The Brookhaven ledger., April 13, 1876, Image 1

About The Brookhaven ledger. (Brookhaven, Miss.) 1875-1883

Image provided by: Mississippi Department of Archives and History

                
.ftnwMTOWi i w* '■e—bbev
Site gvoohhavcn gainer.
Published Every Thursday Morning,
it. li. HENRY,.Proprietor.
SSh>«'s of hnliMTiplion.
tune copy one year. IN apvance, 5 - 50
»* “ (i months, ... 1 50
“ “ S - - 75
Five copies cne year, ... 10 oo
The above rates will he adhered to in
every case. Those who fail to receive
their paper will understand that their
subscription has expired, and arc re
quested to notify the publisher if they
wish to renew.
BROOKIIA V l'.X.
F.1NHIW.VX sose the\
Xj aclics!
Hats, Eonnetts, Gloves.
MISS !>■ IE MI KELL,
ftllLLINE R A DRESSMAKER
'Would announce to the ladies of Hrookha
ven and vicinity that she lias just re
ceived a large and carefully select
ed stock of
FANCY GOODS,
Ladies’ Underware. Flowers, CufTs.
Cutting, fitting and dressmaking done j
to order. Orders from distance will re-1
ceive prompt attention (6m
str. m:. j. itoiren,
PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON.
BROOKIIA VEX, MISS.,
Offers his service to the people of this sec
tion and the surrounding country. 11c will
attend calls at any hour of day or night.
Office at Dauglurv A Smvlic's Drug
Store. Oct -1-l.v
(has. EEeuck.
lias in store a most complete stock of
Stable DryCoods
AND
FAMILY GROCERIES.
Also a large stock of
TOBACCOS, CIO A1!S, FANCY
GOODS, TOYS, ETC.
All of which he will sell at bottom fig
ures for cash or country produce. [Oc-21
S°(fer Hjifrich'H
BKOOKIIAYFX, MISS.
Experienced Cooks and Polite
Waiters Always in Attendance.
MEALS AT ALL HOURS.
KEEPS ON HAND
Frosh Fish, Oysters, Con
fectioners, Fruit, Etc,
Fine Wines. Liquors, Cigars, Etc
I.allies anil Gentlemen will find m>
ltestiiurant neatly lilted up. A share o
their patronage is solielted. Sept. 2301.
* E^coplf,
LOOK TO YOUR INTEREST!
X-XEUEJSSIX !
_ i
Tint undersigned lias resumed the!
butchering business, and would call th.» j
attention of ibe public to the fact. I |
will keep constantly on hand the best :
meats the market can afford, and wi!ij
sell it only at living prices. Beef. Mnt
ton. Pork and Sausage in sens- n. < one1
and see me. “Competition is the life of:
trade.” My market will be open every
tm-rnir.g and evening, except Minday
. - . tf. I CM LEWIS. (
JfMnxwell Home.
BHOOKITaYF.N, - - MISSISSIPPI.
Mrs. C. Maxwell. Proprietress. -
l his first-class hotel lias been refitted |
lor the accommodation of the public.!
and no < (Torts will be spared to make
guests comfortable. Commercial tr.w
cilera wili find it to tlx-ir interest to
(■top at this House. Terms low. 1 N v 11 11 j
Is ha nix STirery Stable,
(HookerV old stand,)
lErooiilmTon. - - ^5
L. C. MATTHEWS, Prop.
Horses, Uuggies, and Harks always in
readinesfl to accommodate the* traveling j
public. Passengers will be can ied t-> any j
part of the country: Oct.-d-tf.
E'. *25 4E,2.E:b:,
au n smith:
ASf>
Model Maker,
BROOK 11A VEX. - - - MISS.
Is now supplied with new tijols and
first-class material, and prepared to do
all work in his lino lie also
Makes Rings, Repairs Jeweiry
and Sewing Machines.
Fancy turning of all kinds promptly
done. Guns,pistols and amunition kept
on sale. Dec. 2-lv.
J. B. CHRI8MAN. It'. H. THOMPSON.
CHRISMAN & THOMPSON,
Oounsoll ors
-AND
mlTTOBl.YS: VS .ST I,.:SIV,
BROOKIIAVEN, MISS.
Will practice in the Courts of Lincoln
and adjoining counties; also the Su
preme and Federal Courts at daekson.
All business entrusted to them will re
ceive prompt attention. XovlS-lv
a am : — >. — .. ,c . .. .. o a ' „
w ZI u J* m m . V w me- trr y a •»
BROOKTIAVEX, MISS.,
Having leased the Schwem Saw and Grist
Mili, are now prepared to till orders for
YELLOW PINE LUMBER
— AXD—
® II I iM GA r. 33 S .
They will sell lumber on the most
reasonable Terms.
All orders entrusted to them will re
ceive prompt attention.
Their rocks are in t horough order, and
all corn received will he well ground.
They grind lor the public every Satur
day,* and solicit a share of public pat
ronage.
Seplt-tf
KcROY'S GRANGERS’ SOAP,
so llos for 30 cts.
The ingredients to make fifty pounds
will cost hut fifty cents and can be had
anvwhere. No grease or lye required,
mil can be made by a child ill ten min
utes. Any one sending me fifty cents
will receive, postpaid, a family right,
viili full directions for making the above
( vcellent soap. Address
Wit. A. H KN H\ . Ap t.
lirookhaven, diss.
H. »B. Johnston,
— 3IAKES—
■ ARNESS, SADDLES, BRIDLES, ETC
I e keens constantly on hand mi
ill kinds of work in hie line, winch he will
•lose of low down tor cash. lie also does re
• no* of every disciiptiou, ami will ifive
pt attention to all orders received, shop,
i(*r of Railroad Avenue and Montieello *t«.,
* d.frarsi), Mitt. *epf.S(MV.
My Comm try—Muj' Slio ever boHljjhl; Hut Itiglit or Wronjj-.Hy Comm try!
VOL. 5. BROOKHAVEN, MISS., THURSDAY, APRIL 13, 1876. NO. 33.
C5IjiimI (aray.
“(> mother, what do they mean by blue?
And what do they mean by gray?”
Was heard from the lips of a little child
As she bounded in from play.
