony, tho labor that must
necessarily have been bestowed ia the case, the
wealth of the defendant, the present value of
legal tender notes and the standing and'ability
or counsel on each side, that $3,000 would be a
reasonable counsel fee to allow for all services
up to and including the cioso of the trial before
me, and an additional sum bi 82,000 for all ser
vices subsequent io the close of the trial before
me, up to and including the decision of the
Couit of Appeals. With regard to alimony upon
the evidence as it now stands, I think but a vary
moderate turn should be allowed. The evidence,
as it now stands, tends strongly to establish that
plaintiff married defendant for his money, and
railing in her anticipations, eke, after living with
him for three weeks, abandoned him without
just cause, declaring sho would never live with
him. She has lived ten years without any as
sistance from him. I think, under the circum
stances, that for the short time that will elapse
before this case is disposed of before me, the
sum of ;120 a week will be sufficient alimony.
I, therefore, report and recommend that there
be allowed to plaintiff’s attorneys and counsel a
counsel fee of $3,000 for all services up to and
including the close of the trial before me, and
the further sum of $2,000 for all services subse
quent to the close of the trial before ms, up to
aid including the decision df the Court of Ap
peals. That there be allowed to the plaintiff for
temporary alimony the sum of 820 per week, to
ccmmence the 13th day of March, 1835.” The
defendant yesterday applied to have this report
set aside on the ground that the alimony was
excessive and based upon extra judicial facts,
thus constituting error on tho part ot the] re
feree. The motion was argued and decision re
versed.
A. Case of Jealousy—What was said
oi a Clibgyman— Mr. Overend, Q. C., said the
plaintiff was tho Rev. Denis Creighton. Neary,
incumbent of South Oesett, between Wakefield
aid Dewsbury; and the defendant was Jqeeph
Senior, a maltster, of-Horbury, near Wakefield,
England. The libel Was to ths effect that the
plaintiff had committed adultery with a Miss
Sharman: that the plaintiff cruelly ill-treated his
wife, end that he had told falsehoods. The do- 1
iendant justified the libel on the ground that its |
truth could be proved, Tho plaintiff has a wife j
and five children, all of whom are girls. He camo
from Ireland in 1847, to be curate of South Os
sett. After filling that curacy for some time he
was appointed to the incumbency. At that time
Divine service was performed in the school, but
through the exertions of the plaintiff £3,000 was
raised, and £3,000 more was obtained from gov
ernment and other sources, with which a church,
schools and a i arsonago were erected. He con
tinued to be pastor of the parish with perfect
satisfaction to all parties, at least until 1857. In
that year a highly-respectable young lady named
Sharman, established a ladies’ academy in the
neighborhood. Her accomplishments were such
that her pupils soon became numerous. An in
timacy sprung up between her and tha plaffitiff’s
family. In 1860 Mr. Neary went to St. Helen’s,
and it was arranged that while there he should
call on one of Miss Sharfnan’s relatives. Miss
Shaiman wrote to him there, but the latter was
not called for at the Post-office, and therefore it
was-redirected for tho plaintiff at some. Mrs.
Neary openedtheletter,and she found that it was
signed “Yours, affectionately, Caroline Sharman.”
Mrs. Neary at once thought that such a letter
indicated the existence of an improper Intimacy
between her husband and Miss Sharman. In a
fit of jealousy she told her neighbors her suspi
cions. and tho matter became the talk of the dis-
trict. The houses of the respective parties began
to be watched by a “ spy brigade.” Mr Neary
(the plaintiff) could not tolerate such a state of
matters, and he applied to the rural dean, the
viear of Dewsbury, to investigate the matter.
In 1860 the rural dean and three gentlemen asso
ciated with him proved that there was not the
slightest ground for the rumors. The annoy
ance, however, was not discontinued, but at a tea
meeting, held at the plaintiffs school, tracts
headed “A Faw Plain Questions, which the
Writer would Be Glad to Have Answered,” were
circulated. These tracts and a pimphlat con
tained the libels complained of. After witnesses
had been called, Mr. Seymour, Q. C., said: I am
authorized by the defendant without reserve and
absolutely to retract every one of the imputations
so far as they apply to the plaintiff, and so far as
regards Miss Sharman. He also wishes it to be
understood that the young lady goes forth with
out a stain or cloud on her character; and so far
from there being any imputation on the Rev.
