NORTHWESTERN
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
Biblioteca Femina
•
The Gift of
Chicago Public Library
Assembled for the
World's Fair of 1893
Eleven Women
AND
Thirteen Men,
AND
other works.
ILL US TRA TED.
By Mrs. M. Wintermute.
NEWARK, OHIO:
Lyon & Ickes, Book and Job Printkks.
1887.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1887, by
MKS. M. "VyiNTEKMUTE,
in the ollice of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.
NOTE BY THE AUTHOR.
The poems herein' contained have, most of them, appeared in leading
papers and magazines. The story is more of a venture, having never
fallen under the eye of a critic. It has been written with the sincerest motive,
and owes its vitality to the time in which it is brought forth, and the events and
circumstances which have suggested it. The characters are, many of them,
such as I have known, with slight variations. If I have written with little
regard to the style of others, I have at least been faithful to my purpose in the
beginning, and the arduous task of writing a book.
The most disagreeable feature of the story will, perhaps, be the appearance
of my politicians as characters. I have felt continually the need of apology to
such of my readers as take no interest in politics, the great, chief ploughshare
in moral culture, education and reform in a republican government. I have
several times been on the eve of leaving out the whole of the Sixteenth Chapter,
in which I describe the adventure of M. de Clare, a French physician, in our own
city, at the epoch of a political jollification, where he saw some of our most
respected citizens, and the Author's best friends, under rediculous circumstances.
I have concluded, however, since I'm publishing the story within the
bounds oí home, to cover up the identity of such as much as possible, and put
the chapter in, rather than break the thread of my narrative, do injustice to one
of my most interesting characters, and miss the opportunity of drawing the
important lesson I desire from the event of a political jubilee in which rum, the
giant fiend, played a conspicuous part.
I have written and published this book for Home, with a hope that it may
never fall under the eye of great publishers or reviewers, of which there is
indeed little danger.
I will be readily forgiven for linking Ireland into my story, since her million
emigrants to our land are literally interwoven with us and bone of our bone in
all our institutions, while the sympathy of every true republican flows out to
the Irish in this crisis of their national existence.
M. I. 'W.
Newafk, Ohio, 1887.
CONTENTS.
Chapter i.—Jimmy and Judy O'Rork walking to the seaport, and somewhat
of their conversation.
CHAPTER II.—In which Mandeville Lee is introduced, with many other im¬
portant characters.
CHAPTER III.—Hester Montifort, Little Helena, aged David Raleigh and Mrs.
EUenwood are made known to the reader.
CHAPTER IV.—The death of Little Helena and the opening of the sealed
missive.
CHAPTER V.—Jimmy and Judy in New York, Avhere they are found by
Raleigh.
CHAPTER VI.—Raleigh and Hubert at work in the saloon.
CHAPTER VIL—In which we get a glimpse of Nicholas Scruggs, witness the
visit of the Missionaries, and in which two hoys confer together and become friends.
CHAPTER VIII.—The interior of a dungeon and the fire.
CHAPTER IX.—A little histoiy of Wilhelmena Childeth in connection with
Raleigh while he is assisted by the Children's Aid Societj'.
CHAPTER X.—In which Mrs. Eilenwood and the character of "Walter Watkiii is
brought uiJ.
CHAPTER XI.—The bringing forward of an important wrangle and the inti-o-
duction of Arthur Weston.
CHAPTER XII.—A few words concerning Mrs. Ellenwood and her daughter,
after which the history of Raleigh and Hubert is carried forward.
CHAPTER XIII.—Hubert's experience under the roof of his aged friei d.
CHAPTER XIV.—After many days.
CHAPTER XV.—Politics is touched upon ; M. de Clare becomes excited, and Man¬
deville Lee reveals somewhat of his history to Weston and imbes strength.
CHAPTER XVI.—In which M. de Clare witnesses a political jollification in N
and loses his self-respect.
CAPTER XVII.—The early history of Hubert and little Caroline in the saloon.
CHAPTER XVIII.—Weston's interview with Jimmy O'Rork, which proved
very unsatisfactory.
CHAPTER XIX.—Interesting events happening in Elmvilie.
CHAPTER XX.—Nicholas Scruggs and his strategy ; he tortures the life out of
Mrs. Hoadly.
CÔNÏENTS.
V
CHAPTER XXI.—The maidenhood of Emily, her abduction and saved by Jimmy
O'Rork.
CHAPTER XXII.—Jimmy O'Rork before Louise, and his interesting interview
with the lawyer, Arthur Weston.
CHAPTER XXIII.—Concerning Walter Watkins.
CHAPTER XXIV.—Aunt Nancy must go to New York.
CHAPTER XXV.-A dark picture; also, Jimmy brings in a witness.
CHAPTER XXVI.—A reunion.
CHAPTER XXVII.—Weston again outwitted.
CHAPTER XXVIII.—Not born to hope, ah, why then born at all. The trial of
Scruggs, and in which Hubert loves Emily and sunders the tie between himself and
Raleigh.
CHAPTER XXIX.—After five years.
CHAPTER XXX.—A revelation.
CHAPTER XXXI.—A Gethsemane.
CHAPTER XXXII.—A cross and resurrection.
CHAPTER XXXIIL—Raleigh is blind.
CHAPTER XXXIV.—In which the story is concluded.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE STORY,
The Welcome.—Crossing the Plain.—Judy at the Prison Bars.—Irish Church.—
Sing Mournfully.—Barnabas Plumsock.—Peter Mo wis.—Little Helena.—Nicholas
Scruggs.—Hubert in the Saloon.—Raleigh Assisted by the Aid Society.—Wilhelmena
and Eddie.—M. de Glare at the Jollification.—The Crusade Men.—Richard Kruitz.—
Jimmy O'Rork in the Barn.—Emil}^—James Monifort's Congregation.—James
Monifort's Visit.—Hubert's Mother.—The Three Phantoms;—The Cross.—The
Trumpeter.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE POEMS,
Flowers of June.—Elgenhiem.—Little Pearl's Christmas.—Sante in Trouble.—
Pigs in the Garden.—Little Pat's Thanksgiving.—The Staid Professor.—The Lovers.—
Annie O'Neil.—The Pioneers —The Golden City.—A Japanese Belle.
MOTHER AT REST.
To-day she sleeps the sleep of death,
And in her chamber flowers most rare
In voiceless beauty breathe of love,
And breathe of peace unbroken, deep,
Wherein the wearied spirits sleep
That rise to find a life above.
In grief too deep for hope or prayer,
I kneel and gaze upon her face
Illumined with all her saintly grace.
My mother's face—'reft of all care,
'Reft of all anxious thought and pain.
Sealed with a smile—I grieve in vain.
I hear her say, " How sweet this rest.
How beautiful these flowers that bloom
And smile upon my lifeless breast.
How peaceful is this silent room.
These shaded walls in grief's array
This still and bright midsummer day."
' ' I weep not, though thy tears may start,
I heed not, ask not of thy pain ;
I hear the voice that stills my heart,
I yearn not o'er my child again.
Tired life, tired Sipirit, all at rest
Upon my gentle Saviour's breast."
Eleven Women and Thirteen Men,
A STORY FOR THE TIMES.
CHAPTER I.
JIMMY AND JUDY O'RORK.
"Come, come, Judy ! a couple of roods or so more, if we can round Gar¬
rón Head before midnight," begged a tall, gaunt Irishman, looking anxiously
about. With Judy, his wife, he was making his way on foot to the seaport.
Judy sat down and would not stir. "See the kilns yon how red, ferninst
the purple mountains ? and the moon's coming up from Scotland already, like
a blotch of blood. Come, Come!" but Judy sat on a little patch oí copper-
colored earth, with the cliffs above, and the sea on either side, and sullenly
rested herself. The sea looked dismal and the raw wind was freezing the turf
as the dark stole into the sky above. Jimmy O'Rork was emigrating from Ire¬
land to America. He was keeping near the coast, where the road is difficult.
He would not have told why he was taking such a circuitous route from Wick-
low to the sea. He was, however, fleeing from [justice?], he had been evicted
from his house ; he had with wretched wrung heart taken the matter into his
own hands and drawn his fist in the face of his tormentors. He had suffered
within, while Judy suffered zvithoiU the prison bars, and their children died of
hunger upon her bosom^ He had escaped and made his way to the spot where
we have found them. Jimmy had caught, as in a vision, a glimpse of a glorious
land beyond the ocean, and by dint of much coaxing and working upon the
superstition of Judy he had succeeded in arriving so near the place where they
would embark. And now, not far distant back along the cliff, where the ledge
forms a foot-path to the sea, he saw a man running after and hailing them. He
was dressad in gentleman's garb, and ran as if excited. Jimmy turned to fly,
but Judy arose, and peering through the shadows of the rocks, said :
"It is only the old man that is becrazed !"
" No thin !" exclaimed Jimmy,
8
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEfi
"Yes, and he is hailing us Jimmy ! " and Judy, turned and walked rapidly
along beside her husband ; but the old man soon overtook them ; breathless
and hurriedly he gasped :
"You will see my Annie when you get there—my child. You will know
MAY BE SHE WILL BE THE FIRST TO WELCOME YE.
her, you my good woman!" addressing Judy, "be kind to her." The poor
man bent trembling near the dark face of Judy O'Rork as he spoke, and the
mist from the sea wet his thin cheeks.
" She is, so to speak, alone in that country of strangers, my lamb ; be kind
AND OTHER WORKS.
9
to her, be tender with her!" Here the quivering voice and the trembling
frame of the sick man failed, and he sank in an excited sleep upon the ground
at their feet. It was a pitiable sight, and the kind hearted Jimmy took a bit of
shawl from his bundle and spread it over him as he slept,
"It's bad luck," said Judy as they resumed their journey. "And too, as
I walked through the Abbey at Dundalk, my foot struck and broke a coffin by
chance. Now really, Judy? but faix angels would do the same there! I saw
skulls a plenty in the nettle weeds by the wall, and that is little mather anyhow.
But what is that gleaming up high and skyward agin the green rock to the left,
Judy?"
" I think it is the flare of the burning kelp."
"Ah! so it is, Judy; but just now I thought I heard some one coming up
behind us."
" It's only the sea creeping into the caves."
" No, really, I think it is theauld mon agin." And sure enough there was
a hurry of feet upon the rocky path, and the old man came up, exclaiming :
" Here is your shawl, my good woman, and heaven bless your kind heart !"
Judy took the shawl which in their mercy they had thrown over the poor
man, saying, " Who that is in the hands of the merciful Almighty would do
less ? "
Then addressing Jimmy, the insane man exclaimed in tones of joy, " God
bless you, my good man, my daughter is coming home to-morrow ! And the
sea has shattered the coast for miles there ; a boat could scarcely ride without
being sucked into the caves. I must make it, I must make the causeway to¬
night, stranger, to-night!"
"The causeway is thin, back down the coast," said Jimmy.
"Ah! so it is; off Belfast; but I must tell you about her. You," he
stooped and whispered to Judy, "You be tender with my motherjess lamb ;
you shall be rewarded. Here, take this, and these," drawing a heavy purse of
gold he handed it to Judy, with some trinkets, "you'll need the money my
good woman; find her and save her in that strange country." Judy clutched
the precious treasure and prornised.
"I will find her ; I will care fer yer child ! " It seemed a "hopeless prom¬
ise, for she seized the purse with the grip of a vulture, and with a greedy, strange
gleam lighting her face, deposited it in her bosom without any visible sign of
pity for the old man, who now suddenly disappeared amid the shadows of the
rocks and gathering night.
lO
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
Strong hearted and courageous the footsore couple traversed the remnant
of the solitary way to the harbor, but the moon was low in the west before
ing his only daughter, who had deserted him for her lover many years before.
Now that Jimmy had reached the port, there was a little anxious forboding
betrayed in his glance out over the shadowy ocean, and tender thoughts of re¬
gret that brought tears to his eyes; he turned his face away from Judy as he
spoke. "The water is black as a pool o' ink, and in truth I would not part
wid auld Ireland, only I know it is bether for ye, Judy. Thank God for that ! "
" In His name, then, why is it bether for me? "
" Why it is a blissid beautiful counthry, intirely ! " answered Jimmy with
much assurance. "Plenty o'«male and mate; a broad fertile counthry with
plenty o' work for ivery mon. "
" For the mather of that, ye do not need to pester yer unsignified brains,
since there is work enough ony where for him that will do nothing ; and the
mountains of Lucklow are breezy, and the Bog of Allen broad enough for the
like o' Jimmy O'Rork, on if it were not that I jist promised in the name of the
merciful Almighty Shepherd to find her, that lamb, I would yet turn and sit
agin upon the hob by the aingeal in my father's house."
"Judy! Judy! have ye intirely forgotten Jimmy O'Rork? Have ye for¬
gotten the day o' famine and o' fever when he hung above ye, and ye were but
a shift of burning bones, and he did not know the day from the night as he
watched ye, and never minded, though yer beauty faded, an ye were no bether
than a broken heck ? "
" It's lettle I care for that now," said Judy.
"That is throuth, anyhow, Judy, and too, there is plenty o' tobaccy for the
pipe and spirit for the bottle in that counthry."
"I dhrink nothing, ye Brattle!"
V
they rounded Garrón Head and emerged
from the ragged footpath to the level road
Hearing the seaport.
"Where now is the bad luck, Judy?"
asked Jimmy O'Rork. Judy remained silent,
but fumbled nervously in the clothing about
her bosom until her hand felt the precious
gold; it was a reality, and Judy knew that
the insane man who bestowed it would never
think of it again. He was a rich lord who
had gone hopelessly mad of grief concern-
AND OTHER WORKS.
II
" But Judy, the childhrc pick the tabaccy and hang it upon the rafthers in
that counthry, to say nothing of the other, and may be that swate lamb ye go
to, the one ye promised to find, will be the first to welcome ye to that land
where ivery house is a house of plinty. "
" If ivery house is a house o' plinty an o' spirit there is no need to care for
her, or bring her back where the people die for bread."
"No," responded Jimmy, "and the Queen at home I "
"Jimmy, ye have no need, with yer unsignified brains, to spake agin the
swate Queen. There is nothing she would not do to bless Ireland if she knew
o' this."
"Judy, ye Brock! the Queen is a Tory an a bogtrotter. What cares she
as she waits her garden-parties for the like of ye or yer children, ye who are a
leedy yerself, ivery inch of ye. No thin, the Queen does not step down to
fowling marshes for the good o' Ireland."
"And its ye would be aquil to asking it of her if she should sink to her
middle in mud," retorted Judy.
"Judy, have ye forgotten the moan of the leetle un when ye sat without
the door with no one to see or to ask when it was dead, and ye held it close
12 ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
to yer bosom and would not give it up, and would not have it dead? Have ye
forgotten the lad that would have lived, only he would not eat from ye, and his
fayther in prison for makin' the attimpt to save the family? "
"Aye, Jimmy," bursting in tears, "but Ireland is a blissed land, where
I'v laid thim to rest."
In spite of Jimmy's stirring arguments, and in spite of his heartrending
reminicenses of the past, poor Judy was spiritless in leaving her beloved land,
and sat silent and dejected. Even the money did not cheer her, as it had done
along the way ; truly the sinking of heart, and the sickening, foreshadowed the
suffering and sorrow that awaited her in our land, which she really believed to
be a paradise of plenty and of ease. She sat at the feet of the lone ocean and
hid her face, which was convulsed with grief, poor Judy. Well did Jimmy
divine her thoughts, and with tender words sought to pacify her.
"The leetle uns, Judy! the leetle uns are indeed no more moanin' fer
yer bosom, and in that beautiful counthry beyont, where there is no famine,
thank heaven ! the blissed mother of God smiles upon thim, an' the grave
since we laid thim gently down is overgrown wid flowers, while the thout of
thim is yit green in yer heart. It may be the Almighty has somethin' yit fer
ye in the future, and some blissed thing fer ye to do, since ye riverently prom¬
ised the old mon to find her, who is in need of yer blissed kindness while yer
own darlints need ye no longer. In trouth, Judy, they are beyont ye, beyont
famine an' could an' death."