The mother’s eyes filled up with tears;
She turned to her darling fair,
And smoothed away from the sunny brow
Its treasures of golden hair.
‘‘Why, mother's eyes are blue, my sweet,
And Grandpa’s hair is gray,
And the love we hear our darling child
Grows stronger everyday,
“But what did they mean?” persisted the
child
“For 1 saw two cripples to-day,
And one of them said he fought forthe hluo;
The other he fought for the gray.
“Now, he of the blue had lost a leg,
The other had but one arm,
And both seemed worn and weary, and sad,
Yet thoir greeting was kind and warm.
They told of battles in days gone by—
Till it made my young blood thrill;
The leg was lost in the Wilderness tight,
And the arm on Malvern llill.
‘They sat on the stone by the farm-yard gate,
And talked fur an hour or more,
Till their eyes grew bright, and their hearts
seemed warm,
With fighting their trattles o'er.
And parting at last with a friendly grasp,
In a kindly, brotherly way,
Fach called on God to speed the time
Fniting the blue and the gray,”
Then the mother thought of other days—
Two stalwart boys from her riven ;
How they knelt at her side, and, lisping,
prayid
“Our Father which art in Ileaven;”
[Tow one wore the gray, and the other the
blue;
How they pa -ed away from sight,
vml gone to a land where gray and blue
Are merged in color* of light,
\nd she answered her darling with golden :
hair,
While her hcatt was sadly wrung
iVith the thoughts awakened in that sad
hour
Hy her innocent, prattling tongue:
‘The blue and tiie gray are the colors of
Ond ;
They are seen in the sky at even,
And many a noble gallant sold
Has found them passports to Heaven."
A Fascinating Woman.
Many old steamboat men, who have
faded on the tipper Mississippi and
Missouri livers, will remember the)
tame of Captain Hoss 1>. Hughes.
Ho once commanded the steamer
Hindoo, a boat that plied on the Mis-1
• i-sipi previous to 1859. Afterward!
[’apt. Hughes, in connection with
tlhers, built the famous old steam-!
tout ( houteau, which he j
nvtitie un the Mississippi, and then
look her around tothe Missouri river,
iseo'iding as high us the site now oe
’upied hy Omaha. At. the time ot
ft hieli we speak, the “gold lever was
aging throughout tlic country.
Hughes put his boat to good use at
'otundl 1!hills by converting it into a
terry lor transferring the outlits ol
‘golden pilgrims” who were then
bringing the plains en route West in
great multitudes. lie “made a good
.hinjf” out of the business. At. that
iine, and (or many years before.
Hughes had his residence 'it Keokuk.
IIis family consisted of three bright
Hiil beautiful girls and one son, who
was physically ueiorme i oy a ram
:ure of Ihe spine. Years ago, just
what year could not he ascertained.
Mrs. Hughes died. Her place was
supplied in no long time by a second
wife. Hughes continued on tlie river
for some years, leaving his family ai
Ihe home in Keokuk. The lady who
is now known as Mrs. Williams was
I lie eldest ol the daughters. Mrs.
Ivrum, wife of Daniel Kruiii, former- j
lv of Keokuk, was next in age, and J
the youngest was a fair girl who
answered to the name of Hettic. As
they grew to womanhood, these girls
revealed remarkable personal charms.
They were handsome in feature and
symmetrical in form ; sparkling and '
vivacious in conversation, they did j
not fail t* secure the admiration of
the gallants of Keokuk. Their posi-|
tion in life was not such as to give
them all tlie advantages of intellectual j
and moral (raining. Captain Hughes!
is represented to have been a rough j
man, with little education, and no!
aspirations for a higher social life, j
and his moral character was much |
under par. And yet, adverse as were .
the circumstances surrounding the!
girls, they succeeded in establishing
themselves, if not in the first rank, at
least in respectable social circles.
Captain Loss I>. Hughes died in an
humble hoarding house in St. Louis,
many years ago—if we credit the re
ports we hear, lamented by few. In
course of time the eldest of the gil ls,
now Mrs. Williams, (hen regarded as
surprisingly beautiful, was married
to a man named Ivans, and the couple
left Keokuk, settling somewhere in
Ohio. The least that can be «aid of
this matrimonial union is, that it was
very unfortunate, and tho parties sepa
rated. Mr. Ivins returned to Iowa.
In due course of time Mrs. lvius got
a dissolution of the marriage bonds,
and next contracted a marriage with
a man by the name of George. It is
said this second matrimonial venture
way not a happy one to the wife or
the husband. At any rate they lived
apart for a considerable ti ne. George
went West, fell into a decline, and
the husband and wife were again
brought together. It is said that she
tended him in his last illness with
singular devotion. George having
died, she was again a widow. The
second sifter, having married Mr.
Daniel Krum, had with him gone to
Oregon, and Mrs. George made the
• •-* f
journey to that far-off country, to join
her bister. Here .“lie met Williams,
who had acted as her attorney in the
divorce suit, and they were married.
The subsequent career of her husband,
her own efforts to rise in the social
scale, the envy and opposition of
other ladies at our Kepublican court,
and Ihe final triumph of her enemies,
are all incidents which have frequent
ly been treated by Washington cor
respondents.
Legal.
Any person who voluntary becomes
an agent for another, and in that c»
pacity obtains information to which,
as a stranger, be could have had no
access, is bound, in subsequent deal
ing with his principal, as purchaser
of the property that formed tbe sub
ject of bis agency, to communicate
such information.
When a house is rendered unten
antable by reason of improvements
made on the adjoining lot, the owner
ot such cannot recover damages, be
cause it is presumed that lie had
knowledge of approaching danger in
lime to protect himself from it.
An agreement by the holder of a
note to give the principal debtor time
for payment without depriving him
self of the right to sue does not dis
charge tlie surety.
X seller of goods who accepts at
time of tbe sale the note of a third
party in payment, it not being on -
ilorsed by the buyer, cannot bold ihe
buyer responsible for the value of the
goods in case the note is not paid.
A day-book copied from a "blotter”
in which the charges are first made
will not be. received in evidence as a
hook ol original en tries.
At an auction or Sheriffs sale a hid-1
der may retract his bid at anytime!
before the property is knocked down
to hi in, no matter what the condition
of the sale.