plaintiff, he hopes he may go and prosper in
doing his duty among those over whom he has
spiritual charge. Mr. Overend said the plaintiff
was satisfied with this apology. A verdict was
then taken for the plaintiff, with £5 ss. damages,
and an arrangement was made a rule of court
that there should be no further action in the
matter. _______
Jack goes on a Cruise and overhauls
a “Taut Young Craft” who overhauls Him.—
A flashily-dressed young girl, named Mary Ann
Guthrie, was charged with stealing a parse con
taining two pounds fourteen shilliags, from James
Munroe, and assaulting John Cooper, both jolly
looking British tars, under the following circum
stances : Munroe, getting into the witness-box,
and hitching up hie trosvsers, said that he had
just come off a long voyage on one of Green’s
ships, and received his wages on Thursday. He
left nearly all of it at the bank, keeping only a
few pounds to go and see his friends, look anout
him, and have a little bit of a spree. On the pre
vious afternoon he met his old shipmate, and
they had a little bit of a carouse, and at last it
was agreed that they should go and see their old
sweethearts. They accordingly proceeded to the
neighborhood of Ratcliff highway, whore they
had a dance, and things went on swimmingly.
About ten o’clock they agreed to come over the
water into Tooley street, when they fell in with
the prisoner, who, in a most enticing manner,
claimed acquaintance with him, saying she was
his old love, and that ha must go home and look
at their quarters. He had at that time about
three pounds he should think, in gold and silver,
some of it loose in his jacket picket. After par
taking of a glass of grog he left his mate and
accompanied her to a house not far off, and he
soon fell asleep. On his waking up he found
himself alone in a dark room, and having found
tho door he rushed down stairs and roused up
the people, asking for the female. They knew
nothing about her, and searching his pockets, he
missed all his money. He proceeded in search
of her, and meeting bis mate, he told him all that
bad occurred, and just as they wire turning the
corner of the street they fell in with the prisoner,
and his mate seized h r. A struggle ensued, but
on a policeman coming up, he gave her into cus
tody. The prisoner here declared that she hal
not robbed the sailor of a farthing. She hal
known him many years, and ho promised to
marry her when he came off the next voyage.
Witness—Oh 1 no; I don’t think I ever did that,
as I have a girl of my own, “A lass that loves a
sailor” in every respect, but where’s my money?
The prisoner said that his money was all sate.
When they entered the house he gave her two
pounds ten, and she put it in her bosom, and as
he immediately fell asleep she went out to fetch
some supper, and not finding a place open, she
was returning to the lodging when the prosecu
tor and his friend stopped her. The latter fle w
upon her in such a violent manner that she did
scratch his face and push him off, The money
was here paid to the prosecutor, and the prison
er was discharged, wKon they ail left the
laughing.
A Curious Scan. Mag.—The Story er
A Young Actress —A very queer story is teldl
about some prominent people in Petersburg. A
German actress, who by her beauty had won th®
hearts of every nobleman in the Russian metropo
lis, went home, and was j ust going to take her
tea after the great triumph which ehe had!
achieved in the theatre, when her servant-girl
entered and announced the visit of the young
Count N , a favorite of the Emperor ana
chamberlain to his Majesty, whose father is <ne
of tho highest functionaries in the empire. It
was impossible to refuse admittance to a man of
so exalted a position, and the actress receivedl
him. The young man said he had come by or
der of the Emperor, who admired the lady’s act
ing very much, and desired to thank her for the
extraordinary pleasure she had afforded to his
majesty. At the same timo he requested the
lady to accept a radiant diamond bracelet, which
he gave her as a token of his personal admira
tion. After having talked about art for some
time, he asked permission to take supper with
her, and surprised her by the announcement that
he had brought the supper with him. The act
ress, who knew the influence of the Count at
Court, could do nothing but thank him for tha
delicate atteniion and accept the invitation. But,
before the couple had time to sit down to tabla,
there appeared the servant-girl, and immediately
after her Count N , the father of the young
Count, looking rather surprised to find his son,
\<ho bit his lips that he might not laugh. The
lady thought, “ How will this end ? ’ The old
courier soon recovered his coolness, and said,
very politely, that he came by order of his Ma
jesty to congratulate the lady upon her success.