These were the kindly words to which Judy answered not. She folded her
scanty shawl closçr about her bosom and look¬
ing up saw the dawn was breaking, and the
black depth of the shadowy ocean had caught a
tint of purple, and blue, where it lay so perfectly
calm before her. She arose and adjusted- her
bundle, then lit her pipe and walked along the
wharf and aboard the ship, with a superstitious
awe and determination marking her demeanor.
The day promised to be fair, as the vessel
launched forth bearing our emigrants away
from their native land.
Mulhall, one of the most reliable slatistieians of the day, say- that during Victoria'.s
reign there have dieli of starvation in Ireland, 1,255,000 people—there have been
evicted for non-payment of rent, 3,365,000, and there have emigrated, 4,185,000.
CHAPTER II.
IN WHICH MANDEVILLE LEE, M. DE CLARE, AND OTHER CHARACTERS ARE
INTRODUCED TO THE READER.
Mandevillc Lee is not more than five and thirty, and would be handsome
were it not that his health is not robust, and his features are pale and drop too
sa.d, and his eyes too languid an expression. To the sanctimonious his name
will suggest too much romance, and others will see him through a film from
which he ought to emerge and clothe himself with strength. In either case
could such know him, as M. de Clare, his attending physician, knows him,
judgment would be suspended, for with despair and death burning its way into
his heart, he has lived and suffered since the days of his early manhood. He
is an tniglishman. He is seated in a public parlor in an eastern city of the
United States, in conversation with several of my characters. These men were
talking politics, and their arguments and assertions can in no wise add to the
interest of my narrative, so it is with an apology I bring them before you thus
engaged or repeat a single word after them. I do it with the hope of introduc¬
ing these gentlemen to you, while they are found so many of them together,
and not with a hope of instructing 'yo'J) revealing any new truths ; they
were talking, as men are talking the same things over and over every day in
your hearing.
Walter Watkins, a young lawyer, exclaimed, hotly, "I affirm that the
Democratic platform of to-day is diametrically and radically in opposition to
the whole theory of the old Democratic party whose name they usurp ; they
disparage and they discredit the principles of the party of Thomas Jefferson
and James Madison ! "
"Then they derive immense benefit by the usurpation of the staunch old
name; it gives ubiquity, you see, to their shifting opinions," suggested Mande-
ville Lee.
"Sir, everybody knows, everybody! the principles of internal improve¬
ment and a high protective tariff introduced to the nation by Calhoun, that the
Democratic party then bravely marched up to, they nozv dodge and discard.
Sir, no statesman has ever been more explicit on this subject than Calhoun."
"You think that Calhoun never dreamed of the equivocations and mysti¬
fications of a modern Democracy ?"
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
' ' That is precisely what I wish to say, sir ; the old land-marks are all
obliterated."
"Yet, you must admit that .systems are not everlasting, and any definite
measure may be more or less applicable to the needs of a people at different
periods of their progress. I apprehend the parties do not adopt principles that
violate the Constitution ! "
" O ! no, sir, the great doctrine of the Constitution is eternal ! "
" Even that may change with the faith of the people ; but really, stranger,
you Americans are all politicians. I was in Des Moines not long since on
election day, everybody seemed excited and taking an active part."
" Certainly, and I have no apology to make to an Englishman on that ac¬
count," and the young man straightened himself, and thurstlng his hands in his
pants pocket, continued, "Yet, the American who takes no interest in politics,
is neither the stupid, nor the criminal."
" Perhaps I do not understand you, but do you mean it is not the intel¬
ligent and conscientious citizens that vote? "
" Most of us vote," laughed the young man, "but few of us allow
sciencc within the pale of our politics; you see you dont understa7id. Most of
us inha'it our politics, or else we choose it at the age of twenty-one, and stick
to it all our lives, through all the vicissitudes of our party, leaving the wirr
wor-kers to adjust our principles to the situation." The aspect of Mandeville
Lee was grave. That of the young Republican careless and flippant as he
talked on.
"You don't see the bottom. We are not possessed of sanctified brains.
Our great heart is corrupt and deceitful. Beneath every measure of political
economy, crouches an individual man of- avarice ; men are given every chance
to crowd, and they do it. Yes, sir, political economy, however well under¬
stood, seems to bend to the interest of the few, and the masses are forever
chafing."
"Yet your country is a broad one; the masses, at least, have room to
breathe. "
" But it is said the breath of life is a ctwsc without bread. " The conversa¬
tion was not interrupted by a man who sat near Mr. Lee, who had been catch¬
ing every word without being able to understand much. It was M. de Clare, a
French physician, and the only wonder is, he kept still so long. It was his
characteristic to talk, but he must necessarily skim along the surface, and until
now the conversation seemed too profound ; he here, however, made a venture.
"Look at the politics of Germany! Look at the commotion of the people
in their respective states ; read their debates and answer me ! Look at the peo¬
ple of Ireland, and answer me, are not the common people oppressed?"
AND OTHER WORKS.
'5
Watkins, the American, seemed amused at the vehemence of M. de Clare,
and replied, vacantly, " Your questions take me across the waters, where I am
a stranger. "
" Well, " resumed Mr. Lee, smilingly, " there is a query in my mind; if
there is so little ttiic patriotism in your land, how would you stand a shock ?"
"How did we stand a shock?" demanded Watkins, growing red in the
face. "Our people can be relied on. There is more true steel in this, than
in any land on the face of the globe, call it little patriotism if you please, sir.
When the rebellion of the South sprang-upon us, the shriek of the first shell,
the first roar of a mortar from Sullivan's Island, made the people of every party
a imit in the North ! "
"Ah! I thought the conservative Democrats favored a compromise, and
looked upon the fire-eaters as dangerous fanatics, while to this day "
The conversation was again interrupted, this time by the entrance of two ladies,
who passed near Mr. Watkins ; he started, then turned to look again, seeing
he was not observed, he sat silent for a moment, then arose and quietly slipped
out. What was it in the pure, child-like face of Mary Sanford, one of the
women, that disturbed the young lawyer ? He went immediately to his own
private room and throwing his feet upon the low mantle, fell into a disagreeable
train of thought.
There were two other characters in the parlor you could not mistake.
One a backwoodsman, or perchance a trapper from Virginia, with home-spun
clothes and rough exterior, the other a Protestant and a clergyman, probably
returning from the conference of his church organization. The latter had
listened eagerly to the conversation between Mr. Lee and Mr. Watkins, and
now, evidently, felt it his duty to speak, so taking a seat beside Mr. Lee, began :
" I fear, my friend, that my young fellow countryman has left a wrong im¬
pression on your mind in regard to the morals of our land."
"We had hardly arrived at a question of its morals; we were talking
politics were we not? and if I am able to judge, the political and moral con¬
science of the people are as remote as the e.xtremes in celestial spaces."
" Not so, my friend. Look at the progress of the church ; the public
sentiment of professed Christians in the providence of God, is rising toward
the purification of our laws. At the annual meetings of our churches, of every
order, strong resolutions have been passed in favor of prohibiting the liquor
traffic. Intemperance is the cause of three-fourths of all the crime and sorrow
in our midst. "
" That is, no doubt, true, but what bearing has the sentiment of the clergy
upon the purses of the law-rnakers, and their ideas concerning the resources of
the public treasury."
i6
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
" See, see ! we hope to educate the people so they will rise and elect good
men to public office."
" Yes, you will elect men pledged to your principles,, men who are politi¬
cally yours," rcspondfed Mr. Lee.
" You mistake me, my friend! would you make the pulpit a political
rostrum, and ally the holy principles of religion with politics ? That will not do !
God will guard his church and make His peo¬
ple victorious ! Why the Christian women of
oiir land will save it ! Do you not know they
are doing a noble work in temperance and
foreign missions ? "
' ' I confess I have great admiration for
the women of the United States. They are
both intelligent and .spirited, and I believe
you have more well educated girls than boys.
The women will go ahead of you and do the
voting by and by."
" I hope not, I hope not ! " sighed the
preacher, shaking his head and closing his
eyes. "I fear it would prove the downfall
of our Republic, if women should be allowed
to join in the base political contests of the
day. I do not believe the women will vote
in your day or mine, I hope not I "
I had intended to mention before this,
that a woman had entered the parlor early in
the evening, who had been busy examining
postal cards, letters, pamphlets, &c., which
she had pulled from her traveling-bag. This
woman had looked over her glasses several
times with mingled commiseration and con¬
tempt at the weak-minded clergyman, but
had not designed to speak ; she now took
off her spectacles and adjusted them again
Mr. Lee hoped she would speak, and fixed his eyes upon her.
She noticed that too, but remained
silent. She evidently disdained to vanquish the folly of the ignorant preacher.
Mr. Lee also subsided into silence, which became first an abstraction then a
reverie which seemed to be of a painful nature.
BARNABUS PLJJMSOCK.
mechanically.
leaning forward in a listening attitude.
AND OTHER WORKS.
17
" Speakin' pintedly uv wimmen, its cur-us how they git to worrient ter
vote. I was horned in ole Virginny nigh eighty year ago, and 'Riar is nigh
about the same age. 'Riar she'd keep cler uv the pole, if the wimmen hed ther
sufferages, and I reckon 'Riar's sufferage morn must ov um. I'v seed her used
up a dozen times like the last feller in a scrimmage, an' she has mostly allers
worn caliker and kivered her head with hum spun, but for all 'Riar is jubus
about the pole. I think it is the natur of wimmin to be skeery, an' if it were
not for the preachers siccin 'um on they'd
never keer about it. " The speaker was the Vir¬
ginian, and de Clare listened intently as he
went on, thinking he had grown up with the
country.
" Why, yander in Virginny old Granny
Plum tuck ter writtin' like a streak about it, and
'tarnel if 'Riar or me cud iver tell what, but if
the kentry should iver be under wimmin, they
ain't equal to it, an' the men '11 have to be
keerful too, for some wimmen have all diveltry
in um. Me and 'Riar are a 'spicioms of all
wimmen. Many a time we made fence and
hoid corn for granny. It's beyent my guess if
she iver rises to the hum of the spirit. I'd
rather take etarnity itself than be under Granny
Plum."
The clergyman looked confounded, and felt
that he ought to reprove the impiety of the
mountaineer, though he inwardly believed that
he had expressed much truth. The reproof
which he administered was met by the old man
with a wicked leer. " I will pray for your con¬
version, and that you may have the light of
PETER MOWLS. God in your heart," added the well-meaning
preacher.
"If you dare, sir!" exclaimed the old man, shaking his fist, " I'm not
so anxious to die yet 1 Its jist as I said it. You skittish preachers sicced them
on. I never yet seed a woman unless so jined, capable of doin' arnest masklin
work. They ain't made for it. There is allers some man's divelty at the bot¬
tom uv it."
The clergyman paid no further attention to Peter Mowls, but turning to
de Clare continued, speaking rather at random :
i8
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
" It is much like the cry of the Irish nation against the righteous dealings
of God. In their present distress they see not the hand of Providence that
overrules all things, and brings good out of evil, and for lack of faith they are
consumed in the furnace seven times heated."
" Right in one assertion, " interrupted de Clare, "the furnace has been
seven times heated. Behold the awful sufferings in the flames, kindled by
Protestant England ! The model nation of progress and civilization ! The land
where free popular education exists, where political power is in the hands of
the masses, where the supreme authority of the State is elected by household
suffrage ! Land of the enlightened and humane ! Land blessed with the greatest
systems of charity on the globe ! Land in the height of its glory, in moneyed
corporations, trade guilds and all manner of associations ! Land of good cheer
and great wealth ! That tolerates no slave system, "
" Even as liberty," interrupted Mr. Plumsock, "has been a curse to the
slave in the South, so would estates be a curse to the Irish Catholic, a priest-
ridden people addicted to indolence and vice. I have no faith in the policy or
patriotism of Parnell, no sympathy in his clamor for voice. England is the
natural mother and guardian of the Irish nation and their salvation from the
curse of Popery and religious thralldom. Let her people become free by
becoming righteous. His chastening is better than the robes of a pontiff."
Mandeville Lee sat silent, with an expression of intense scorn marring his
face. De Clare, observing the condition of Mr. Lee, grew uneasy, and en¬
deavored to turn the conversation. Peter Mowls came to the rescue, to
de Clare's great relief. Not that de Clare was at loss, being a Catholic and a
sympathizer with the Irish people, he was full to the brim with words burning
for utterance, which he must, however, smother on Mr. Lee's account, for he
was exceedingly sensitive on the subject which had been introduced, and
de Clare had good reason to dread anything that would have the tendency to
awaken and excite thoughts of Ireland and the Irish people in the breast of his
invalid friend. Mr. Lee, although an Englishman, was a reformer, yet there
was a deeper reason for his sensitiveness upon the subject which Barnabas
Plumsock had so unwittingly blundered into and aggravated by such bigotry
and bombast.
"It's my 'pinion," said Mowls, "that this here preacher is witched as a
bee-gum with a b'ar in't. I dont' care any thing to speak uv 'bout Ireland,
but it's plain enuff that this man is allurs jined to the wrong side. It's a heap
'a trouble sometimes to git rid uv a witch. Yander in Virginy, when the red
ants witched our cow till she stood on her horns, near 'bout a week, it tuck
'Riar to charm em, but I did nof"know there was witches hereabouts. I heered
they were all druv back inter the Virginy mountains."
AND ÖTHE& WORKS.
'9
De Clare had a habit of plunging into harrangue at any unusual provoca¬
tion, and it was with the greatest difficulty he now restrained himself from an
outburst of eloquence, in defense of the cause of Ireland, of which Mowls had
confessed himself ignorant, but the latter became excited, and with a curious
prying glance about him, and into every corner of the room and much
fumbling in his pockets, hastened out. He had evidently missed something.
M. de Clare now fell into a spirited conversation with the clergyman upon
various subjects, which it would be very impudent to introduce here, to occupy
time and space. One sentence however, attracted the attention of Mandeville
Lee himself, and aroused him from his deep wonderings. It was a slang phrase
thrown against an argument which had been vehemently made by de Clare.
"Shades of Cromwell!" A stripling from some denominational college and
who professed to be a graduate of the sqme, was the offender. The large,
brown eyes of Mr. Lee were lifted and fixed for an instant on the stripling,
and seeing he was a stripling, he relapsed into himself again, a very slight
shade of contempt sweeping his features. Not so lightly did M. de Clare pass
such an insult to England by. Springing to his feet, with swinging fists he
frowned the boy, while a torrent of patriotic eulogy fell from his tongue in
praise of England's old hero.
" Look back two centuries and behold him, Oliver Cromwell, the friend of
the Huguenots and the priest of the Puritans ! The true Democrat who estab¬
lished a protective policy, who knew the secret of popular wealth ! Who made
England a refuge and London a city I Who made the world employ English
ships ! Who put his feet upon the monied aristocracy, and with his hands
uplifted the nation of commons! "
This harrangue would probably have continued for some time, had de Clare
not noticed that his friend Mandeville was standing at a spacious window,
which he had flung open, and gazing out upon the moonlight with a weary,
nervous expressssion, that he, de Clare, understood perfectly, and which- would
draw him instantly from the most important duty to the side of his beloved
friend. He quietly walked across the room, and in a gentle apologetic manner
closed the window, chatting to his friend in his own native tongue. The two
gentlemen, without further notice of anyone, passed out upon the street. We
do not need to go with them, one thing only occurred during their walk worthy
of your notice. As they were passing some old tenement buildings, they heard
the voice oí a child singing an Irish melody. The tone was wondrously sweet
and wild and it touched Mandeville, who paused enraptured ; then with a deep
sigh, nay, shudder, he cast an imploring glance into the eyes of de Clare,
leaned forward and was upheld in his arms. There were the gentle sympathetic
20
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
words again, the caressing pressure to his strong breast, the song had ceased,
and presently the two, arm in arm, proceeded on their way.
Mandeville Lee and de Clare at one time visited our own place, the city
of N , at the epoch of a political jollification, of which I will speak more
at length hereafter.
Monsieur de Clare had arrived at an age of some sixty years. I would
not need to mention him at all in this story save for two reasons : first he had
travelled all over the world with Mr. William Lee, the father of Mandeville
Lee, as an attending physician, he being an invalid, and now he travelled with
his son as a friend and counsellor. Mandeville is one of my most important
characters, and as de Clare is always by his side, that you may not be at loss
in regard to him, I will give you just a glimpse at his history, then his sayings
and doings will not seem so strange to you as he passes along with Mr. Lee.