Common carriers are not liable for;
accidents or detentions arising from ,
the vis major, which human power
and forecast could not provide
against.
The fruits or grass on the garden or
farm of an intestate descend to the
heir.
Agents are solely liable to their
principals.
Money paid on Sunday contracts
not being effectual as a discharge of
debt, may be recovered.
When A consigns goods to T! to sell
on commission, and It delivers them
1 o < ’ in payment of bis own antecedent
lebts. A can recover their value.
-*> c inii~ person mav nrorurc an
njunction to prevent a public mis
•liief hv which he is affected in cont
non with others.
A discharge under the insolvent
aws of one State will not discharge i
flic insolvent front a contract made!
with a citizen of another State.
When a person contracts to build a
house, and is prevented by sickness
from finishing it. be rail recover in an
tc'ion of quantum meruit for the part
performed, if such part is beneficial j
to the other party.
Permanent erections and fixtures,
made bv a mortgager after the exeou-j
linn of the mortgage upon the land
[■onvevcA by it, become a part of the
:nI..
Under the rule of caveat emptor a j
seller of goods, chattels or other prop- !
run commits no fraud in law when ;
he neglects to toll the purchaser of
any flaws, defects or unooundness in :
the same.
If any person puts a fence on the
land of another or plows it. lie is lia-j
hie for trespass, whether the owner;
has suffered injury or not.
When laud occupied by a tenant is
trespassed upon he alone can bring
the action.
The fact that an insurer was not in
formed of the existence of s pending
litigation affecting the premises in
sured at the time the insurance was,
effected, docs not vitiate the policy.1
The liability of an inn-keeper ex
tends to all the property of his guests.
f'ause of Southern Poverty,
Col. D. W. Aiken, in the Georgia'
Grunge, says:
* * * ‘-In 1859 the South pro
duced over five millions of bales of
cotton, of four hundred pounds each,
which sold at an average of eleven
cents per pound, realizing less than
$25,000,000. The cotton crop of 1873
reached considerably beyond four
millions of bales, and sold for less
than $175,000,000. And tiiis has been
the history of crops, annually, in the
past; have we any reason to antici
pate that, similar effects will not fol
low the same course in the future?
Then if the all cotton policy, ora
large cotton crop, has actually tended
to impoverish us as a people, who
will assert the same policy will not
have similar effects upon indi
viduals? * * * It is estimated
that the average increase of agricultu
ral wealth of the United States is
about four per cent, per annum. The
average increase of agricultural
wealth in any Southern State annual
ly since the war has not been one per
cent. Indeed some of the State# have
traveled the other way, and are now
lost in t lie wilderness of debt; and
there is no more patent cause for this
condition of things, than that of buy
ing on a credit the necessaries of life
to enable them to grow cotton, and
this, too, very frequently at a cost
that exceeds its market value. There
is an infatuation about this cultiva
tion of cotton that amounts to a hal
lucination. Can there be nothing in
vented to so far dispel it as to induce
A
the Southern farmer to live witliiu
liinnelf, and less at the mercy ot the
Shvlocks of the land?
--«•«
All orators are dumb when beauty
plendctb. .
When my friends are one eyed, I
look at their profile.
Choose such pleasures as recreate
much and cost little.
No one man is absolutely needed in
the running of a government.
NOTH.
At the request of Capt. Burke we pub
lish below the conclusion of the story that
was commenced in the Citizen some weeks
since. We do this for the benefit of par
ties who may have read the other chapters
in the Citizen:
ROSALIE RATHRQRRE; j
OB,
SIN AND SORROW.
BY WATTS PHTLLrrrS,
turnon or “for a womans sakb,“ “Damn#
VBOM HOME.” “JENNY OKAY; Or, A WOMAN'!
▼MKtiMAMOM," fim, WLVj
IJurforJ fairly led as he thus be
hold, rising from tno earth as it appeared
to liim, hia former employer.
As usually, frightfully he leered ; and as
twelve years before upon the road, his
oblique eye seemed as though fixed upon
the bushes by the wayside.
Mistress Camclford beckoned him, and he
limped after her to a spot where it was cer
tain they would not be observed.
“1 have not deceived you,” whined IIur
iuiu, ovcu ugiwic .uioiicaa iWL*l
spoken a word to him. “When 1 gave you
that certificate I believed the child was
dead.”
He had not waited for Augusta to speak,
because the first glance at her face hail told
him that she knew all.
“As you know, 1 have made you power
less to injure me,” said Mistress Camel- ;
ford ; “hut your fate is certain—your wife
has told all; and Ciresliain La not the man
to spare you.”
“He is returned?” Burford exclaimed,
in tones made up of terror and of hatred
together mingled.
“But,” saia Mistress Cam el ford, signifi
cantly, “you might obtain from mo a sum
of money, and an assured flight to a foreign
land !”
“The boy shall not a eecond time escape
with life,” was Buriord’s reply to his em
ployer's lost uttered words.
“I do not mean tnat he should die !”
Augusta said, &hu<idermgly,for Him remem
bered the many pangs of a terrible remorse
whicn had boon fierj while beliuwng that !
little Arthur was no more.
Buriord leered into Mistress Camelford’s !
face, and recognised that there was no du- 1
plieity in the words wmch she h<ul just •
8i>okell.
Mistress Caraelford thrust a bank-note |
into her agent’s hand, and said to him :
‘T desir*• only tnat the boy shoLdd again '
disappear.” °
“lie shall.”
“And for ever !”
Bur ord le rod and nodded a* l*»foro.
“Auu u .La, s lall have become of nim, I 1
alone must fri o*v."
“ V'«u a lor o ! ’
“Stir u u iie.n this spot till I am safely
bln.ivss Cam elf ord t us concluded the
conference, an ; set fortn on uor i>. :urn to i
Hartley’s mansion—not by tue h;gu-rcad. !
but by a path through the copse, and across
fields. A very wary, as well as a very
clever woman was Mistress Augusta Camel
ford 1
CHAPTER XV.
THH CON8EQUZNCES OF PH*.
Miserable, to the three most important
persons of our story, was the night which
followed the events related in our last
cimprer.
Sleepless, and full of painful thought to
all of them.