The actress smiled more maliciously than oblig
ingly. The old Count then addressed his son
and told him to go to Court, since he sras ex
pected there. The son made a wry face, bat the
Count added: “ I will take supper with the
young lady, and wait for you here.” Tha son
took leave and was going to leave the room,
when all at once tho door opened, and nobody
less entered than his Majesty, in propria per
sona. His Majesty asked, rather excitedly, what
gave him the pleasure of seeing the two gentle
men at. this place, when both of them replied
that they had come to congratulate tho young
actress. “Very well,” said his Majesty, “you
may go now. Ido not want you any longer.”
Father and eon departed, and his Majesty con
descended to accept supper, which the young
lady humbly offered to the Emperor.
Outrageous Assault on Females
How TO GET UP A SENSATION—Ann JaCkSOD,
Louisa Billing and Emma Mills, who described
themselves as book-folders, were charged with
committing an outrageous assault on Mrs. Clara
Byfield, robbing her of a gold ear-ring, breaking
her umbrella, and damaging her bonnet and
dress. Tho prosecutrix, a vary respectable fe
male, said that about eleven o’clock at night her
husband left her for a little while in the London
Road, England, while he called at a house of
business. Witness was accompanied by a young
lady, and as they were walking backward and
forward waiting, the prisoners and three young
fellows passed them, making use of very disgust
ing language. A minute or two after that the
prisoners returned dancing, stiil making use of
tlfe bad language, and impudently knocked up
against herself and friend. Witness quietly re
monstrated with them, telling them not to do it
again, when all three prisoners flow at her,
struck her in the face, tore her bonnet off, ana
broke her umbrella, On the approach of some
gentlemen they ran off, when she found that one
of her ear-rings was gone. Witness added sho
knew nothing of the prisoners, and never give
them the least provocation to attack her. They
ran down a turning, and she was about to follow
them, but a gentleman advised her nob, as she
might be murdered. Phebe Davis said she was
with the prosecutrix, and saw the prisoners rush
up agamss them in a furious manner, making
use of disgusting language. Mrs. By field merely
turned round and remonstrated with them, when
they attacked her like furies. Witness ran on to
find a constable, and on her return sho saw Mrs.
Byfield severely injured and without her bonnet,
and the prisoners running down York street.
One of them impudently turned round and threw
the torn bonnet at them. In answer to the
charge, the prisoners said that Mrs. Byfield
struck them first with her umbrella, and broke it
over one of their heads, when they had a araffla.
They denied all knowledge of the ear-ring. The
magistrate told them that they had all commit
ted a most outrageous assault, but he did not
think that they had had any intention to rob the
prosecutrix. In order to put a stop to theso
street outrages, he should fine each of them
twenty shillings, and in default of payment com
mit each to the House of Correction for twenty
one days.
Trial for Shooting a Sweetheart.—
John Gill was charged with shooting Frances
Leah, at Macclesfield, England, last January.
Frances Leah deposed that on the night of the
9th cf January she met the prisoner, who asked
her to come for a walk with him. He seemed
very much excited. They had been keeping com
pany for more than a year. She had written hiia
a letter to break off their courtship. They went
into hy mother’s house ; her mother wa j against
their Seeping company, and had prohibited it.
She asked ber mother to allow thorn to continue
their intimacy, but sho would not. Dir; ctly after
ward she heard the piatol go off. and felt a pain
in her face and ear, and found blood flowing from
them. Mrs. Leah having corroborated her
daughter’s evidenae, Mr. Sanford, surgaon, de
posed to finding a piece of lead in Frances Leah’s
ear, Other evidence having been given the jury
returned a verdict of guilty. Sentence was de
ferred.
Diet of the French Workman. —Ha
is up at dawn. In fact, everybody rises early
in France. There is more business done be
fore ten o’clock in Paris than there is in London
before eleven. There are two places where
breakfast may be had—the cremerio and the
soup-shop. Some excellent coffee, with milk,
costs less than one and a-quarter pence, and
the bread, with butter, one penny. For din
ner the soup will cost one-and-a-half pence ;
the plate of meat two pence ; half a bottle of
■wholesome wine, four pence, or a quarter of a
bottle two pence, or a pint of beer or milk two
pence, and all of really good quality. In
many places They give soup, a piece of mutton
or beef a la mode, bread, and a half a bottle of
wine, for sixty centimes, or about eleven cents
of our money.
It is said that a talented Frenchman
has at length discovered the process of fixing tb®
natural colors of any object photographed.
About 2,600 men are now employed
in the Portsmouth, Mains, Navy Yard.
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