He was a Frenchman by birth, and possessed many of the admirable traits
of the French people. I meant to say, also, that my second reason for speak¬
ing of him is because he took so much interest in the politics of our country
while traveling here. Were it not for him I would not have so much political
and religious discussion to record.
'"One," said he, " to understand the politics of the Republic at the present
time, must study assiduously the politics of the former times, the details of all
old issues, and the histories and statements given by all parties, then after having
these, he must find the tnith of them." (Which arduous task de Clare himself
was certainly never likely to accomplish.) For after all he had studied and
observed, he really knew very little about politics, and what reason have we to
suppose he ever would. He was also prompt in introducting religious topics on
all occasions. It is said he showed the same spirit in other countries. He
would turn from the beautiful borders of the rivers, or the free, pure air of the
mountains to consider Maynooth, or from a sunset on Maggiore* to consider the
ragged- children of a German National School, or weigh the wrangles of the
Reichstag. The disputes of theologians, or the "red flag of political false¬
hood," had more charm for him the world over than the beauties of nature or
of art. Although there was little to be gained from his conversations, his
animating and stirring manners were truly Athenian. He could sometimes
agitate even Mandeville Lee to say extravagant things. In downright argument
he was not good, and always put Mr. Lee forward in deep water. De Clare
considered himself good in his profession, but it is not known that anybody
else so considered ; he, of course, had not persevered in it, or in any way
*Lago Maggiore, in Ifaiy, of which it is written—
" 'Tis not a lake. 'Tis sky, 'tis sky ! "
AND OTHER WORKS.
21
made it a life work, and during the most vigorous period of his life, after the
death of Mr. William Lee, he had given it up altogether, and presided over a
female seminary, where he was not successful, being sometimes too lenient and
at other times too strict with the young ladies. He had never married. He had
not yet arrived at a period where all the conditions of matrimony could be met,
although so far as the affections were concerned, all his friends knew that he
could have been many times suited. The fact is, he was of very small means
and managed to get along only by keeping close to Mandeville Lee, and at¬
tending to his every complaint, as he had done with his father. And there
seemed to be a peculiar fitness in it all. Mandeville turned to him for the sym¬
pathy no one else could give him, the sincere, affectionate friendship which he
could trust, and this although he knew more of de Clare's infirmities than
you or I can ever know. Mandeville was of a melancholy nature, this, adding
his life's sorrow, rendered him subject to morbid reason, and de Clare was the
one to dispel the solitude of his retreats, when he would drop into them.
Hopeful, vivacious and loquacious, he was a sun chasing away the awful shadows,
and gloomy mists, that ever hovered above the darkened pathway of his friend.
Thousands of times had he uplifted to Mandeville the snowy diadem of hope,
and beat back the avalanches of despair, which else would have borne him
down to ruin. De Clare was strong. It was not often he yielded to anything
like dread, or felt a tingling of his nerves. His long sympathy with Mr. Lee
had become a thing of habit, and his watchful care over him unattended with
pain. Indeed, he hardly knew that his beloved friend was gradually failing,
nor realized that his spirit was becoming more beclouded day by day. Mande¬
ville had kept his feelings pent, until now his heart must break, he must die
unless delivered. De Clare did not know the weight of the anguish of his now
diseased mind, and if he did not, who could? de Clare had acted unwisely, for
it had ever been his plan to keep him away from his sorrow, and therefore he
had always avoided talking on the subject which was ever secretly devouring
the poor man's spirit. Mandeville had smothered his utterances, but he had no
longer any control over his imaginations and thoughts. Diversion, by ever
changing scenes and circumstances, was his only medicine.
" Let us go to-morrow to such and such a point ! Let us take a vessel and
sail, if possible, next week !" he would say, and de Clare never crossed him in
the least particular in these things. A short time previous to your introduction
to him, an incident occurred where he displayed, what seemed to de Clare,
symptoms of insanity, and he redoubled his vigilant watchcare over him with
sad forboding and anxiety. He scanned the future, and for the first time,
almost disparingly.
22
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
"Ah!" exclaimed de Clare, " he has searched the world without finding
the least clue of her ! She is, no doubt, hurried beneath the ocean, or within
the seclusion of a convent I Heaven knows I have no hope of him succeeding
at all, but if at all, it must be soon. I observed his restlessness increasing, I
became anxious concerning the strange languid state of his physical health,
while his mind seemed unnaturally brilliant.
We were spending a month in the tropics. We had sailed on the Amazon.
The scenery along that majestic river is most delightful, the trees and the
strange plants and flowers are magnificent. They skirt the shore, and the river
overflows its bank and stands still and bright about them while they are mir¬
rored, and this, with the plumage and the songs of the million birds that live
SING MOURNFULLY.
in the forests, made the place seem to me a vision of paradise ; so peaceful, so
surpassingly lovely. But my anxiety for Mandeville only increased where I
had hoped it would be allayed. Ah I I think there was that in the very atmos¬
phere to make him more gloomy and incontrollable.
" Let us go ! let us go ! " he said, " to the open river, and sail to Para on
the coast of the sea ! "
Then after we had started, and were sailing gaily upon the crested waves,
that had been lashed up by a wind, and so suddenly, I feared it would become
a tempest ; he grew animated and talkative, to my great relief. He indeed
seemed more himself than he had for weeks; but we were in a storm, and the
lightning began to gleam in blinding sheets ; the trees were swept to the
ground ; the enormous leaves were whirled in darkening showers above us, and
AND OTHER WORKS.
23
the deck was dangerous. I became terrified for the safety of my friend, who
seemed as excited and incontrollable as the elements themselves. Then sud¬
denly, with a wild, bitter cry "Annie, O ! my Annie ! " he threw his arms aloft,
escaped from my grasp, and flung himself out of the boat. I let myself
quickly into the water, and fortunately a play of lightning enabled me to grasp
him, and I held to him till we pulled to shore. From that timo I began to
believe I ought to seek medical advice. My hopes for him are faint ! They are
based entirely upon the possibility of him finding her. That would be some¬
thing miraculous. Look at the years that have intervened ! Consider what
change has been wrought ! Ah ! must I give him up to distraction, who's mind
was once so strong, so clear and brilliant?" Thus did de Clare reflect, and thus
did his brave heart begin to fail, yet he must control his every expression
and tone, and never by any chance betray himself, or refer to the subject which
was uppermost in both their minds.
Aye, he must be more cheerful and vivacious, he must forget himself, he
must inspire Mandeville with the hope he no longer had. There must be
no mournful song upon the harpstring, no tremulous vibration swelling from
his almost despairing heart, that his friend could catch, to shiver the slender
thread that held him from certain ruin. De Clare realized the approaching
dangerous crisis with a shudder, that must not touch the sympathetic soul of
Mandeville. He must hold him spellbound above his sorrow.
CHAPTER III.
HESTER AND LITTLE HELENA.
It was on the morning of her departure from her quiet home in Elmville,
with her little blind daughter, Helena, that Hester Montifort passed into her
front parlor, (not noticing the little child as she followed her about,) and
thoughtfully stood before the portrait of James Montifort; the noble features
spoke to her heart anew. Had the
blessed years of her wedded life been to
her an unconscious existence ? Did she
realize too late that the truest, gentlest
love ever bestowed upon woman had
been hers ? She read, with anxious
heart, the expression of his soul, and
the pallor of her beautiful face alone
betrayed her suffering.
The sensitive child stood listening
beside her. Hester bent and caressed
her so tenderly that Helena burst into
tears, sobbing hysterically, " Fa-pa, O, my dear, dead papa, you know, for you
can see how much I love you." Long the mother sat, rocking the sick,
nervous child in her arms, softly singing a baby lullaby. She thought her
sleeping, then laying her gently upon the sofa, she went out into the open air
and along the garden walk, lifting her face to the pure sky, while pityingly there
seemed to drop a kiss of peace, even from the lips of Him who hath given us
the sweet promise of his covenant.
Little Helena was not asleep, and in the absence of her mother, she arose
and glided about the room, with hands outstretched before her ; as she touched
one familiar object after another, she whispered "good bye." She bent her
ear to the keys of the piano as if listening to its tones, and softly repeated a
snatch of one of her father's favorite hymns, " Make and keep me pure
within." Now, reverently pausing, she stands a moment before his portrait,
then she climbs up to touch it. Her little, thin hands glide caressingly over
AND OTHER WORKS.
25
the surface of the picture, and her cheek is lightly pressed against it. There
was a whispered word there, too, which was inaudible, save, perchance to the
one to whom it was addressed.
Poor little Helena was indeed bidding the last "good bye" to the beauti¬
ful home, and the beloved associations of her short suffering life. This was
the last day, almost the last hour, she would spend where every creature, every
flower, every object, seemed purer for her life, and loth to receive the parting
of her love. She gathered from the garden, flowers to save as a keepsake, and
now, at last, she pressed along the familiar path to the barn, where seated in
the shadow, with hands dejectedly hanging down, and dull aged face staring
vacantly toward the ready carriage, was David, the servant of many years, her
father's charity man ; useless and harmless had he been there with them always.
On the approach of the child, he showed signs of gladness. Mysteriously
buried from development, there was pulsing in his bosom a living soul, and
Helena had found more of it than any other being, and she knew, by some
divine intuition, that it was lovely. Taking the aged hands, she held them a
moment, and with signs to the one whose hearing had gone out, as had her
sight, she made him understand that she was going away. Eagerly he arose
and led her to the carriage, arranged the cushions with gentle, yet inarticulate
sounds ; then, as they at last drove slowly away, he drew a handkerchief across
his face, and made signs to the kitchen maid who stood weeping, the signs of a
coffin and a funeral. A sad ceremony had remained fixed in his mind since
two years before his beloved master had been borne away to his burial.
And in the cottage, now so lonely and deserted, the sacred hush of death
seemed indeed to reign, until the servant and Miss Sanford, Helena's teacher,
finally entered the door, and aged David sat down beneath the tree outside,
when suddenly, a small, freckle-faced Irish boy walked through the yard, hold¬
ing carefully in his hand the beautiful flowers which Helena had gathered from
the garden, and attached to the bouquet was a sealed envelope, on which was
written, " In care of Raleigh, to be given to ma-ma on her return." Here was
something at last for him to do for the dear little blind girl that had been so
kind to him. Raleigh had been standing unobserved near the lilac bush, as
Helena was bidding adieu to the family, and his ragged shirt-sleeves bore the
marks of copious tears. He was a homeless lad, who stayed with the Irish
family that lived near the Montifort cottage, who wandered aimlessly about the
village or played in the woods, of which sport he was particularly fond, jump-
/■
ing and laughing until the whole neighborhood was in sympathy with his
delight. Plis noise of glee, his whistlsd song, as he ran the road, awakened in
Helena the love of wild sport in which she could not join.
4
26
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
Raleigh had no comfort indoors, on account'of the habits of his aunt, Nancy
McNeilly. Neither had he, for the same reason, any incentive to labor. He
was growing up a wild creature, of the most unpromising appearance and habits
imaginable.
His features, indeed, when you considered them, were pleasing enough,
and his voice was—the warbling bird, the murmur of the wind, or any sweet
sound that you might choose. It would often escape like the sighing wind
from the wooded hills above Elmville, or the brooklet babbling down through
the village.
"Were it not that the Praste and her dying brother bade her raise the
child." Aunt Nancy would long ago have "cast him oot a vagrant." But
poor as her shelter was, it was a home for Raleigh, and as good a one as he had
ever dreamed of. Nancy, by working here and there, eked out a meagre sup¬
port for herself and the boy. He was not sent to school, but had gone some¬
times when he felt like doing so, and would then contrive mischief enough to
last during his non-attendance. There seemed nothing Raleigh could not do,
from the subtilest mischief to the best work in his books. He became an ex¬
cellent reader, apparently without the least effort. In all emergencies, of an
"exhibition" or "concert," in the village, he could be relied on, yet no
one ever thought to praise him, and on account of the humble position of his
aunt, he was also continually misused and downtrodden in the neighborhood.
Little Helena Montifort was delighted with Raleigh. She would turn in rapt
attention to his song, and hold the gate wide open as he passed, that he might
feel welcome to come in. Sometimes he would read to her, or tell her stories ;
to her lonely life he was like sunshine, and to him little Helena was a fairy, an
angel, everything lovely and different from the rough girls at school.
Sometimes she would talk to him in a peculiar, sacred whisper, of Heaven,
of love, and of God ; of things which to her were real and present ; but on his
untaught soul, it had but the impression of a peaceful dream ; of a trill of
music, or a carolling bird. A dreamy expression would subdue the sharpness
of his features for a time, then it would null and fade as she ceased to speak,
and his thoughts would go out, mingling her words with the shining rain on
the branches of the trees, or the soft flutter of a bird in the shade of the bushes.
Yet, as these sweet influences of nature were not lost, neither was the love of
her pure spirit, and Raleigh was being taught the highest lesson of God. He
loved Helena as he loved the light, the flowers and the sky, and that love was
fllling a very important place in his heart. These things served, also, to
counteract the rough treatmeitj of the people of Elmville, who looked on him
ÄND OTHER WORKS.
27
as a disägfeeable bad boy, which he was most certain to become, unless mercy
reached him through some channel they could not obstruct.
On this sad day of parting. Miss Sanford, Helena's teacher, alone knew
the import of the sealed missive in the care of the sorrow stricken boy. She
took Raleigh gently by the hand, and leading him to a seat, talked long and
hopefully to him, inviting him to study Helena's books, from which she had
taught her, who was now gone away, as they all really believed, to return no
more in mortal form. Mary Sanford was a cousin to Hester Montifort. She
had consented to live with her for the sake of little Helena, and now to remain
during her absence to see that aged David was comfortably cared for. Her
efforts to soothe Raleigh were unsuccessful, for flinging himself upon the grass,
with his face to the ground, he wailed and sobbed until late in the evening,
when, between coaxing and harsh words, his aunt dragged him home ; and
when the door of his humble room closed on him that night, the brightest door
of life closed with it. Upon the struggles of his youth, the conflicts of his
manhood, and the faith of his labor and sacrifice, never again shall so pure a
ray fall as has gone from his presence to-day. Yet few have so blessed a boon
as the love of such an one, dwelling in the peaceful realm of God. As for
aged David, with brow' uncovered and hands reverently lifted, he was heard,
many times, during the afternoon, repeating the benediction of Mr. Montifort,
"Now may grace, mercy, and peace abide with you forever;" and they
heard him say, " Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber," the song he had
hummed to little Helena when she was an infant. These were the only words
he had not forgotten to articulate. It was soon evident that in parting with
her, aged David had received a death wound upon his loving heart, for he never
seemed to rally from that day, and before the white coffin of little Helena
was brought home, he was laid beside James Montifort, in the burying ground.
It was Mary Sanford and Raleigh that took the deepest interest in aged
David during his last illness. It seemed very wonderful, but it was true, that
one gloomy morning, in the early days of September, while Raleigh was seated
beside his bed, ministering to his few wants, and listening to the soft, caressing
intonations of his feeble voice, as his mind wandered amidst the scenes of his
simple home life, he distinctly articulated many words,-and when sounds oc¬
curred in the room, he appeared to listen. Over and over, Mary called his
name in his ear, and with a pleased expression he answered her. Aged David
had recovered his hearing. 'When slowly, distinctly, she repeated a simple verse
of Scripture ; with delight he pointed upward, repeating after her the last word
she would utter ; but he soon became tho feeble for such an exertion of strength.
As the morning wore on he sank into a sleep from which he could not be
28
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
aroused. His last clear, intelligible words came with his last breath, "The
congregation is singing, we will go over now." With eyes looking steadily
forth, and a happy smile upon his lips, he passed away.
Word had reached the cottage, that little Helena was very low, and it was
thought best not to inform Hester of the sickness and death of aged David.