Rosalie’s reflect ions ended in a determi
nation to fly with her hoy, leaving behind
her a letter for Clarence Hartley, which
should tell him how he had been duped,
and how she herself had been tortured
iuto becoming, as she believed, liis
wife.
She would, in short, tell him all the
truth.
Rut would lie credit her revelation P
Would he not believe that she had, in
reality, herself deceived him, os Mistress
Camelford had so long insisted that sho
should.
He might credit that she had supposed
her husband dead, but that would not ab
solve her from duplicity.
Ab the widow of his friend, the mother of
Gresham's son, Hartley would have had
no thought to make her his wife, Rosalie
now well knew, as at the first she liad be
lieved.
Would nof, then, the thoughts of Hartley
accuse her that she had tricked him into
becoming her husband for the Bake only of
the great wealth which she liad known
that lie possessed.
Ho would look back, and would find am
ple evidence that she had never enter
tained for him one single spark of
love.
Would bolievo she had net oven esteemed
him, since she had\made of lum her
dupe; had made him wretched and
contemptible ill his own eyes ; had sacri
ficed herself to him for the wealth of which
ho was the master.
Sho would tell him of that letter which
she had written,and which Mistress Camel
ford had suppressed, but would lie have
faith in that, since it was certain that her
cousin would deny that such a letter had
ever existed.
Whether he would think her guilty, or
should believe that she had been more
greatly wronged than ho himself, Rosa
lie >yiuu UUf UilUU, HUM nvuu* iivw J/Uiu»w
consider.
Her future—her only care henceforth,
would bo her son, so miraculously restored
to her ; and she was wildly longing for the
hour of his arrival, that she might fly
with him, far away—beyond the seas, if
only so she might have hope to be secure
with him, to feel assured that he would
not again be wjosted from her.
And Gresham, through the long night,
had paced his room, lamenting the irrevoca
ble past, and striving to shape out that
which would be best for a future, which
must be hopeless and joyless.
Should he fly and leave Eosalie still with
Hartley, and with her son to render her
almost happy ?
No!—his friend had been already more
than sufficiently deluded; and Gresham
would neither aid in, nor connive at further
treachery towards him.
‘.And, besides,” reflected Gresham ; "it
Eosalie should desire to remain with Hart
ley, it would be because she loves him now,
and long years have obliterated from her
heart him whose image once reigned there
supreme and alone!"
If she could wish to oontinuo with Hart
ley, Eosalie had ceased to be an object of
pity, and would be no longer worthy that
Gresham should resign to her their son, since
he would not be at all needed for her hap
piness.
And Gresham looked to Arthur for all
the consolation that now, on earth, could
oG*n» V»»w
\ *
■j ^ '
Ana more torturing than to either of
these, had been the past night to Mistress
Camelford.
On no account must she quit Rosalie
now ; must be near to direct, and to behold
and gloat over the effects which would be ,
produced by the completion, at last, of her
terrible revenge.
So Mistress Camelford had eagerly ac
cepted the invitation which Hartley* had
given her, to remain for some time at his
bouse, and to bo the companion of her
cousin.
But even foi Mistress Camelford & iron
nature, the events of the last four-und
tweiity hours had been too overpower
ing. ^
Her brain, constantly, for so many years,
strained to its utmost tension; her heart
seething incessantly with the evil passions
it was nourishing; her wiry frame, as we
have seen, had already bent beneath the
druggie, and soon wus to be entirely
broken.
Ilor conscience would speak, admonish it
how she might to silence.
brooding on what she had accomplished
- - fleeting darkly through the past night
on that which yet. she had to do, striving to
stifle the still sun'll voice which never
ce^ed repeating to her that already Vie
fi ' done too much,—die morning found
her ill in mind and body both, writhing and
prostrate, a prey to an increasing fever
which was‘consuming her.
Arthur Gresham had again arrived at
Hartley’s mansion, but had not sought—
had, indeed, avoided an interview with its
owner ; he had not courage again to play
the hypocrite with the man who had been
his earliest, and for long his only friend.
Gresham felt that if they met again, he
should disclose all, and that must not be—
at least, till ho had seen, and had ascer
tained perfectly from Rosalie what were her
wishes and intentions.
First, too, he must see again his son; and
it might be that he would find himself
justified in taking the boy with him on
that journey to a distant land on which he
hud resolved.
And so Rosalie and Gresham had met
again—were alone, and gazing on, with
out daring to approach each other.
It uught have been supposel from the !
reserve that each displayed, that they
were Btrangera to each other, and had never 1
before encountered, but that both were
greatly agitated — both were trem
bling.
Scarce a word had been oxehansred be
tween uiese two unnappy nemgs, wneu
Mistress Gauielford, with haggard eye, a
death-like pallor overspreading ner sunken,
deeply furrowed, cheeks,—tottered slowly
and painfully into the room, sustained by
her waiting-woman, Laura Hutchinson, on
whom she heavily leaned, and without
whose assistance she had been unable for a
single moment to uphold herself upon her
feet.
Heavily she sank into a chair, and cast
her head back, and closed her eyoo, and
looked like death itself.
Only her short thick breathing gave
token to those who looked upon her that
she was living still.
Seized with illness where little compas
sion or attention might be hoped "or,
Mistress Can-chord had determined to
return without delay to her own
homo.
She would not, was her thought, permit
those whom she hated, against whom she
had contrived, and was contriving still, to
be witnesses of her tortures bodily and
mental.
The reproaches with which Gresham had
been prepared to load this wicked woman,
died away upon his lips, when ho bo
ble will, presently revive 1, opened again
her eyes, an 1 gazed with a. malignity fear
ful to behold, on those whom siio so cruelly
had injured.
Her eyes grew brilliant, a hectic flush
rose to her cheeks, as she told her victims
by what means, by what skillful treachery
she had gratified the rwv enge she had sworn
against them.
•‘Know you, woman, you have committed
crimes would give you to the scaffold ?”
Gresham demanded, when Mistress Camel
ford, still exulting in all that she ha/1 done,
had finished her recital.
“Beyond your power, to harm me—and I
have but treated you according to your mer
its; why did you write to me those fatal
letters ?**
Gresham was again about, ac years be
fore, to declare that no letter had he ever
written to Mistress Camelford ; but, ere he
had time to frame a word a loud shriek
rang through the apartment.