In Elmville, lived Mrs Ellenwood, one who was to Raleigh a very im¬
portant personage, because she looked pleasantly upon him, and had taken an
interest in having him attend the Sunday School. In short, he highly prized
in the dearth of his friendships, the bright, hopeful, hearty good will of this
woman, in her manners toward him. In the dawning of his life, and quickening
of his intellect, he was beginning to feel a loss. It was the subtle intuitive in¬
fluence of sympathy, which flows from a mother's love ; in every age and
clime, the best boon to human souls. As the dew, as the light, it is not appre¬
ciated save by those who miss it. Poor little'Raleigh, with all other losses, had
lost this, and the light of a mother's smile was to him a strange and beautiful
halo ; drawn to this halo about Mrs. Ellenwood, he had, by his quick under;
standing and minute observation, learned much of her life ; he saw her need of
help and sympathy in her every day affairs, and the hardships she was obliged
to endure on account of the thriftlessness of her husband, and in a happen so
way, had manoeuvred to lend her a hand just at the proper juncture. "Hel¬
lo," he would cry out, "I'll fetch the cow for you ! " or "let me help to bring
the wash water, this morning ! " Mrs. Ellenwood would accept the kindly as¬
sistance, yet always with trepidation, lest Jerry, her husband, would observe it,
for usually just in the proportion she meted out friendliness to any individual,
he would measure forth harshness to the same, overflowing, pressed down and
shaken together. Overbearing and narrow in the extreme, Jerry saw every¬
thing in the false light of his own biased vision. Therefore, as the friendship
of Mrs. Ellenwood and Raleigh progressed, Jerry's jealousy and ill-treatment
increased, until it was to be feared that in this small matter a great fire was
enkindling.
The subdued spell which the death of aged David had wrought upon the
imaginative mind of the boy, was rapidly passing. He saw Miss Sanford sel¬
dom now, and his temper was hot against Jerry on account of the numerous
petty insults he had managed to inflict upon him. The good of Mrs. Ellen-
wood's love bid fair to be overcome of the evil of Raleigh's growing hatred of
the drunkard Jerry. He learned to look out sharply for him before speaking
to his wife, or offering to assist her. There was that in Raleigh's nature—he
had inherited a large stock of it, which makes ready for combat, rather thaa
yields to oppression, and he deliberately and obstinately resolved not to be
And other works.
2$
robbed of the kindness of Mrs. Ellenwood. There was, too, within him, a
spark that quickened him to a sense of wrong against womanhood, in the
perverseness and cruelty of Jerry against his wife.
One morning, as he sat by the fire, in his aunt Nancy McNeilly's rude,
dirty shanty, his bristling red hair uncombed, and his soul filled with bitter
thoughts, born of growing pride and desires, he contra.sted, he could not help
contrasting his lot with that of other boys. Small differences, it might seem,
yet great to small people.
*' No books, no clothes, no home, but a sty like this." At this moment,
the high, harsh voice of his aunt broke in upon his reverie.
"The school begins to-day, an' ye aught to be goin', and ye'v no rag to
yer back, and no book, all becaze of yer shiftless ways. Ye paid a dollar for a
dog, and nothin' now to do but set it upon its back legs from mornin' to night.
Goo, noo, quick, ye, an' pick the seed cowcumbers, an' then I'll show ye the
way to the pig pen wid the swill."
Raleigh arose, and made no reply, as he looked down upon himself ; he was
indeed ragged, and was it possible for him to earn clothes ? If any one would
pay him he would work, but there was, he suspected, not a man in Elmville
would hire him, and no use to try. Just then Jack Beard popped his head into
the door of the shanty.
" Hello ! there, Raleigh ! "
" Hello, Jack ! "
"Well, (there was a wink) I got your letter. Raleigh, but the jig is all
up ; Mrs. Ellenwood is going to wash, and Jerry is gone with a load oí tomb¬
stones."
The boys had stepped outside, so as not to be overheard.
"Well," said Raleigh, after a moment's study, "I'll let Mrs. Ellenwood
into the secret. Maybe she will be willing to help us out. I have heard her
threaten to burn the old stuff, and, maybe, she would as soon send it to the
sale ; to be sure we'll miss the money, if it brings anything, but we will miss
the chance of being found out, too."
" That's so," replied Jack.
Accordingly, Raleigh was on hand early to help Mrs. Ellenwood carry her
wash water, and even asked to learn to milk the cow.
Mrs. Ellenwood must save, and not forget it, some sweet cream for the
church social unbeknown to Jerry. "But he will not be back till to-morrow
night," she added, as she wiped clean fhe tin pan and took up the strainer.
" Going to Larkins' sale, to-morrow?" asked Raleigh.
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
" I guess not; it is to-morrow, isn't it? I'm glad Jerry is not at home; he
would go if he was, and bring home all the plunder he could find."
" If you had that plunder shed for the cow this winter it would be a good
thing."
" I must have a shed for the cow this winter. I will just have you to pile
that plunder in the road and burn it, now, while he's away. I declare, it would
be right, and I'll do it," she spoke decidedly.
" Would it not be better to send it over to the sale, and set it up ? maybe,
it would bring something," suggested Raleigh.
I
" I don't believe anybody in the world ever buys such things but Jerry,"
answered Mrs. Ellenwood.
"There are some wheels, and yokes, and broken rockers somebody might
want, " persisted Raleigh, " and that little ' old wheel,' Miss Sanford says they
bring a good price in the city; ladies want them for relics."
" There will be few ladies at the sale, I amagine, " replied Mrs. Ellenwood,
but after a little thought she concluded it might be a good way to dispose of
the plunder after all, and, "farmer Jenks owes me; he would be glad to haul
it over."
" Shall I speak to him at noon ? " asked Raleigh eagerly.
"I'll see about it; it would make Jerry mad, though. I was thinking
this morning, Raleigh, that since you are such a good boy, and have helped
me so much, I would like to do something to repay you. I have no money to
spare, but Raleigh! "
Mrs. Ellenwood bent her head low over the wash tub, and Raleigh saw she
was crying, and he was silent and thoughtful. He had heard the boys talk
about Charley Ellenwood, who had died before he came to the neighborhood;
he supposed she was thinking of him, poor woman. Presently she went into
the bed room, and brought out something carefully tied in a paper. She said
nothing, as she laid the package in his hand, but her quick tears escaped and
fell upon it, and he knew it must be something precious to her, that she had
given him. He was overcome for that morning, and as he wended his way
homeward, things seemed to wear a new aspect. He rather shrank from Jack,
who accosted him, "Hello!" Although their scheme of the morning had
gained favor, and was to be carried out in the afternoon, and when Jack
wanted to know what the bundle was, it seemed he could not tell him, so he
walked rapidly on and answered him nothing. There was a voice in the wind
that reminded him of little Helena Montifort's voice ; the water in the stream
rippled softly, and the dying face of aged David arose before him ; bright
drops stood upon his cheeks, below his lashes, as he trod the path that day
between the home of the kind, motherly Mrs. Ellenwood, and his own, and he
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made his first resolve : He would be what Mrs. Ellenwood had said he zvas, a
good boy.
Confidently he entered the shanty of Aunt Nancy McNeilly. For once
he had every reason to expect she would be pleased with him. He there un¬
folded the new suit before her wondering eyes, as he rapidly explained that
Mrs. Ellenwood had said he had earned them by helping her so much all summer.
" Yer a fool, ye spalpeen!" shouted she, "If ye earned so much, why
don't she pay ye in money, an' 'twould buy us the coal for the winter. And
what think ye would Jerry be doin' to let ye alone wid his son's clothes on ?
But sit down to the dinner I It pears like ye aught ter pick where ye scratch
tho', I see Jerry arter the like o' you this minit an' take that brassy spoon
out of the sass, er I'll box ye ! "
For the first time in his life, Raleigh choked over his potatoes, and could
not eat. He felt there was a truth in the homely, harsh, words of Aunt Nancy
that drove all the light from his heart ; and as he went out in the yard, there
was no song in the wind, or soft babble in the rivulet ; the mocking geese in
the barnyard seemed to assault him, and in the shadow of their spreading race
he saw his bright hopes depart.
During the afternoon, the aforenamed shed was emptied of its plunder,
and the plunder was hauled over to the farm of Mr. Darken, who said, "they
were welcome to sell it if they could," and on the following day, Raleigh and
Jack were on hand to witness the sale. Raleigh was made the agent of Mrs.
Ellenwood, to attend to any business connected with the plunder, and sale
thereof. In the afternoon, and just as the stuff was under the hammer, the
luckless Jerry drove up and hitched. He was returning from a trip he had
made with wares from his shop ; he was partially intoxicated, for he had met
with a fortunate sale thereof. His eye caught sight of the plunder, and true to
his instinct, (not recognizing the lot,) he made a bid. A good natured neigh¬
bor, understanding the matter, assisted him in running it up to ten dollars,
when it was duly knocked down to Jerry, and with great delight he loaded it
into the empty wagon. The cash was put into the hands of Raleigh, to be
carried to Mrs. Ellenwood, and, in his chagrin and excitement, he made a mis¬
take ; in attempting to thrust it into his vest pocket, he slipped it between the
outside and the lining of his vest, and in his haste to reach home before Jerry,
it was lost.
Just as the miserable man drove up to the shed to unload the plunder,
Raleigh slipped into the kitchen and hurriedly explained to Mrs. Ellenwood the
mistake Jerry had made, at the sameiime feeling in his pocket for the ten dol¬
lars. Of course it could not be found. In vain the pockets of his ragged
32
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
garments were searched and turned, the money was surely lost ; the deadly
hue of Raleigh's face plead his innocence. Mrs. Ellenwood knew it was an
accident, so she whispered, " Never mind," and kissing him, said, "be quick,
and inn away, before Jerry comes in."
Raleigh crept to his little room, and the sorrow of that night will never be
known to any save God. About midnight the door of the shanty was stealthily
opened, and a little barefooted boy slipped softly out, and away in the darkness.
In the morning the precious clothes of poor Charley Ellenwood were found
neatly folded and wrapped in a paper, with the faded flowers, and sealed missive
of little Helena, lying beside them on Raleigh's bed.
In about a month from that time, a small, dirty letter reached Mrs. Ellen-
wood containing ten dollars, and explaining where the same had been found.
The letter was post marked New York. The sealed missive, which Raleigh had
left beside poor Charley Ellenwood's Sunday clothes, was carried over to Mrs.
Ellenwood the next morning, after his departure, and left in her care. Nancy
McNeilly told her of the mysterious disappearance of Raleigh, and when she had
sadly departed, canting about her care and work for him and his ingratitude,
Mrs. Ellenwood sat down and yielded to a spirit of discouragement and doubt, a
thing she was taught not to do, however dark and mysterious the way of God
might seem. Was it not ever so ? Her best, truest efforts had seemed fruitless,
or positively evil in their results. She reviewed the many endeavors of her life,
the endurance, the struggles and sacrifices, the stings and tortures, and in every
contest against evil it seemed to her that she had been worsted, and must she
acknowledge, even to herself, the cause of every failure ? Must she behold the
wound that brought her to the ground in every attem.pted flight? the foe that
baffled every good intent? the evil that overcome her good? That day it was
all summed up and presented to her in five letters—-Jetty ! She unfolded the
precious little garments of her lost son ; even in these she saw the letters in sordid
heartless woof, woven in the very fabric, for did he not, shortly after the funeral,
take those clothes and sell them all to a clothing broker, from whom she had
secretly redeemed them ? else she would not have dared to give them to Ra¬
leigh. Ten thousand heart-rending memories aroSe from their burial places,
and linked to bind her mind with galling fetters to the awful shadows of the
morning and cast themselves into a hopeless future. An hour—two hours
passed, still she sat with hands hanging nervelessly over the garments she
had with such sacrifice, tenderly consecrated to Raleigh. And was it not
through her own works the poor, lonely child had been frightened to the
desperate flight he had taken ? Perhaps he would never again be under the
influence of kindness or care, her memory would soon perish from his mind,
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and the good she meant him, would yield the fruitage of wormwood." Then
mysteriously awakening and running through her thoughts obtrusivly clear,
came the word of that promise, "Cast thy bread upon the waters, and thou
shalt find it after many days." Mrs. Ellenwood was not a stranger to that
Word in her soul, and she barkened, and was subdued by the tender influence
of His presence. She had again proved His grace a way out of temptation.
In that hour of her spirit's travel was born a hope for Raleigh—that in the
darkest night was to her a sign of waning—a hope, that no drift of desolating
unbelief could bury, or lay waste. A light invisible to all save her, smote his
face, and brought its memory vividly before her, just as it was, when she kissed
his bloodless quivering Hps, and sent him from her, on that fateful night of his
departure from Elmville.
6
CHAPTER IV.
THE DEATH OF LITTLE HELENA.
I cannot feel that thou art far
Since near at need the angels are ;
And when the sunset gates unbar,
Shall I not see thee waiting stand,
And white against the evening star.
The welcome of tli)^ beckoning hand ? "
— Whittier.
The bright, dreamy days of Indian summer appeared. The hills and
valleys of Elmville were enwrapped in the hazy atmosphere. It seemed like a
different village. The Montifort cottage was all deserted ; the song of Raleigh
was heard no more. No one realized until he was gone, how much life he had
imparted to the place, by his exuberant spirit and intelligent manners. Who
had ever taught Raleigh anything, yet how much he had taught the children of
Elmville. There being no longer need of care for aged David, Miss Sanford
had jofned Hester and Helena. It had been the intention of Mrs. Montifort,
to travel with her little daughter, and, if possible, also to have an oculist
operate upon her eyes, but after leaving Elmville, Helena had failed in strength
so rapidly, that she was advised to resort to the sea. She hastened thither,
and taking a quiet cottage, laid her child down upon her dying bed.
Still and unbroken days passed in which nothing occurred to ripple the
life and thought of Hester, save the beat, beat of the sea. The sunset glories
upon the water and the sky, the beauties of fading autumn—all were sealed
to little Helena, whose soul seemed clasped in a sightless suffering patience.
Playthings which to other sick children have brought comfort, were not for her ;
in the hours of relaxation from pain, she would listen to the roaring of the
waves, to the interlude of the wild birds, and inhale the fragrance of the air ;
and so delicate became her sense, she would recognize the most subtle aroma
of a new blooming flower among' the plants ; the opening and closing of the
the lily became an event in her weary, sufiering existence.
At times she could only be soothed in the tender arms of her mother, who
would hold her emaciated form To her bosom, and sing the cradle songs of
aged David, She seemed to miss him most—perhaps, because he was helpless,
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for she had always turned in quick sympathy to the most destitute object on
which to bestow her love. Sometimes, in her delirium, she seemed to think of
all the people of her father's congregation, and would greet them as she did in
those sweet, glad days before she was blind, when she accompanied her father
to the little church on the Sabbath. More than once she appeared to talk to
Raleigh; she would softly murmur, "Come back, Raleigh, poor Raleigh, I
will be your friend ! " And strangely it happened, on the same day that Raleigh
struck with his unshod feet, the weary ceaseless beat, of the thou.sand street
boys of New York, in their sickening, savage march for bread, little Helena
entered the gates of the City of Light, safe forever. She died as the twilight
sealed the eyes of her birdie, and the lily bent its dewy leaves to the night
breath from the cold sea.
Long and tenderly Hester Montifort held the little heart to her own after
it had ceased to beat. Two years only had elapsed since death had born to her
the message of anguish, and taken the dearest and nearest, friend of earth in
taking her husband. You have seen Hester gaze upon his portrait. You have
perhapse guessed something of his nature. He was in heart the most tender
and loving of all mankind. He had imbibed by a prayerful contact with God
the element of divine love. The fruit of such a life was love. Hester could
ELEVEN WÔMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
not meet the heart of such a man ; she could impart nothing ; hcr's was all the
gain—serene and bright in her nature, cold and quiet in her disposition, the
years passed happily ; she did not appreciate her husband, and he felt
that she could not understand his nature. Helena at the age of six filled his
heart and met the craving of his tender love. Helena, child as she was, turned
intuitively to him ; she was a magnet that touched him ; Hester was not ; with
Helena on his bosom there was perfect bliss. Yet, as I have said, Hester was
not unhappy in her wedded life. As the wound has entered her soul in the
death of her darling child, if you shall ever see a passion it is now.
She has not moved since Helena grew still in death ; her face is bowed
above the little cold features, and her tears are dropping upon them ; now she
softly wipes the tears from the dead face and closes the eyes of Helena ; at last
she will lay her down, and you will observe nothing more of the turmoil of un¬
controllable grief, which sways many a soul in the hours of distress. Calmly
from henceforth she will bear her childless widowhood. Such women are
patient, enduring and useful ; why will the heart forever cry with hunger ?
Why will it not be still and understand that the service of a serene, emotionless
friend is good ? Why, James Montifort, did you pine for the sympathy of Hestet ?
when God and all the world was full of love for you, when faith, and promise,
and hope were given you in such lavish measure? But the seal of His holy
secret is upon your lips, and His fullness is yours—while Hester has not yet
understood what it is to love.
After the funeral of little Helena, the missive which Miss Sanford had pre¬
pared for her mother, was sent to Hester Montifort. Within was written :
My Dear Mama : It is my request that you adopt poor Raleigh in my place
when I am gone. I am so sorry for him, and wish him to have a home and friends,
and a dear mama like you ; please take him and love him for my sake.
Helena.
Hester folded the missive and held it in her hand while tears stole down
her cheeks, and dropped on the soiled envelope and faded flowers of the
bouquet. She could not deny the request, and yet she had always disliked
Raleigh ; how could she give him Helena's place in the house ? how could she
take and rear such a disagreeable, savage Irish boy, and foster him as a son.
She bowed her face, and the precious little letter was crumpled and crushed.
With it had been unsealed in her heart an unknown fountain of bitter waters,
secret from her sight, beneath the rocks of her cold, selfish, solitary life. God
hath smitten and the waters must pour forth. Hester Montifort ! hath He not
given thee manna in abundance, and sweet draughts for thy thirst, for which
thou now returnest the wormwood of Mirah ? Will it relieve thee to know that
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Raleigh is gone to an obscure place, to the regions of the shadow of death, a
minister to cruel hands ?
Hester thought as she had never thought before, till her brain throbbed
and her heart sank. What should she do, in this hour of perplexity, but send
for Mrs. Ellenwood? There was not another among his people, James Monti-
fort so trusted and turned to, as to her, for sympathy, for advice, for practical
assistance in times of emergency, and Hester sent for her.
In the evening, Mrs. Ellenwood entered her home and sat down beside
her ; Hester showed her the crumpled missive and sought her advice. With
a full heart Mrs. Ellenwood told her Raleigh's story, and in the most touch¬
ing manner her hopes in regard to him. Hester agreed it would be best
to make some effort to find the unfortunate boy. Miss Sanford had a particular
friend in New York, who would, no doubt, assist them, and accordingly he was
written to, and requested to use every means in his power to find Raleigh.
Hester agreed, but she felt no quickening of sympathy for the child or
real desire that he should be recovered and become a charge upon her. She
tacitly consented to do what little Helena desired, but God in his mercy did
not desire for Raleigh.
Shame ! Hester Montifort ! it remained for the dark minded, barren
hearted Judy O'Rork, to shield and comfort Raleigh, rather than thou, for thou
wouldst have made for him but a desolate hearthstone devoid of the warmth of
love—aye even bitter with the withering atmosphere of dislike and rigid
discipline.
CHAPTER V.
JIMMY AND JUDY O'RORK IN NEW YORK, WHERE THEY ARE FOUND BY RALEIGH.
" O, God in glory ! I phray for jist the smallest dhrop in life,^ or the small¬
est bit of male or mate to keep the saul of one of thy creathurs in outher disti-
tution ! " and tears burst from the eyes of the miserable man who lay perishing
in one of the gloomiest and filthiest cellars in New York.
It was the wailing prayer of Jimmy O'Rork, better known among his
countrymen as Yallow Jim.
"Judy, Judy! will ye come to me now, and wid the help of God will ye
send a message to the praste, for this time I'm dying sure I "
Slowly from the opposite shadows a tattered creature arose and approached,
and in the dim light stooped down and peered with gleaming eyes into the face
of Yallow Jim.
" Its the dhrink, and ye get what ye desarve ! Och, thin, as I'm baptized
against a lie, there is not a weashy grain of male in my hands, or a dhrap of the
dhrink; shall I lave ye dying avourneen and go for the praste? "
" I entrate ye, Judy ! "
In another corner of the room a child was sobbing in the darkness.
" Arrah for the other side of the house. The children, Judy? "
"God, he knows the mather," replied Judy. "The little sauls be starvin'
intirely. "
It was little Eddie crying through fear. She was cold and hungry, but
more she was afraid to be left alone in the dark. Presently, between the groans
of Yallow Jim and the sobs of Eddie, a light gleamed forth. All eyes turned,
and there, holding a torch in one hand, stood a lad, at whose sight Eddie left
off crying and sprang up in eager expectation.
" No bread to-night, Eddie," said he, but at the same time he drew from a
paper, one, two, three, four slices of meat, and fixing his torch, held them up be¬
fore the starting eyes of Judy hnd Jimmy O'Rork.
Jimmy broke forth in an extacy : " May the hairs of yer head become can-
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dies to light yer saul to the presence of God, ond His blessing rain on ye for¬
ever ! "
This was indeed strange language to the lad, who instinctively ran his
fingers through his bristling red hair, which for aught he knew might be ablaze.
Judy walked up to the boy, who handed her a large slice of the meat.
Jimmy and Judy ate their meat without the ceremony of cooking. The lad
scorched a piece by the blaze of the torch for Eddie and himself. A portion of
it he carefully slipped in his pocket for a breakfast. He was bare to the shoul¬
ders, bare footed and wore no hat. If you could have seen distinctly, you
would have discovered that the little girl had the sleeves of his coat and some
old flannel roughly sewed into a covering for her shoulders. She wore black
curls, and her face was lighted by lustrous dark eyes. She clings to the boy
and softly strokes his cheeks and prattles :
"Raleigh, Raleigh! good Raleigh I May I go with you to-morrow?
Eddie can wash bottles and find bones, little bright white bones for money.
Raleigh, take baby along?"
She is asleep in his arms, and he lays her gently upon the straw ; then tak¬
ing the jacket from beneath his coat, spreads it over a portion of her body for a
covering.
Reader, you again behold Raleigh, the hero of these pages, who at this
epoch in his history knows no other name. This was bestowed upon him in an
almshouse before he was adopted by Aunt Nancy McNeilly. To be sure as he
grew older he was often called by her name, but the two neyer sounded well to¬
gether. A short time'previous to my introduction of Raleigh, he had quitted
aunt Nancy's humble roof in Elmville, and wandered to New York, where he
sought employment and suffered for bread. The day he had taken the sleeves
of his coat for a covering for Eddie, while overhauling his vest he had found ten
dollars between the outside and the lining where it had slipped down from his
small pocket to the bottom of edge of the garment and lodged ; it took the
last nickle he possessed to return this money to the owner in Elmville.
Would you know of little Eddie? She was the child of a woman that fell
exhausted on the street, as Raleigh was passing to his work ; he stopped a few
moments beside her in the pelting rain, and held her head up out of the water
and mire, until some men came and carried her away. He heard one of the
men say that she was dead, saw them put her into a cart and drive off. Her
little child shrieked and ran in the direction the men had driven the cart.
Raleigh, in the kindness of his heart, picked her up and carried her to the
shelter where you have seen them. It was the same day he began work in a
German beer saloon, where he was employed an hour each morning, for which
he received five cents.
40
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
The first morning at the saloon he was unfortunate ; while waiting for his
pay, the good natured saloon keeper offered him a seat by the stove, where he
could warm his almost frozen arms ; then giving his ear a vigorous pinch,
which forced a cry from his lips, said, jocundly, "a glass of beer which costs
five cents, is more bread in your stomach than two loaves which cost ten
cents." While he was so saying the boy at the bar poured a glass of beer,
which was handed him ; he explained to them that he must have the bread for
little Eddie, as well as for himself. "The beer was poured for you, and if you
do not drink it, why, it's your own loss, as I cannot now give you the money
in its place." Raleigh then took a swallow of the beer, but finding it bitter
and disagreeable, set the glass down and walked out. Little Eddie went with¬
out food that day and said nothing. The second morning after his work began
in the saloon, as he was entering the bar room, he overheard a man exclaim :
" Is this your red-headed savage somebody is hunting? " and read from a paper :
Wanted—To find a boy named Raleigh McNeilly, who left Elmville, and is sup¬
posed to be in New York
Raleigh turned pale, and a glass fell from his hands and was broken ; that
meant fasting another day, for Eddie ; he did not think so much about him¬
self. It meant also, without a doubt, that the person in Elmville to whom he
had restored the ten dollars, had failed to receive it, and was pursuing him.
He was glad to pay for the broken glass and plunge out, and escape the
advertisement.
It was on the evening of the same day, when starving, hopeless, desperate,
he saw an old man emerge from a baker shop on a corner, carying a bundle of
food, and from the alley he darted out upon him, and snatched the food from
his hand. The aged man was so bewildered, he made no attempt to capture
him, and he escaped to the cellar. It was not bread, as he suppose, but meat
he had stolen.
In that night there came to him a beautiful angel in snowy raiment ; a form
he had remembered to have seen on earth ; and there was a peaceful smile upon
her lips, as she stooped to kiss him. It was little Helena Montifort, who had
made for him the brightest light of earth. And she whispered in his ear,
" Raleigh, I will be near you ! " and " Raleigh, I will be yout friend i "
Just as she used to whisper to him, when he looked through Mr. Monti-
fort's open gate, upon her frail wistful face, that turned to catch his song.
And she would whisper also, " Come back again, Raleigh, and sing for me ! "
To-night when she laid her face close to his own, he wept for joy and love.
And when he awoke, the wonderful dream remained, and was a reality, a
something that linked his love fitfrever to Helena.
It was something purer than any touch of mortal could ever - itnpart,
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that lived forever in his entranced spirit. In after years it came to him in hours
of enlightenment, when the veil of the holiest was lifted, in symphonies of joy.
In pure radiance, when the shadows of despair laid temptations in his path.
In solemn, august conservation, when unbelief would have chilled the emotions
of his heart.
It remained to allure, and lead him to a purer life, a brighter world, a
divine Heart.
However, Raleigh opened his eyes again upon the suffering earth, and
heard opposite him from the straw the well known voice of Jimmy O'Rork
pleading with Judy.
CHAPTER VI.
RALEIGH AND HUBERT.
"Now, I'm braithin a leetle agin, Judy, and ye know I niver kissed ony
*
woman but yerself, and nivir a shilute or curchy to ony leedy but yerself, Judy ;
piase! piase! is there a leetle tobaccy in the folds of the rag? Just a leetle,
for the loik of Yallow Jim, I entrate, Judy?"
"Shure, as I was baptized against a lie, there is niver a bit in the rag,
Jimmy ! "
"Begorra," sighed the man; the expression of his eye was wild; his
long, narrow temples were sallow, and the hair of his head straggled down over
his shoulders as he rose upon one elbow, and continued :
"Judy, Judy! haye ye intirely forgotten Jimmy O'Rork, and how he was
brought to you on a clane plate, and yer own matchmaker softened his sperit ?
Have ye forgotten the hornpipe and the reel of two, and the modest, asy face
of yqf lover, who now lays cauld and hungry ferninst ye, Jimmy O'Rork, who
brought you to the light of this blissed counthry, Judy? Fiase! piase! is
there a dhrop of the dhrink in the bottle, under the straw?"
"Not a dhrop, Jimmy;" and Judy turned from the woebegone face of
her husband and began to fumble in a green calico bag, from whence she drew
forth some tattered, yellow stockings and held them up before the eyes of
Raleigh; the legs of the stockings were good, and Judy, in her gratitude for
the meat which Raleigh had so generously bestowed upon her, and in her grow¬
ing admiration of the lad who could sing and recite tales by the hour to little
Eddie and keep company and spirit in the house, had conceived the idea of
sewing the legs of these stockings in Raleigh's coat, that he might have at least
some covering for his arms.
"Sthrip them over yer arms and see if they be long enough, ye ganglin'
spalpeen."
Raleigh drew them over his arms and beheld the ridiculous effect—a black
coat with yellow sleeves; "If they were only ze'/zf/'i'," suggested he, "people
might think them my shirt sleeves."
"Arrah, ye monkey ! " exclaimed Judy, pulling them up and fitting them
to the shoulders of his coat.
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43
" it would be trouble to sew them in," objected Raleigh,. willing to do
withou-t the odd looking, but really comfortable arrangement.
"No throuble, at all, for sich a dacent boy as yerself; and if I wouldn't
help the loik of you, why who should I help on God's arth?" Judy was com¬
pletely absorbed and continued to talk as she stitched in the sleeves. "Ye
can't tell yerself ; lave this to me ; a coople of sleeves to sew in, if I can't make
thim fit, I lave you to crop the ears of my head—whist! "
"What?" asked Raleigh.
" Whist ! " and Judy turned toward the straw of Jimmy O'Rork.
—Jimmy had seized the opportunity, while Judy was absorbed, to creep
out of bed and drain the black bottle, which Judy kept secreted and which was
seldom empty, for she would manage someway to replenish that.
"Ye crawlin' reptile, I'll make another eye in yer head to see wid, afore
ye begin to find it again whin its put away," shrieked Judy. " Will ye be able
to-day, now, to lave the place if I call the praste? " The sight of the wretched
man plead even upon the conscience of the hard Judy for pity, and she gave
vent to ejaculations of like character without the use of the cudgel, which she
kept for extreme occasions. After the interruption, which this circumstance
had caused, Judy turned again to look at Raleigh; " Bedad, you look
clever!" Raleigh dared not object, and thus equipped he went forth to his
day's work.
He had made up his mind to have an interview with Hubert, the boy at
the bar, in regard to the newspaper advertisement, and gain his advice before
entering the saloon, and accordingly entered the back door unobserved by the
landlord ; fortunately, it being a raw morning, there was nobody as yet in the
bar room ; he accosted Hubert with some hesitation; the good natured Hubert
turned, "Hello, Raleigh!" then, "Hurrah for shapes, Raleigh! Shoulder,
arms!" To Hubert, Raleigh was a comical sight, with his freckled face sur¬
mounted by his flaming shock of red hair, his ragged pants and ridiculous coat
sleeves, all gleaming in the morning sunshine. On his way along the street he
had not noticed the stare, with which the people passed him by ; there was
that in the effect of the ^trange and beautiful dream of the previous night which
caused him to feeUf gather than to think, on that sharp, clear morning. He felt
the influence of the silent, bright expanse of sky, above the turmoil of the
street ; he felt the rays of the sun, gleaming on the motionless river and the
snow-covered piers in the harbor—everything seemed radiating ^ palace in his
memory, where the heavenly intruder, in the form of Helena Montifort, had
walked with snowy sandals to scatter dewdrops and roses upon his thirsty soul.
It would have been a difficult thing to do, to arouse Raleigh from his state of
44
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
enchantment that morning, and open his ears to hear and realize the discordant
notes of strife and sorrow around him. With a living draught from the foun¬
tain of life, his heart was pulsing, and he was inspired. Even the thought of
his theft, which had so overwhelmed him with agony on the previous evening,
was lost in a sense of pardon, which filled his eyes with tears, as it brooded
over his spirit ; he was sure that somebody, somewhere, loved him. There
was an unnatural light in his countenance, which Hubert observed, and wjth a
gentler manner ofiered him a stool.
"Hubert," began Raleigh, "did you hear any one speak of that adver¬
tisement ? "
' ' What advertisement ? "
"And have you heard nothing of it?"
" Of what ?"
"An advertisement in the newspaper, that some one by the name of
Raleigh was wanted to be found."
"What newspaper?"
" I don't know."
"Who was it advertised?"
"I don't know," replied Raleigh, stupidly.
" It seems to me you're a ' Knoiv Nothing,' concerning the whole matter?"
"I just heard a man read it from a newspaper, yesterday."
"Was there a reward offered?"
"I did not hear him say there was."
" Well, then," said Hubert, "no one is going to bother about it, I assure
you; what have you been up to, stealing?" and Hubert's voice assumed a con¬
fidential undertone, '^stealing, I should smile !"