Laura Hutchinson, shrinking into the
nf t.hi* room. ll:ul listened
with terror to all that had been said, had
recognised how infamously she, herself, had
acted; and now, shrieking and wringing her
hands, hurried wildly forward, and cast
herself upon her knees.
“Ah, what have 1 done!—what have I
done—kill me !” she raved. “I have been
a wretch, and I deserve to die !M
Arthur Gresham remembered the dying
words of Albert Marsden, and grasping the
arm of the wretched woman kneeling there,
he cried:
“Oh ! I understand—You are Laura
Hutchinson: she from whom I was to re
ceive a clue to that mysterious treachery
which has undone us ail—confess ! beyond
all remedy is the evil which has
been wrought, but, confess, woman, con
fess !”
And Laura Hutchinson did confess.
Those letters which had duped Mistress
Camelford, had driven her to acts which
wore perfectly demoniacal—those letters
had been written by Albert Marsden, with
the hope, at a further time, to compromise
her fame, and to avenge Ins own double
rejection by her—and Laura Hutchinson
had been his emissary, for a substantial
reward had betrayed her mistress; but tar
from her had been, she said, the thought
that such terrible calamity would result
from her perfidy.
JJow was it Mistress Camelford s turn
; to shriek, and groan, and wring her
1 hands.
Already suffering terribly, she was en
tirely prostrate by her confidante’s confess
ion—she sank helplessly to the floor, and
lay moaning and grovelling at the feet of
those to whom she had done such dreadful
wrong—Crawling in the dust, implored
them to pardon, to have pity on her.
“Oh! in what terrible guilt have I steeped
ray eoul,” she groaned. “Oh! how I suf
fer !’* and she pressed her hand to her
breast, “I am burning; an inward fire is
devouring me ! Oh ! this suffering is more
than I can bear—death ! death ratlier than
this horrible torture.’*
Terror stricken, Rosalie looked around
for Laura Hutchinson to assist her mistress,
but that worthy confidant was gone, nau
stolen from the apartment, and was never
again seen, nor heard of by those to whom
; her perlidy had been the first cause of all
| the noiTors that had followed.
Presently, Mistress Camelford uttered a
desparing shriek—she hud remembered
the fate to which, the night before, she had
doomed Rosalie’s son.
“Young Arthur! young Arthur !** she
cried, “save him !—ho-”
And then suddenly her mind began to
wander, and she raved incoherently, and
madly laughed, and so wsts borne back to
the chamber which she, the night before
i had occupied, and which, alive, she was
not again to quit.
The brief mention of Arthur made by
Mistress Camelford had struck terror to the
heart of both his parents.
Had her utterance been that of delirium
only, or was the boy’s life again
menaced ?
Might he not be already dead!
The first blow struck at his young life
had failed it might be, that Mistress Camel
ford had resolved a second should prove
more certain.
Gresham was about to hurry, away to
Mygaret Burford’s hut, when, at that
1 *AV‘nt Margaret herself arrived.
yjdfc* and affriohtad w».« ah#, and sVe
f
^ i \ \
c»iue u> tali that Arthur had disap
peared.
The previous night, ero going to rest,
she had seen him safely in his bed, m a
small room whichjadjoined her own sleeping
chamber, and separated from it, oDly by a
very thin partition.
Very lightly had she slept throughout
the night, but had heard no sound ; yet in
the early morning, when she had gone to |
Arthur’s chamber, he w;is no longer 1
there.
Gresham demanded, “slept your husband ;
at his home last night ?” and Margaret j
faintly answered that he did not.
Gresham next asked if Ad tm Rurfortl
had the means, and was 1n the habit of
entering this house by uight, without
arousing his wife.
And now Margaret gave an affirmative I
“It is he, then, who has ay a in potuttaHea j
himself of Arthur,1' Gresham said, and j
Margaret dropped her head and did not
speak.
“Oh ! the villain has killed my darling
boy l1* wept Rosalie.
“No—no, he would not dare to do that I’1
urged Gresham; “he has been employed by
Mistress Camelford to remove Arthur be
yond our reach, but not to slay him, I am ;
convinced of that; the attempt now to de
stroy dur son, would in* t«> h»*.zir*doi7~ even .
for your cousin, daring and reckless
in her atrocity as she has proved her
self.’1
Aud those word* were a gleam of comfort
to Rosalie’s heart, for they hail brought eon- !
viction to her mind, that Arthur had not
ceased to exist, and soon her cousin would
be able, and would n«»w be willing too, to
say what had become of Rosalie’s son, and
would cause him to be restored again to
his mother’s arms.
And so, as Gresham hurried away to era- I
ploy agents who would endeavor to tiuce,
and to recover the stolen boy, Rosalie flew
to her cousin’s chamber, and her heart col
lapsed, lor they told her that Mistress
Camelford could not long survive ; a raging
fever was fast consuming her, and she was
delirious and raving of the past, and some- 1
times muttering, sometimes screaming forth j
with penis of wild laughter, words which ■
thrilled with horror those who were beside ,
her couch, and ho compelled to listen.
'n—.1.... ’
followed it, Rosalie quitted not her cousin’s I
side, continued listening to her cousin's :
ravings with the hope that ’midst them she
would speak of Arthur, would give some in- I
dication by which he might be followed and
brought back to bi9 poor, almost heart
broken mother.
Hut in Mistress Camelford’s delirium,
Arthur seemed not for a single moment to
hold a place in her disordered thoughts, no
word 01 him, no allusion to Rosalie's poor
boy.
Entirely exhausted by her long vigil, her
heart filled with despair, Rosalie had, at
length, quitted the chamber of her wicked
cousin, and was on the way to her own
apartment*, when, as she entered one of the
corridor®, a door at ite opposite end flew
suddenly open, and Rosalie looked again
upon her son, and he on her.
Rosalie, struck motionless with surprise
and delight, sent forth a loud, joyful cry, and
Arthur, bounding towards her eagerly, and
with extended aims, uuxivus to embrace
her, shrieked out.
“Mother!”
And then, he too, stood still, and placed
hi:; hands upon his throat, writhing with
rue violent pain which there was torturing
imu, again strove to speak, but could not,
in 1 sank to the ground exhausted.