"No, not exactly, as I know of," stammered Raleigh, remembering the
meat. He then continued to relate the story of the ten dollars he had tried to
restore to the owner in Elmville.
"If that's all you need not be uneasy, I thought you was from the coun¬
try, and I don't know of anything you can do to earn a decent living here,
unless you learn the ways of our sort of boys."
"What sort, Hubert?"
" O, never mind now, you are good like, you might butcher the news."
"With these clothes, Hubert?" said Raleigh, in an incredulous tone.
"No, impossible; but I see you have your cap, where did you find it?"
" It was just lost under the straw, Judy found it for me."
" Who is Judy ? "
" An Irish woman that lives in the cellar where Eddie and I stay."
AND OTHER WORKS.
45
" Who is Eddie ? "
Raleigh related what he knew of Eddie's history.
" Was her mother an English woman, with a brown hood on?"
"I don't know whether she was English, but she wore a brown bonnet.
I remember it, for I held her head till the man came and took her."
" Has the little girl got curls? "
"Yes; and the sweetest red cheeks, and bright eyes and dimpled shoul¬
ders!"
" There, that will do! gush enough for once. I warrant you will write
poetry one day. Wonder if you haven't already?"
"I can sing," replied Raleigh innocently.
"Can you?" eagerly queried Hubert, "comic songs, or only the religious
sort ?"
"A good many kinds, and Judy is learning me some new ones—Irish
songs. "
"They ought to be capital; but when do you sing?"
"I sing to Eddie to keep her from crying."
"O! she's a baby, is she ? "
"She ain't very big."
"Raleigh, I've seen big babies and little women ; I know girls not much
bigger than your thumb, that don't cry and want honey. I always thought that
pretty English woman was a soft one, she looked pudding-like ; but it would
have been better for the brat to have had a little hardening before she left her in
the hands of a kid like you ; she'll get enough of it, ' ym^ bet.' "
"She don't get enough bread," said Raleigh, sadly.
" Why, don't you pick up anything only what you make here ? "
"No; and nothing here as yet. The first morning I bought the beer, re¬
member, and the next I broke a glass."
" And no bread between, Raleigh ? "
"No bread, but "
"Then I'll pay you back for that beer, for I sold it again, and if you will,
you may take my place two -1101115 to-day, while I attend the funeral of an ' old
brick,' supposed to be some relation to me. That will bring 'you fifteen
cents at least."
Hubert turned to wait on a customer, and Raleigh went about his work.
It was with great satisfaction and encouragement Raleigh earned so much
that day and carried bread to the family in the cellar. The overflowing delight
of Jimmy O'Rork was genuine as he gazed on the lad with tears of admiration
and gratitude.
46
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
" Divil of a scruple I'd have, said he, "in bammin' the missionaries, who
bring me their prayers and no bread ; bedad, I'd share the same prayers with ony
one that needs them worse ; but I couldn't swally a bit of Raleigh's bread
without a prayer of my own."
It is not necessary for me to make an apology for the missionaries here
or assert that the charitable institutions in the city where Jimmy O'Rork lay
groaning are on a liberal scale. , Besides the source of legal relief, the Liberal
Public Society has its agents in every district to visit and care for the needy,
and the private charities—the hospitals and asylums—are numerous enough.
Yet, is it to be wondered at that these agencies of benificence sometimes fail in
relieving the poor and suffering victims of vice ? The ravages of intemperance
and the desolations of poverty are busy in the overthrow of thousands upon
thousands, who are continually floating here and there, in and out, crowding
the cellars and attics, the asylums and hospitals. Is it to be wondered that Jim¬
my O'Rork was sometimes missed by the charity agents, and the missionaries
brought the food to the soul of a famishing body, or his soul was overlooked by
the unssionaiics, when the charity agents took some account of his temporary
wants ? But after all it signified more to him to know that the heart of one
human being was touched by a feeling of true sympathy for him than that body
and soul were coldly reached with bread.
There may have been something in the fact that the missionaries were on
their road in their rounds to this humble dwelling, that the mind of Jimmy
O'Rork was drawn to remember them. He continued:
' ' Raleigh, Raleigh, its leetle ye know about these rascals, these Presbyte¬
rian infidels. Its yourself thin, Raleigh, the God of glory will reward."
Perhaps we little know how much the unreasonable prejudice and hatred
among the different religious sects affects the world, although it is seldom
expressed in the extravagant language used by Jimmy O'Rork, the Irish Cath¬
olic. The feeling is sufficiently universal, yet is of rather a speculative nature,
and is most bitter and cruel, when we think of each other as a distinctive class.
In the abstract we hate each other, but when in daily and social intercourse we
are thrown together, these things are apt to be-forgotten, and kindness and good
exists. Yet this speculative animosity, in its tendency, produces evil and dis¬
trust, and keeps mankind asunder. It was against this unhappy spirit of
disunion our Saviour so earnestly prayed.
After a little pause, in which Jimmy was evidently reveling in some pleas¬
ing remembrance or reflections, he again exclaimed, " Avourneen, my child, I
think of old Ireland as if I were-not a week out of it. There are four provinces,
Leinster, Munster, Ulster and Connaught, and in these are thirty and two
AND OTHER WORKS,
47
counties. Faith, niver a merrier counthry, from Fair Head to Crow Head, one
blissed fertile valley, with a broad fringe about it all forever."
"Hut tut," interrupted Judy, "to-day ye talk too much wid yer tongue,
Jimmy; but do ye mind there be Catholic schools, and the praste sits with the
childhre ; and there be boarding schools for the gentlemen's childhre. Even the
Bog of Allen is a blissed sunny counthry, where we stirred the fire beneath the
pot for the gruel, and the whey was sweet and dilicate, and our sperets niver
wint down."
It was seldom Judy displayed interest tnough to talk to Jimmy on any
occasion except to execrate him, but something had been going on in Judy's
mind all morning that tended to inspirit her, and at the same time subdued ; (for
years there had been a gradual withering away of all that had been lovely in the
soul of Judy, a result, perhaps, of the repeated disappointment of hope. In her
hard lot of poverty, she had become sullen, selfish and cruel, and the scatterings
of her hands were thorns.) After Raleigh went out upon the street, in a secret
manner, with back turned upon Jimmy, who had fallen asleep, she was looking
among her earthly treasures, which treasures consisted of a green calico bag, the
same from which she drew the yellow stockings she had sewed into Raleigh's
sleeves, a small, old, hairy, calf-skin trunk, a case of dead hen feathers, a. tobacco
rag, a bottle, a few cooking utensils in a sack, and finally, a flat, grey stone, to
which was attached some superstitious value. She soliloquized in bitter irony ;
"Be quiet, Judy. There is plinty o' snuff in the box, and the hob is by the
fire as in the house of the farmer ; plenty of tobaccy for the pipe, and mate for
the pot." As she talked she pulled the fingers of her bony hands till her joints
snapped like pistols. She finally selected some bright pieces of calico and some
worn white muslin, rolled them together, and hearing footsteps slipped them
into her bosom. There evidently was some pleasing scheme in Judy's mind,
for she looked almost cheerful when Raleigh again entered the cellar.
Hurriedly she placed with careful hand the flat, grey stone in its accustomed
corner in the hairy calf-skin trunk, and underneath it was a purse, a few ttinkets,
and a bit of a shawl to cover all up. This was her "holy of holies," poor,
superstitious, destitute Judy.
CHAPTER VIL
A GLIMPSÈ OF NICHOLAS SCRUGGS ^AND RALEIGH MAKES HIS CONFESSION TO
THE MISSIONARIES.
Judy reverently closed her trunk, still keeping her back upon Jimmy.
Then looking out the dingy window she saw a man striding rapidly along the
street. He was hideously ugly, of small stature, with long arms that swung
below his knees as he walked, and his face gleamed with a dry and purple hue.
Not far in the rear of the man Judy also saw a good looking middle aged
negress leading a prettily dressed little girl by the hand. Judy would scarcely
have taken notice of this had she not known the man and somewhat of his
history. She awoke Jimmy, who also arose and looked out the window.
" And the woman wid the child?" queried Judy.
"That is Hanner, who lives with Scruggs, Judy. Which corner do they
turn?"
"They turn the corner to the left."
" Be sly for once, Judy, and look a leetle wid yer eye in the saloon where
the lad works. Quick, Judy !"
Judy did not hear Jimmy's words for she was already crawling like a
stealthy cat through the back alley toward the saloon where Raleigh was em¬
ployed, which was, since the death of Richard Kruits, in the possession of Hons
Vanderhomer, a laundryman. It was of great importance to Judy what Scruggs
was doing. Jimmy had not allowed this man to escape his eye for some time.
He went directly, as Jimmy had surmised, to the saloon of Hons Vanderhomer,
and into the basement at the rear, where the keeper stood expecting him at that
hour. The colored woman and child went into the front door and entered the
parlor where the child was lost fo view, while the woman passed on through the
apartments and below to the basement where Scruggs and Vanderhomer stood.
Vanderhomer looked anxious and evinced no pleasure whatever in the strange
transaction of the morning, but inquired,
" Is she safe ?"
"She is safe enough sure, sir," answered Hannah, the colored attendant of
Nicholas Scruggs.
AND OTHER WORKS.
49
"Scruggs," commenced Vanderhomer, "I'm in a a tight pinch to-day, Gott
knows."
"No!" ejaculated Scruggs.
" Can you loan me a small sum to-day? I will make it goot—"
The face of Scruggs grew more livid, his neck began to protrude from his
crooked shoulders with a series of jerks, and the blood rose in knots to the sur¬
face. With a furious stamp he yelled out,
" By the eternal heavens, I'll have my pay this very minute I "
Intuitively Hannah understood that she was to stand outside, and accord¬
ingly walked out and looked each way. Vanderhomer felt that it would be
dangerous to dicker or parley, so immediately paid over the price promised to
Scruggs for the mysterious business he had done for him.
"Five for Manner," demanded Scruggs.
It was quickly given, and Hannah re-entered the room. Scruggs graciously
handed her a dollar bill, saying: "Here is your five dollars I promised you,
dear. Take it. Go immediately and purchase the silk stockings, pink, blue,
or yellow; also a red petticoat, and a handkerchief for your neck." Hannah's
eyes gleamed black and white, and rolled anxiously towards the ceiling as she
nodded her thanks. She did not fail to notice the fresh ironed cloths, and
the articles Scruggs had menttoned laying there in the laundry, and she under¬
stood that she was to appropriate them, while he diverted Vandehomer, a thing
easy to do. This being accomplished, they both stepped outside. At the
street entrance stood a ragged figure that stared full in the face of Scruggs, and
held out a hand. With a terrible curse he placed a piece of money therein.
It was Judy O'Rork, the woman he had cause to fear.
It had happened so with Scruggs before, but how Jimmy and Judy saw
so much of his comings and goings or how much they might know of his crimes,
Nicholas Scruggs was at a loss^to surmise. He remembered to have met Jimmy
under very unpleasani circumstances once or twice, and he saw in him and in
Judy strong stealthy foes. Judy was a vampire upon his very vitals, since, as
to-day, she always held out a hand, which he felt might mean the price of his
secrets.
" But no, my good woman," he apologized, " I was hasty just now; here
here, take this, and give to the good man, whom I fear is sick, and walk with
Manner, dear, who is now going."
" Ye tan-bred dromedary," muttered Judy as she disappeared, and again in
a short space of time she reappeared in the cellar of Jimmy O'Rork, where
without saying a word she sat down and engaged herself with the pieces of
calico and muslin which she had taken from the green bag in the morning.
50
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
After Judy had disappeared, Hannah also proceeded to her lodgings, and
presently Nicholas Scruggs joined her in the dismal apartment. This was really
the home of the latter, although he had been for many years a servant in the
Mendenhall Mansion near by. Nicholas was a miser to an extent that pinched
Hannah, since he controlled all business matters in the establishment. After
entering the room he went to deposit the articles Hannah had stolen from Hons
Vanderhomer in a trunk of which he himself carried the key. On opening the
trunk he paused to consider, then taking up a huge comb, which lay near the top,
he examined it carefully. While doing this his mind changed concerning the
articles which he was about to deposit therein, and he decided that Hannah must
immediately convert them into money. So, ingeniously, turning sharp upon
her he said :
"Some one has been meddling in this trunk!"
" O, honey, you know if they have, but God knows it was not me !"
With angry expression, he again bent his attention on the comb, and
continued :
"ThN comb is split in the teeth, and there is
wool upon it."
The face of the frightened negress now gleamed
with terror, and she took a position in an opposite
corner of the room ready for anything which might
follow.
" Hanner, I will take that dollarno-w, and quick.
Make ready and dispose of thes^ things before dark,
for I am in need of money. I will not take supper
here to-night."
Hannah abandoning all hope of supper, seized up
her peddling pack with alacrity and went out, after
which Scruggs proceeded to devour the scanty store of provisions to be
found in the house, then locking the door securely, went about his chores in
the Mendenhall mansion.
It was late in the afternoon, but there was a knock at the rickety door of
Jimmy O'Rork's cellar, and being pushed ajar two men entered. One, a
youthful, earnest looking man, with pleasant sympathetic tones, the other
very aged, with drooping shoulders and mild blue eyes. The latter Raleigh
immediately recognized as the gentleman from whom he had snatched the meat
on the previous evening, and mistaking the other for a policeman, he fell
with an imploring groan unon his face, and cried out, as he cried when Mrs.
Ellenwood had given him the clothes which belonged to her dead son, and spoke
NICHOLAS SCRUGGS.
AMÖ OTHER WORKS.
51
the words which so wrought upon his soul, the cry he had heard his aunt Nancy
McNeilly use in times of distress, from his earliest recollection, "Lord be mer¬
ciful to me a sinner ! " The "ready and keen sighted young missionary lifted the
suffering boy from the ground and drew him to his side, brushing the hair from
his pale temples. With soothing words that Raleigh will never forget, he told
him the story of Jesus, the friend of sinners. With tears and with sobbing^
accents, the contrite boy poured forth his confession :
"I thought it was but a bundle of bread, and Eddie was starving; that
much bread would not have been worth more than ten cents, but the meat
was worth much more. I did not know it was meat when I snatched it from
your hand. I had worked two days for a glass of beer, which I could not
drink, and a broken tumbler, and we had nothing to eat during that time, and
Eddie had said, ' Raleigh, bring home bread ! O ! good Raleigh, do bring
Eddie some bread, a wee, little, sweet, white bread to-day.' The meat was
worth much more than bread; it was very good. I divided it among us all."
The aged man, to whom Raleigh was making this touching confession, sat
leaning forward toward the unfortunate boy with compressed lips and streaming
eyes. He had not recognized the boy to be the one who snatched away his
meat. There had been in his mind a vague sense of bewilderment in regard
to that occurrence ; he had gone to the shop—a thing he seldom did—and
purchased the meat to give to a destitute family, when as he was about to turn
a corner of the street, something had darted upon him and taken the bundle
from his hand ; the matter had been given little thought beyond the passing
hour. He was a man that understood much of the sufferings of the poor, and
loved to minister to their wants ; he had visited nearly every prison in his
State to satisfy himself of their system of treatment of prisoners, upon which
to base plans of prison reform, he had written and labored in the behalf of
criminal children, in order that they might not be thrown into the common
prison ; he had in may parts of the State instituted children's homes, and his
hand had borne the cup of cold water to many thirsting souls. He immedi¬
ately reassured Raleigh, by telling him that the man was not a policeman, and
wished him only good. He explained to him the meaning of pardon, and
told him of the sin which exists in every human heart. He drew from him the
story of little Eddie also. All this time Jimmy O'Rork was sitting stiffly
upright, with gleaming eyes and open mouth. His quick intelligence under¬
stood the situation. He had secretly suspected Raleigh had stolen the meat,
and now, if need be, he was ready to defend the lad. In his right hand, con¬
cealed beneath the cover, was Judy's cudgel, and with the expression of a
§2
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MËN
tiger ready to spring, he waited for the Protestants. Judy had given way
and her face was buried in her apron.
As the faltering voice of the aged man continûed in the sweetest words of
comfort and encouragement, as he took the hand of Raleigh and held it
clasped in his own, and lifted up a prayer for him, for Eddie, for the afflicted
man upon his bed, the cudgel dropped from the grasp of Jimmy O'Rork, his
elbow gave way, and he sank back with sobs of emotion ; never had he heard
such a prayer before. Other prayers had been performed beside his suffering
bed of straw, in which there was no life to touch his own, and no fellowship
with the Divine. Even he, sinner that he was, could feel the spirit in that
prayer. Then arose the voice of singing, in which Raleigh joined.
" Where did you learn to sing the hymn ? " enquired the aged missionary.
" At the church in Elmville long ago."
" Did you also attend Sunday school there? "
"A few times with Mrs. Ellenwood."
"And who was Mrs. Ellenwood?"
"A good woman that had missionary meetings at her own house, and was
very kind to me."
"Why did you come away from Elmville?"
" Because I was afraid of her husband, who was a bad man and hated me."
The aged man, as was his custom, took out a blank book and wrote the
name of this household and the street, also the names of Elmville and Ellen-
wood. In this blank book were many thousand names written ; his object in
writing them was that he might refer to them if necessary. A good
many of them were never referred to after being written, some became histo¬
rical, others woven into his life. Happy day for Raleigh that such a friend
has found him.
Another object he had in writing names and. streets, was that he might
relieve the most destitute ; at such names he used a certain mark, and the mark
was placed at the name of this household. When the missionaries arose to go,
Raleigh drew a small piece of money from his pocket and gave it to the one
from whom he had snatched the meat.
" I will pay you the balance as soon as I can ; this I saved to-day."
" Why did you not buy meat ? "
" Because I thought bread would do."
" But why did you save the money ? "
"I thought to buy Eddie a jacket," stammered Raleigh, "but I give it to
you because I think that is the rtght thing to do ; I will pay for the meat, then
I am not a thief."
ÁÑD OTHER WORKS.
S3
" With a look of earnest admiration the aged man took the piece of
money and put it in his purse ; but he put it in a separate place ; he looked
at it carefully as if it were precious. He then took a small piece of gold and
put it in the hand of the sick man : " This, to use to make yourself more com¬
fortable." It was too much for Jimmy, who had not spoken a word during
the visit of the good men.
"A bit of shining money, that I might buy coal, that Judy might have a
dress, and Eddie a jacket, and mate and male for the family ! I will again
hand money to Judy, and say, ' Go buy necessary things. ' "
Amidst the most extravagant exclamations of joy and gratitude, the
ministers of mercy passed out of that abode of want and suffering.
In the evening of this eventful and exciting day, there was a cheerful fire
in the grate and actually meat simmering in Judy's pot. It takes but little to
bring happiness and hilarity to the minds of such as Jimmy and Judy O'Rork,
and the overflow of witty, joyous conversation, mirth and song around the fire,
and the savory repast, would be remembered by one unaccustomed to their ways.
Eddie was radiant, for the scheme which had been conceived in the mind
of Judy, which had rendered her cheerful in mood during the afternoon and
caused her to overhaul her belongings, which we have already witnessed, had
taken shape in the form of a doll, made, indeed, in uncomely proportions, yet
it was a doll, with bright clothes and a little hood, and it belonged to Eddie,
who sat clasping it, weaving to and fro, in the rapt radiance of her delight ;
even Raleigh dared not break the spell which was upon he.r—it was celestial.
There was a solemn, strange expression in her rapture, in her uplifted eyes and
about her mouth, that awed the beholder. It was a small thing for Judy to do.
Would not the material used have made a covering for the little, naked arms
and shoulders? Yes, perhaps it would, but in this way it had warmed her
heart and clothed her soul, it had fed her starvings ; and it had done more for
Judy, it brought the bloom and fruit of a germ of tender kindness, to the bar¬
ren wastes of her desolate spirit, whose sweet perfume and taste did not die.
About eleven o'clock, according to a previous engagement, Raleigh called
on Hubert to sing for him. Hubert had said, "Come after the saloon closes
to-night ; I want to hear you sing, it may be we can make something in that
way, "
The rain and sleet which had followed the bright, cold morning, made it
very disagreeable to be out of doors, and in answer to Raleigh's knock, Hubert
informed him that he was locked in by the proprietor, and the key was some¬
where outside.
54
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THÍRTEEN MEM
"You see he died yesterday. I was at his funeral to-day.
" It is very cold and dark and wet outside, and I am afraid of the police,"
said Raleigh.
" If they come around I'll explain," answered Hubert ; " I'll tell, you came
to get beer for a sick man."
"I didn't, though," said Raleigh.
"Ha, ha! you will never do for our gang."
" What gang do you mean ? "
"We have a society to learn business. We have officers, by-laws, grips
and passwords ; we hold meetings and have harangues and singing. It is a
secret society, so pray ask no more questions."
"Was it for this gang you wanted me to sing?"
"Yes, will you now give me an anthem through the key hole?"
"I am afraid to," replied Raleigh, shivering with cold.
"I should smile! Raleigh, I wonder I ever took any interest in you. I
knew from the first tfiat you was from the country, but I rather suspected you
might be a thief. I have admiration for a thief." Raleigh's lips were riveted,
he could say nothing, but mentally asked, " Does he know I took the meat? "
"But,.by the by," continued Hubert, "how is little Eddie, your sweet one?
I'll come over and see her soon. I feel under obligations to that child; I cer¬
tainly do. I must help you to support her, by jingo."
"What do you mean, Hubert, are you relatives?"
"There is a kind of private connection between us."
" How ?"
" It came this way. My father murdered her father for his money."
" O, Hubert ! "
" Her father was a gentleman. My father was a robber and a blood-letter,
and a negotiation took place."
"If Raleigh could have looked upon Hubert then, if he could have seen
his fiery eye and demoniac expression, when he spoke of his father, he would
have known what hatred can do for a boy's visage. As it was, Raleigh was
shuddering from head to foot, and for a timq there was silence.
Finally Hubert laughed, a wild, wicked, derisive laugh. "Ha! ha! are
you frightened?"
"Yes," gasped Raleigh.
" Nothing to fear, Raleigh," scornfully, "ha! ha!"
" If they find it out they'll hang your father, won't they ? "
"Ha! ha! No. If what is generally reported in gospel be true, he is in
a sure grip already. The Chief of Police has his claw on him."
"What?"
AND OTHER WORKS.
55
The words of Hubert run cold through Raleigh's shuddering frame, and
benumbed he crouched motionless and speechless ; he would not have won¬
dered to see the wrath of heaven crushing everything into oblivion. A clock
was striking twelve near by, and a shifting breeze drove the storm in a gusty
drift into his face.
" I guess I'd better go."
"I should smile," answered Hubert."
" / hear a low whistle. "
"Then there is business going on."
"Where are the policemen?"
"They, perhaps, will not bother themselves. Men must have a living,
and thousands have no work; they can't see their children starve. Yet many
of them don't intend to work ; such have no quarrel with the government,
and Raleigh they teach their children a handicraft. Raleigh, I have said it
before, and I say it again to-night, I wish I was out of this gang. I hate
cruelty and crime, and I wish I had a different place. O, if I were out of this
gang. O, if I were like you, and had never been a thief or a liar. You see I
am worked up to-night, dreadfully worked up.
Do you remember the Dutchman you saw this
morning, with the box of jewelry ? "
"Yes."
I feel sorry for him and his poor sister ;
but I dare not squeak, and you dare not
squeak, or I'd not be telling you. That is
why I'm locked up in here to-night. ' The
fellow is here and in a dead stupor ; if
you listen close you can hear him breathe."
Raleigh listened with his ear to the key hole and
heard the heavy breathing of a man inside.
"Are you listening? do you hear him,
Raleigh ? Is it a pleasant situation to be the
son of my father and to watch with this man ?
I am glad I went to that old brick's funeraj
to-day. I tell you, / am despetate. I will
not stay here till daylight. I will burst the Hubert in the saloon.
hoops, and the staves shall fall out and in. O, God! O, God!" and Hubert,
in a frenzy of excitement was stamping the floor and beating upon the table.
" O, God! indeed," remembering himself, "I must be very quiet ; I am
told I must be very quiet to-night. .Where are you, Raleigh? Raleigh!" in
a whisper through the key-hole,
CHAPTER VIII.
IN WHICH IS SEEN THE INTERIOR OF A DUNGEON.
Upon hearing the heavy breathing of the man inside, whom Hubert had
spoken of as doomed, Raleigh, fainting with emotion and fear, fell forward
upon his hands and knees, and involuntary cried out. This was a very unfor¬
tunate thing, as it attracted the attention of some men who were then lurking
in the rear of the saloon on the next-lot. They had not, though constantly on
the alert, heard the conversaition of the boys at the key-hole, which had been
carried on in a suppressed undertone, but in this supreme moment of agitation,
in which Raleigh lost the sense of his surroundings, his outcry was startling
and alarming to the men in the shadows. They stealthily drew near, and
overhearing the voice of Hubert cautioning Raleigh to silence, and urging
him to make haste away, charging him never to tell what he had said,
and again declaring that he would be out before daylight, they thought they
had reason to believe the boys understood, and were dangerous to their
schemes. Not knowing that Hubert was inside the saloon, they determined
to capture the boys at once, and springing over the low wall they seized
Raleigh by the throat, then bearing him hastily along the rear of the
building, and opening a heavy door in the basement, they thrust him senseless
into the inner cellar of Hons Vanderhomer, the German saloonist, who also
carried on a laundry shop in the basement, where a large number of
women were employed in laundry work.
This cellar was beneath the front part of the building, and was not used
by the washerwomen. It was perfectly dark, and a clear, damp, fetid odor
issued from the door as it opened and closed upon the child.
When Raleigh returned to consciousness, he was bewildered ; he reached
about him imagining himself in the cellar of Jimmy O'Rork, and he was feel¬
ing for little Eddie ; there was no straw, no object near, except the hoops and
staves of a beer cask and something resembling an oyster or fruit can, imme¬
diately under his neck, whose sharp edge had made a wound in the flesh. He
had a vague remembrance of having been choked by some one in the dark, ás
he was on his knees by the salbon door, where he had heard the man breath¬
ing inside. This was all the bruised, unfortunate prisoner had to build
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57
his speculations upon concerning his present condition. He concluded that
the policemen had taken him and he was in prison. He was hungry and
stiff", and as he rose, first upon his knees and then to his feet, he strained his
eyes for a ray of light. There was none. This cellar was without egress,
save by the heavy door, which opened into another cellar, and a trap door in
the floor of the saloon above. This trap-door opened into the bar-room of the
ale-house, and was completely covered from sight. Usually at times of
removals, or cleaning of the apartments, it was opened to receive rubbish and
filth which had accumulated; and it had been opened a few times for secret
purposes of his own since the present proprietor had taken the house. The
persons who thrust Raleigh therein evidently had some knowledge of the
private convenience of the cellar, and carried the key.
It was the night of another day, which Raleigh had unconsciously slept
away, overcome by excitement and injury. This also accounted for his being
so cold, stiff and hungry.
Poor Raleigh, you are in a prison of the dead, not the living ; no turnkey
ever calls at the door with food or drink, no light ever breaks upon the awful
sights within.
To Judy, Jimmy and Eddie the day, which Raleigh had all unconsciously
slumbered into eternity, was one of important events, aff"ecting*their future to
a considerable extent. The aged missionary had not forgotten the children,
and had returned to conyey Raleigh and Eddie to a comfortable home, and for
Jimmy he had obtained admission into a hospital. This was heart-rending to
Judy. Just as the mind of Eddie was turning to her motherless tcraving
heart," and Raleigh had become a blessing, and Jimmy was beginning to mend,
that the house must be broken up. Little Eddie clung to Judy, and it was
only by permitting Judy to accompany her that she was removed to the neat,
comfortable Children's home in a remote part of the city. Jimmy was perfectly
willing for his transfer, for he anticipated the want and suffering before him
during the remainder of the winter.
B.ut where was Raleigh, who of all, the aged missionary hoped to aid ?
No one could tell that day. The missionary told Judy of a "place where she
might find employment, and that by industrious exertions she might, by Spring,
be able to keep hotise again for her husband in better lodgings. Accordingly,
two days after Raleigh was incarcerated in the inner cellar of Hons Vander-
homer, Judy entered the adjoining apartment as a washerwoman in his laundry.
Judy was regarded with suspicion and disgust even by the women of that
humble avocation, on account of her uncommonly haggard appearance and
tattered dress,
58
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
Judy had been at one period of her life a very beautiful, merry Irish girl,
among the prosperous country people of Northern Ireland. Her father was
not destitute, and she was sent to the national school in the neighborhood,
which he himself proudly helped to support. It was only when she became
the wife of Jimmy O'Rork she was brought to poverty and distress, drifting
first to Wicklow, then in an emigrant ship to the United States.
All that now remained of her beauty was her glossy black hair and her
pearly teeth. The years of destitution and distress had not sweetened her
di.sposition either. She looked upon the face of every stranger with distrust
and hatred. She was witty, intelligent and physically strong ; she was
depraved, passionate and desperate ; she feared no one, from the Mayor to the
foot-pad ; she objected to work ; her bottle and her pipe were her best loved
companions ; she would work to keep them replenished, but now she had Eddie
and Raleigh. Deprived of her own children by the cruel hand of want and
famine, she had always looked upon the children of others with the hatred that
repelled them ; but unobtrusively, and unconsciously to herself, these orphans
had won her affections and had brought a little true happiness to her barren
heart. She would work now and make a home for them, and have them again ;
it was therefore with the determination and fierce strength of a tigress for her
young she comraenced work in the laundry. The washerwomen of the house
of Hons Vanderhomer got no time for dinner, but Judy had her bottle and her
pipe, and also took sufficient bread for her dinner in her pocket, intending to
eat, drink and smoke. And Judy was not at all calculated to be trifled with,
even by the terrible Hons Vanderhomer. But on the second day of her advent
into the place an accident happened which defeated her. One of the women,
whether by accident or otherwise, severely burned the arm of Judy with a
polishing iron. A quarrel ensued, in which Judy injured the woman to
a considerable extent. This woman was an especial favorite with her employer,
who on reaching the scene of the catastrophe, was so enraged with J udy that
he opened the inner cellar and thrust her headlong into it and locked the door
upon her. He did not intend to leave her there except during the night ;
neither was he aware of the boy Raleigh being within.
Shaking with passion and cursing in the most appalling manner, Judy rose
and stumbled forward with outstretched hands to find the door. She found
that she was in a labyrinth of indefinite magnitude. In wild rage she ran
backward and forward in the darkness, and presently fell over a body lying
upon the ground.
" Arrah ! " said she, instantly diverted frorn her demoniac rage, as she felt
AND OTHER WORKS.
Over the body. "Och, thin! how long have j/e been here? Ye brathe yit ;
but mabye that's only a pathern for me." The object groaned feebly.
" Faith," continued she, "spake, since we're in the same ditch; indulge in
a burst of yer throuble. "
The dying boy raised his head upon his hand and with great difficulty
murmured :
"A little water ; O, I pray, a little water ! "
" Divil a dhrop of water; but here's a little rum; just moisten yer tongue
wid it, while I sthrike a light in the tomb." Judy's ready expediency scratched
together material enough to ignite a momentary blaze. Quickly she drew a
match from her pocket, and a light flickered before the face of the individual,
and she recognized the shadow of Raleigh.
"This, thin, is the mather wid Raleigh," she talked to herself, as she
drew the fainting, wounded boy in her lap, and endeavored to soothe him.
"It's two days and three nights away from me, and not a bite." Re¬
membering she had some bread in her pocket, she put it to his lips ; he ate it
eagerly, then sank into a feverish sleep. Judy sat with her face buried in her
hands a moment or two, then feeling her way along over the ground, she
gathered up the articles she could find which were of a combustible nature, and
taking her box of matches out of her pocket again proceeded to build a fire.
Hons Vanderhomer, you have made a mistake in thrusting Judy into your
cellar. This is but the forerunner of a conflagration.
By the light of her fire she glanced about to see what the cellar contained.
In one corner was a huge heap of beer casks, reaching to the floor above, inter¬
mingled with rubbish of all sorts—rags, paper, straw—everything well calculated
to burn. Near the door into which she was thrust, was a shovel and mattock.