I I s mother knelt beside him, and enfold
ri him within her arms.
great affright.
Hut it was not so, for presently the boy,
opening again his eyes, endeavored to smiio ,
u» he clung around his mother.
Again he essayed to speak, and could
Li-'t, and as before, carried his hands to his (
fhrout. and writhed with the pain which
.in attempt to utter a second word, had cost
him. 1
•-•Oh ! desist, dear Arthur, desist!” tried |
Rosalie, “an overwhelming terror first de
prived you of your speech, a mighty joy has
now as certainly restored it to you—but
make no further effort now’; wait patiently
with the blest assurance that you arc no
longer a poor dumb boy !’*
And the result was, ultimately, a.9 Rosalie
liad now pre bete l.
In time, and by slow degrees. Arthur re
gained his fml speech; at first his words ;
were disjoined and unconnected, like to a •
child's earliest utterances, but at length
>■ 1- . 1 . - U- ,,, unil Itii
Cll-fcl. .HI “*,^1 • ?) ----,
could speak smoothly and fluently.
What hot befallen him, since two day*
liet'ore. when he had parted with lus moth- |
or. Author wrote when Kosalie had taken
him to her apartments.
A loll ;h hand laid upon him had startled
him emhlenly from his sleep,and the moon- 1
light, which was streaming into his cham
ber, had shown him Adam Burford standing
beside the bed, and in his hand a knife, tho
point ot which was directed threateningly
towards the boy’s throat.
Arthur, notwithstanding, strove to utter
some sort of cry, for lie knew that the
slightest sound would have reached Mar- ,
garet’s ear; but most perfectly mute was j
he then—not the faintest cry was he able
to produce—a strange, unaccountable ter
ror, far beyond that which the peril of that i
moment would have occasioned him, seized
upon linn as lie looked into Burford 3 face,
which it seemed to him had before con
fronted him with the same menacing and
hideous aspect.
He was snatched from his bed. the knife
held threateningly over his head, was made
to hurry on his clothes, and was then forced
from the hut.
Burford walked rapidly, compelling Ar
thur to keep pace with him, through several
hours of the dark night, and just before
daybreak they reached a miserable a fid
empty hovel, into which Arthur was forced
by the ruffian into whoee power he again
had fallen, and the door was locked upon
him, and he was a prisoner and alone.
He listened to Burford’s receding foot
steps, which soon died away in the distance,
and then strove to conjecture what was tho
fate that was intended him.
Was he to be lelt there to starve and
die ?
No succor coul^come to him; for should
anyone pass near that hovel,he was dumb,
and so could not make known that ho was
captive thete, and implore their cliaritable
aid.
Despair gave him wondrous strength, and
ho strove to dash down the door, but it re
sisted all his efforts.
bmall and supple as was Arthur's figure,
...w,-,., it imuossible that he could force
his way through the narrow loop-hole,
which was the only window his prison con
tained.
But yet. he must escape ! It had become
broad daylight; and.once free, ho would bo
safe from recapture; for, iu the open day,
Burford would not surely, dare again to lay
violent hands upon him.
Arthur looked upwards, towards the roof;
it waa of thatch, aud at no great height
above his head.
With much labor, and after many fruit
less attempts, he contrived to climb to it;
and working, a* he believed, for his very
life, at last succeeded in forming an open
ing sufficiently large to admit of his crawl
ing through it.
To fail from that roof to the ground would
not be without danger; and should he, in
his fall, fracture a limb, be would have add
ed to the cruelty of his fate.
But the turf beneath was soft and ridd
ing ; he boldly dropped to the ground, and
escaped unhurt; and had fled back on the
road by which he had been conducted to his
prison, and hail again reached his mother s
side; his heart had directed him the way
that he must travel to find again the shel
ter of her arms.
Wo may say, although Arthur could not
kuow it, that Burford's intention ha t been
*„ W.«->lill’s son on hoard some vessel.
winch was abtmt to rail to some very tar
distant port, with an agreement that ho
should there be very securely left.
Burforil hail found a captain little seru
CMiluuH, and blasphemed and stamped with
rage when returning to the hovel ho dis- I
Covered that his proposed victim had C3
cajieii him.
"Listen, dear Arthur,” Rosalie said; “I
have decided that within the next four-and
twenty hours l must i|Uit this place, never
I., return to it—and with you, Arthur, for
my sole companion."
"Rosalie's son very cosily made his mother
comprehen 1 that his voi^ life was at her
diKjosil, and she exclaimed, with much |
emotion •
Vicir life, dear boy ! you now arc all (hat
in this world is left to me; for your sake ;
alone do 1 now consent to live.”
And Arthur threw his arms around hij
mother’s neck, and fondly and pityingly
caressed her.
“We will fly, Arthur, to some obscure
corner of the earth where no one may
hope to tro-e us out, and in our love for
each other, will forget the world we must
abandon.”
“Yes.” Arthur signified, “he was devoted
to his mother; there was nothing she could
command.in which he would*nut gladly,
and with till his he rt, obey her.”
Blit n; ’ich of wonder and perplexity was
iti the look oe fixed on R.rsii*ie s faco. And
Rosalie replying to that look, said :
Ves, Arthur, mystery lias surrounded I
you from your very birth, a mystery which |
vue day 1 will make fully known to you—
this 1 may tell you, now : your mother has ,
not to reproach herself that she lias given i
you life, nor is there for you, dear boy, a !
particle of shame mingled with the mystery
with which you are enshrouded.”
And now, ms Rosalie concluded speaking, !
a servant came to say to her that Mistress
Caiuplford was no longer delirious, was per- ;
fectly lucid, hut sinking fact, and was most ;
anxious to behold her cousin to whom she j
had something of vanl importance to coin- '
mnnicate.
A glad smile flitted across Augusta’s face, 1
as she saw her cousin enter the room in
which she lay, and holding the hand of Ar
thur, whom Rosalie had indeed brought |
with her ill tile hope that to behold him I
..i.i i . . . ..r * *i. , i..., ,,..,,,,.,-1.
Mistress Cumelford.
And Rosalie had judged rightly.
“Come nearer to me, Rosalie,*’ Augusta
in a famt whisper said; and let all with
draw save yourself and—and him !”
And her filmy gaze was fixed on Arthur, j
who, pal»' and trembling, was shrinking ;
closely to his mother’s side.
“Reason for a few' moments, ere T die, has
returned to me,” said Augusta, her voice
with every word growing weaker and move
faint, “that 1 may make to you the only
atonement which, alas! is lelt within my
power.”
“What am she mean?” was Rosalie’s
thought.
Alter a considerable pause, Mistress Cam
elf ord resumed:
“A messenger has been despatched to my
house to bring thence a small ebony casket,
which is in my private cabinet.”
Again Augusta paused, and Rosalie said:
“And what of that casket, cousin?”
“It contains that letter which, years
since, you wrote to Clarence Hartley, and
which I so wickedly suppressed; will be
your entire justification when Hartley shall
come to know', will be your protection I
against his anger:”
Ah Rosalie iistcnod, she resolved that that
letter once again in her possession, she j
would fly, leav.ng that important document i
to be read by Hartley after her departure; 1
then would ho cease to wonder wherefore
9&Q ^ifdJh-d, and would make no effort for
Alter having kin for several minutes in
seeming unconsciousness, Augusta again j
arouGOO, to say : !
“If that casket be not very speedily
brought, it will not find me living to re
ceive it—and you. Rosalie must yourself
claim, and obtain pot,-session of it!
“I should not dare,” said Rosalie, “un
less you had been heard to issue such di*
reckons.”
• You shsll call back into the room those
who have been attending me, and I will
speak to them concerning-”
Rosalie was turning away, about to sum
mon back her cousin’s attendants, when
she was stayed by a feeble sign from Au
gusta. who whispered:
“Wait yd a moment—first let me ask that
you will be merciful to me in my last
moments, that I may not die without some
hope that heaven, too, will pardon me!”
“1 do forgive you, cousin, anil pray that
heaven, too. may pardon you!” Rosalie
faintly, but very earnestly said.
i'ulinks, Rosalie, thanks; and you should
forgive me the sorrow 1 have caused you,
since 1 die to atone the sin that 1 have
wrought!”
And after again resting awhile, the
wretched woman resumed:
••But Gresham, will he, too, pardon me ?
No; 1 may not hope it; and yet, ho was
the only being that—on earth, 1 ever really
loved, and l-”
She could utter no more; for a few
moments lay motionless and unconscious,
and then, with a feeble gasp, her spirit fled
away to give ucccoiuit of these toiTii.de acts
which in tile flesh had been committed.
The cry to which Rosalie gave utterance
brought instantly back into the room those,
who Ixhoro had been sent from it, as well
as others of the household, by whom Rosa
lie's shriek had been heard, and amongst
those who now hurriedly and in great alarm
entered, was Clarence Hartley himself.
One glance towards Mist rose Camelford’s
couch, and all saw that still and quiet now, j
and forever, was she whose life had been so j
turbulent and so restless.
As all stood around looking on that, at
last, calm face, a servant very quickly
entered the room, bnt stopped suddenly,
on seeing the many persons there.
He laid understood what it was their
presence in that room betokened.
••What would you? Why come you to
this chamber?” Hartley asked, rather 1
sternly, of the man, but yet in that sub- j
dued tone, which arises from the mysteri
ous awe we feel in presence of the dead.
••1 bring,” replied the servant, "the ebony
casket which 1 bad been desired by Mis
tress Camelford to procure from her pri
vate cabinet.'’
And he held forth the small coffer, and
instinctively Rosalie's trembling hands
were extended to clutch it, but
‘•Give it to me!” said Hartley, taking
it into his own possession.
‘•This casket-’’ he continued, "contains,
doubtless, Mistress Cauii Lord’s last wishes ;
and it is for me to accomplish them. I
will open tins coder to-morrow, and before
W1U106.SCS •
CHAPTER XVI.
TUB EFFECTS OF SOEItOW.
Before witnesses!
What terrible words were those for poor
Rosalie.
That fatal letter would then be read be
i fore witnesses, who would be made to know
[ her as a bigamist, while she, the wife of
two living husbands, must sink-with shame
before those who would be without pity
for her.
Flight that night would be impossible to
her—the whole household would be astir.
And Hartley ?—How could she remain to
brave Ids presence when he had learned the
hunnliatiug truth ? How find courage to
behold his agony—perhaps to Listen to his
upbraidmgs, for it might be that he would
believe that letter a mere trick.
Mistress Caineliurd could not now con
firm its truth.
But flight for Rosalio before Hartley
should have seen that letter, was now im
possible, and so she must endure the dread
iul ordeal that was awaiting iier.
Could Arthur help her ? He wa3 read}
for aught that might be demanded of him !
No; he oould but pity her, Rosalie said;
and thou she asked Her son if h* remeni
tuvraa that ab/.uv
I Certainly! The dying lad.v he 1 s.
edttf ^toonluufu 'Crdqci*.
Adimliilni; Rate*.
i»no .qunru, lir*t insertion. <muJi
snliseijiieiit insertion 7f> cents.
One M<(Uuie one yeaf,$l5; twciH^aar.ti
one year, fUt.
One-foiirtlt column one year $0o; out
half column one your $|nn.
One column one yeai $ISC.
I.oral Notices twenty cents a line.
The space occupied hy a *<|iiare is sae
inch.
Marriage notices ami deaths, not ex
needing six lines, published free. .\l!
over six lii»’i» charged for at regular ad
vertising tat.es.
,,M tv» »u> tucMiur; itiuiit ib cuuuijueu t*
Very important letter; And he had observ
ed how anxious Rosalie had boon to obtain
possession of that casket; how terror
s', ricken she had looked w hen Hartley had
secured it to liims • If.
“Yea!” exclaimed Rosalie; “for should
Clarence Hartley read that letter, while l
am yet near him, I snouid uie, Arthur—I
should die ?”
Night*had again arrive!.
A single light glimmered in the cham
ber where Mustrers Camelford had so lately
died, and where now her corpse lay cold
and stark.
A woman-watcher—well acedstomed to
such employment and which, for her, had
long since lost ail terror—was seated com
fortably m an easy chair, and fast asleep.
A window, which looked on the gardens,
wa? slowly and noiselessly opened by some
one who stepped iuto the room.
The sudden gust of wind which entered
as the window was thrown open, extin
guished tlie light which had been on a table
near it; and instantly there was tatal dark
ness within that chamber of death.
Soon the sleeping woman was aroused
by some one jostling against her: and,
starting suddenly to her feet, clutched, in
the darkness, this midnight intruder.
Scream after scream was pealed forth,
penal racing to the ear* of ereiy inmate of
the mansion, and causing every heart to
throb with't jrror.
Isotone, of all the household, who did not
hurry tow ir Is the chamber whence thotw
shrieks liai summoned them.
Almost the first to arrive was Hartley,
who came in time to arrest young Arthur
as, having at length succeeded in I reakiag
from the woman who had tenaciously -lung
to him, he was hurrying from the mortuary
chamber.
“A thief!” exclaimed Hartley, snatch
ing from Arthur’s hand the ebony casket
which lie hml been striving to conceal.
Arthur :: id seen where, m Mistress C*m
elfor i s chamber, Hartley had deposited
the casket, which was to be, lie said# ope#
ed on the morrow, and before witnesses.
He had beheld his mother's grief, had
heard her say of what vast imjiorlanco to
her was the letter within tliat casket.
Carefully concealing his intention from
Rosalie, he resolved to obtain Halt letter
and save her from that something, lie knew
not what, which she so dreaded, arid at
the more thought of which he beheld hor
so intensely wretched.
He had succeeded in reaching, even in
the darkness, the object of winch he had
resolved to obtain possession, so Well had
he marked the spot where the casket hod
been placed by Hartley; but his escape
with it had been render rd impossible by
the means which v-j have just described.
“Wicked, ungrateful b y,” Hartley con
tinued, surprised and hurt, “you believed,
did you not, that there were jewels within
this casket ?”
Arthur stirred not, gave no sign: but
h’s features wore tranquil, he was tirm an l
self-possessed.
“1 will have pity on your youth,” added
Hartley, “but go instantly from this house.”
“Ho, uii, not yet,” cried Rosalie, “not
thus banished, for he is no thief, merits not
that infamy should rest upon his head.”
And then, looking towards Arthur, whom
she could not reach—"Liioss you darling,”
she exclaimed, “for that which you have
striven to accomplish,”
Hartley was dumb with amazement, anil
a strange wonder was in the eyes oi all who
now hat listened to Rosalie.
“He sought that casket to obtain for mo
a letter which he knew was there enclos
ed,” Rosalie added, and in a moment Ha: t
ley had foie -1 open the casket.
And then, Rosalie, clutching Hartley’s
humbly; ’ inwdtiringly and very
“in the name of Heaven, read not that
letter till v.e shall be alone. 1
All who there, until this moment, had
looked and listened, now silently und won
deringly withdrew.
On a sign from his mother. Arthur too
hail quitted the apartment, and Rosalie and
Hartley alone were left within it.
Hesitatingly, tremblingly, his thoughts
presaging some strange calamity, some
heavy woe. Hartley drew the letter from
the casket.
He saw' that it was addressed to himself,
and in Rosalie s hand.
Hut why thus strangely delivered to
him ?
. . o in ^ _ 1. aV . f
••liea.d, road,” Rosalie faintly said, sink
ing to her knee, “and Heaven knows that I
h ,ve not been guilty, and that she alone
was culpable w ho now lies yonder, still aa l
cold, bereft of further power for good or
evil here on earth.”
The letter was at last opened. Hartley
saw that it was dated more than twel\q
years back, some weeks before Rosalie ha l
become liis wife; and the ink with w' 1 e
it had been written had faded and grown
pale—but not so pale as was now the taco of
him who read those soul-cruahiug lines to
the last word, and was stunned to immobil
ity—petrified, aghast with horror.
He had been made to wod the wife of a
Jiving man, the wife of his friend -his Ro
salie had never rightly belonged to him.
Oh ! all was horror— infamy I
Three wretched victims, and -distress
Camulford alone had been guilty, not for
one moment had lie a doubt of that.
And he knew not, and it mattered not to
him new to know wherefore .distress Cam
elford had wrought such terrible evil.
But now was Rosalie's constant sadness
all accounted for; no wonder she had so sel
dom smile 1 upon him, that h:s most devot
ed love had failed to make her happy, for
she had been tricked and forced into his
arms, had been unceasingly mourning the
husband and the son she hud believed were
mouldering in the tomb.
Clarence Hartley fixed a lengthened gaze,
it was to be his last look on Rosalie, who
st ill was on her knee before luiu, ami sigh
iu .■ heavily, fid tend forth:
“Farewell, Rosalie; not long shall I re
main a barrier to a happiness which soon
for you will be renewed;
Rosalie now raised her -tearful eyes to
wards Hartley, and v.as about to speak, but
he waved a despairing farewell to her, an 1
was gone from her sight.
Wo!.;,, tl,o imxt hour he had quitted the
house. .
Soon tidings came that he had pnrcna. 'd
a commission in the army—a continental
war was then raging, and in the very first
battle wherein he had boon engaged, lie
perished. Life had become utterly hatefu
to him, and he had sought the battle held
as the easiest and the noblest way to be rid
of it. , ,
But a few words more are needed to con
clude our story.
Master Adam Burford received not his
most fitting doom, for ho escaped the scat
fold ; but be was sent to leer far away from
his own country lor the term of his nat
ural life, having been concerned in a poach
ing affray, in which a gamekeeper had been
ehImmensely wealthy became Rosalie, and
well and nobly did she employ her riches.
Rightly she inherited the fortune left by
Mistress CaineU'ord; anil which that little
scrupulous lady, had. as we know, usurped.
Anil Clarence Hartley left to her, whom
he had so long believed his true and lawful
wife, the vast sums and large estates of
which he had died possessed, with the ex
pressed hope tint when lie no Ion-er liv
ed to trouble and to sadden them, Rosalie
and her first, and true husband would again
be re-united. •
And it will not be wondered at that
Hartley s generous wish was ultimately
fulfilled. , „ , ., .
Throughout their tortured lives, midst
all that happened to them both, the heart
of each had never ceased to mourn the lost
oompanionship of that other heart horn
which so cruelly it had been severed.
Not they had committed the sin for
which so long they had been mad* to sor
row.
THE END.