Upon closer inspection she found loose earth, over which was a litter of hops,
from the pot-house. Clearing these away, she examined still a little further,
and found buried beneath the loose earth, two casks, which had been used for
holding ale. These were empty ; and still beneath them were the partial
remains of a man, which might have been put into the casks "for the purpose of
secreting them, and carried to the cellar and unloaded without any danger of
suspicion. However that may have been, Judy exhibited no extraordinary
emotion at this sight. She carefully examined the face, the hands and portions
of the body, took some of the hair from the head and a piece of handkerchief from
the neck, and rolling them hurriedly together, put them in her pocket. Then
leaving all uncovered, she arose and çrawled aloft upon the pile of casks in the
corner, and examined the floor above. She was probably calculating the pos¬
sibility of opening the floor with the aid of the mattock. She there discovered
6o
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
the trap-door immediately above the pile of rubbish, and there were cracks
around this door. She saw the floor was impregnable. She arranged the
rubbish about the cracks of the trap-door, taking a piece of tin she cleaned the
cracks with it till she could see the light in the bar-room above, where she could
distinctly hear the voices of the men in drunken carousal. Descending again
to the floor she roused Raleigh, carried him to the door of the cellar and made
him understand all ; by the strength the bread and brandy had given him, he
stood upon his feet.
" You will suffocate and thin ye'll die, bedad ; but if ye don't die, crawl!"
said she ; " they'll be afther the fire whin they smell it sure, thin whin the door
opens, crawl! Can ye keep that in yer head, ye spalpeen?"
Raleigh assured her that he could make his escape in case the door was
opened.
The rubbish was then fired and soon the cellar was a glare of burning heat,
warming the stiff" limbs of Raleigh, and bringing a glow to Judy's face, which
made him feel confident. Judy had counted the cost and expected to make her
escape, but she felt that time was valuable. It was as she had calculated, the
smoke and flame were drawn through the cracks about the trap-door, into the
bar-room above and the smell of fire alarmed the crowd of men in the saloon.
Hons Vanderhomer started immediately for the cellar, but on reaching the door
which led to the scene of the conflagration he found, to his dismay and con¬
sternation, that the key was not in his pocket ; he had lost or mislaid it when
he opened the door in the afternoon to thrust Judy therein. In wild tumult all
hands had rushed to the outer cellar, or laundry, and stood before the heavy
locked door ; axes were brought and the door was stove in. During this
delay and confusion, the miserable prisoners were suffocating inside. Raleigh
had fallen to the ground and was clutching the fragments of the crumbling wall,
in his agony for breath. Judy had staggered and leaned heavily against the
broken door, on the opposite side ; they were unnoticed by the excited crowd
of men and women in the outer cellar. By this time the entire floor was a
sheet of flame ; Raleigh attempted to escape, but in vain, his limbs gave way
beneath him. Judy grasped him and forced her way through the crowd to the
open air. Hons Vanderhomer noticed the unearthed casks, and remembering
the woman, pursued her; it was, however, but the work of an instant, that
Judy, who had it in her mind from the beginning, turned and dealt him a blow
that brought him to the ground with a severe wound in his forehead ; this was
effected by means of an ax which lay near the door, by which they had forced
an entrance into the cellar. Rafeigh was once more revived and was seated in
the shadow outside; Judy left him and entered the now deserted rooms above.
AND OTHER WORKS.
6i
What was she doing ?—stealing ! When she emerged she was staggering beneath
an immense weight of plunder—brandy and tobacco, meat, bread and clothing.
"Arrah, my boy, use yer lages a leetle, ye spalpeen!" to Raleigh, who
rose and followed her as in a dream.
By this time the fire department had arrived on the scene, and Judy passed
unobserved one square after another, while Raleigh still kept pace beside her ;
but this could not continue much longer, for he felt that he was indeed dying ;
and with the olden cry, "God be merciful ," he fell heavily upon the
pavement.
They were still some distance from Judy's lodgings and there were two
things to be feared : the police, and the immediate death of Raleigh. What
should Judy do, desert the dying boy and escape with her precious plunder, or
leave the bundle and carry Raleigh to her lodgings ?
— "Nather!" hissed Judy through her teeth, as she tore a garment and
made of it a strap ; she lashed the heavy bundle to her back and seizing the
child bore him forward in her arms. Nerved by excitement and determina¬
tion, Judy accomplished her purpose. She entered her miserable room, made
Raleigh as comfortable as she could upon the straw, even lighted the material
she had made ready in the grate in the morning. The perspiration was stream¬
ing from every pore, the veins of her neck were swollen and blood was issuing
from her nostrils. She now leaned forward upon her knees, with her head rest-
ing against the wall by the window, and seemed to fall asleep.
In this story, in which we have so unsatisfactory a glimpse of the most
indigent of Irish emigrants to our shores, I can only say a few more words con¬
cerning Judy O'Rork.
The light of day had beamed into the dingy cellar several hours, on the
following morning, and Raleigh still slept—a broken, feverish sleep.
The few neighbors who would be likely to miss the usual stir in Judy's
apartment, took no notice as they crept along the rear of the basement on an
occasional errand outside their own miserable abodes ; the keen air of midwinter
caused them to remain more closely indoors, so no one noticed the kneeling
figure near the dingy window, nor the motionless shadow beyond upon the floor.
It was Judy, still upon her knees; she had not stirred since she leaned her
head against the wall, twelve hours before ; she was dead!
A play of sunshine from the clear, keen sky, smote her glossy hair, which
fell unbound upon the floor and created a halo about her kneeling form.
Raleigh opened his eyes once, and experienced a vague consciousness
of the vision of Judy, encircled by light, and noticed that the shadow she cast
upon the floor was cruciform.
CHAPTER IX.
IN WHICH WE GET A GLIMPSE OF WILHELMINA CHILDRETH, IN CONNECTION WITH
THE HISTORY OF RALEIGH.
Among the charitable institutions of the world, the Children's Aid So¬
ciety, established in New York City about the year 1853, by Charles L. Brace,
is perhaps the best organized and practically efficient system of relieving and
aiding the destitute and homeless.
This system of charity, being partial in its nature, the cost to the public
is not one-half the amount expended by any other in the world, public or
private, and by its partial nature, the relieved are more benefitted and bet¬
ter prepared for the independent duties of life. Among the most admirable
features of this vast enterprise, is the commodious and well regulated lodgings
for boys and the industrial school for girls. It was to the assistance afforded
by this society the aged missionary looked for the permanent relief of the Irish
boy, Raleigh, who had now disappeared from his knowledge.
It was with great reluctance the good man turned away from Jimmy
O'Rork, on the day he was conveyed to the hospital, he felt that in breaking
up even that miserable home, he had, perhaps, left the poor boy more friend¬
less and alone.
But three days later, what he was so powerless to effect came about in the
most ordinary legal manner. When, at last, the death of Judy was made
known to the public and she was taken charge of by the proper authorities,
the boy was conveyed to the hospital for children, connected with the "Chil.
dren's Aid Society," where, on his recovery, he was assisted in finding em¬
ployment. The excellent rudiments of instruction which he now received,
created in his mind a thirst for knowledge, awakened his thoughts, aroused his
ambition and taught him to soar aloft. He now began to see before him a
world, a life, a career. Henceforth, there was something for him to do beside
earning bread. Scarcely had he recovered, so as to be able to leave the
hospital, when he might have been seen sitting with the most earnest and se¬
rious thought before his books. Now he resolved to be a scholar. He began
to display the most intense interest in research and in progress. The ambitions
and anticipations of youth crowded like a long pent-up flood upon his imagina-
AND OTHER WORKS.
63
tive mind, and he entered upon the broad current of existence which arose
before him, and he purposed to steer for the far highlands ; perchance he saw
but the flashing and sunlight of his dreams ; the eddies and whirlpools, the
breakers and rocks, o'er which the current leaps, were hidden from his view.
But Raleigh was being taught to be practical. He must find employment
for his hands. He must save his earnings for future use. He must econo¬
mize his time as well as his earnings, all this was the Children's Aid So¬
ciety doing for Raleigh.
RALEIGH MAKING HIS FIRST DEPOSIT.
It will, perhaps, be fitting for me to make an apology for the hasty Intro"
duction and partial glimpse of another and most charming female character,
who became an associate with Raleigh during his stay in this children's home.
One whose history I would fain record in fuller detail, since you have already
become interested in little Eddie.
And I ought also to have said before this, that during Raleigh's sickness
in the hospital he was nursed by this young woman, with whom he formed an
intimatç friendship, She so quietly and tenderly cared for him, and by gentle
64
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
words and acts drew forth all the love and admiration of which his heart was
capable. In his delirium he had talked much of Eddie, and it was to be
marked that the young woman started and became very pale at the first
mention of Eddie's name. Then she had used every means to draw him out
and learn all she could about her, at times, when his thoughts seemed
dwelling on Eddie. One afternoon as she sat by his little bed she noticed that
he was watching her with a look of puzzled anxiety; she asked, "Raleigh,
what is it ; can I do anything for you, dear? "
"Nothing now; I feel almost well. But I was thinking of little Eddie,
and wondering what became of her ; and sometimes when I look at you I
think that you and Eddie look alike."
There was a sudden flush, an eager lustre leaped to the eyes of Wilhel¬
mina Childreth as the boy said this ; then she burst into tears, and between
sobs, in hurried words, she told Raleigh that she once had a darling little girl,
whose name was Eddie ; that she was lost upon the street ; that she was very
ill for weeks, and knew nothing of her loss until her recovery, when no trace
of her child could be found. "O, tell me of the little creature you call
Eddie ! " She was now on her knees by Raleigh's couch.
"O it cannot be, it cannot be yom Eddie, for her mother died on the
street. I held her head while she was dying ; she wore a brown bonnet ;
some men came and picked her up, and they .said that she was dead. They
put her in a cart and carried her away. Little Eddie screamed and ran after
the cart, and I took her up and carried her to the cellar." He then stated
to Wilhelmina the story of his imprisonment in the dungeon of Hoijis Vander-
homer and how he was lost from Eddie. " I know a boy that was acquainted
with my Eddie's mother, and knew about her father dying too !" At the
mention of the death of Eddie's father, the old expression of despair returned
to the face of Wilhelmina Childreth.
"And have you seen the boy you mentioned since Eddie was lost?"
"No, I have not; but I know where he works, unless they have served
him as they did me, or worse, on that night." Mrs. Childreth took the number
of the street and place where Hubert was employed, and resolved to go and
leàrn all she could concerning Eddie. But she had little hope of finding him,
for as Raleigh had intimated, he was in all probability imprisoned or put to
death by the .same cruel hands that had incarcerated 'Raleigh in the living tomb
on that dreadful night. The same evening she went to the saloon, but the
saloon was gone, burned to the ground. The fire which was kindled by Judy
in the cellar of Hons Vandertomer had done considerable damage in that
vicinity. She could obtain no information concerning Hubert.
AND OTHER WORKS.
65
It may be here stated that Hubert on hearing the men seize Raleigh, made
no delay in forcing an escape from the saloon and from the neighborhood. He
did not stop until crossing High Bridge, he entered what was the village of
Riverdale, in Manchester county. He eluded pursuit, and about two o'clock
in the morning rested and took shelter in a stable in the suburbs. Sometime
on the following forenoon he was aroused by the owner of the stable, and sent
to the back door of the cottage for breakfast. This was not exactly a new
experience for Hubert, who meekly and gratefully received the repast, but
something quite surprising and entirely new happened immediately afterward.
The fine, mild-faced gentleman asked him to be seated in his buggy and
take a drive with him. As they drove across the beautiful country, the keen
winter air brought the tears to Hubert's eyes—or was it the gentle kindness of
the clergyman—(for such he was,) as he pointed out many things of interest,
and conversed as with a friend, enquiring how he came into the country and
for what purpose.
Hubert, shocked and disheartened by the calamities of the night, and the'
fate of Raleigh, told his story to the man, adding what he had said to Raleigh,
that he longed for a different and better life. Hubert did not know such loving
kindness existed as was now manifested toward him. He had never before felt
the approach of the sunlight of love. There had been something in the nature
of Raleigh, latent but living, which attracted him.
He had now, upon entering the carriage, with Charles Gary, come in
contact with a living soul—a sun, a shield, a heart of grace and truth. How
is it, the feet that have none to guide will sometimes mysteriously go
aright.
Clarendon Childreth, the husband of Wilhelmina and father of Eddie, was
the son of an English baron, of large fortune. Wilhelmina was the beautiful
and only child of a German merchant. Unfortunately Clarendon was dissipated
and intemperate. He journeyed to the United States with his wife and child,
where he squandered his rnoney in saloons and among licentious companions.
Always accustomed to affluence, Wilhelmina knew nothing of hardship and
exposure. Tlie little daughter, Eddie, was about two years old, when Clar¬
endon suddenly disappeared, and Wilhelmina was left penniless. She made no
effort to secure any of his estate ; she was bewildered and crushed, and the
few acquaintances she had formed told her that her husband had probably
deserted her for another. It was while in this condition of mind that she was
told by her landlord that he could no longer board her without money. She
wandered out, and from exposure, hunger and anxiety, she had fallen upon the
street, and her little child was lost, She was taken to a hospital, where for
66
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
weeks she was too ill to realize her misery, and where she gave birth to a
second child, which, however, lived but a few hours. After her recovery, she
was employed as a nurse in the children's hospital, where she became
acquainted with Raleigh, and the first ray of light in regard to Eddie had for
a moment illumined her soul. A stranger, timid and helpless, she did not
know what step to take, and now not being able to find Hubert, she lapsed
into despondency and despair, and mourned her child as dead.
Not so with Raleigh in regard to his Eddie. By the aid of the managers
of the society, a clue was soon obtained, and in this manner : The well known
aged missionary was questioned, and taking a blank book from his pocket, he
found that the child Eddie had been removed to a home for children.
"May I ask who is looking for this child?"
"A lad, who gives his name as Raleigh."
"Very well, it is the same. Will you be so kind as to give me his
address?" It was given, and inserted in the blank book. After putting the
book away, the aged man drew from his purse a small coin, examined it care¬
fully, then replaced it again in the purse.
"Will you please inform the boy concerning the child Eddie ? " On being
assured that the boy should be informed, he walked away a short distance, then
returned and enquired if there could possibly be any mistake in regard to the
boy Raleigh, as to that being the name. On being again assured, he walked
to a crossing, took a car and rode away. It was very evident that he was
much interested in Raleigh.
"And so," said the aged man to himself, "he has found 'the lodgings,'
and is not entirely homeless." The same day Raleigh was informed of the
safety of Eddie, and of the number and ward of the home where she might be
found.
Accompanied by Wilhelmina Childreth, he went to find her, and the
moment they entered the apartment, where the lovely child was playing with
her companions, she sprang forward joyously, crying out, ' ' Raleigh ! my
Raleigh! " Then pausing, with wonder stricken eyes, she gasped, "Mamma! "
It was Wilhelmina's child, and Eddie's mother had not died as Raleigh and
Hubert had supposed.
Now that little Eddie was found and Wilhelmina knew of the noble
kindness of Raleigh in protecting her in the depth of his own distress and
poverty, he seemed doubly endeared, while little Eddie's delight in him knew
no bounds. Wilhelmina did not feel thus toward Hubert. She felt a sus¬
picious dread of his visits to I^leigh, lest harni should çome of their contact,
AÑD other WORHS. 67
One day she asked him, "Raleigh, have you known much about Hubert,
and is he a true friend ? "
"Oh ! yes, he is a good, kind boy, and loves me, and tells me everything."
"Raleigh, Eddie would not be fatherless were it not for strong drink—for
the enticements of the saloon."
Raleigh's face grew deathly pale, for he remembered what Hubert had
said about Eddie's father.
68
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
"And my dear child, I was thinking of Hubert as a boy familiar with the
scenes and associations of a saloon, while you have been taught better things."
"Hubert hates the saloon. I have heard him say so. He longs fora
different life. He comes telling his troubles to me."
" But his habits are like those with whom he has been brought up, Ral¬
eigh, and his manners not like your own."
"O, Hubert is so kind, and wants to do better. I can't turn against him,
and he has such winning manners, Mrs. Ghildreth, and he likes me so."
"Oh!" exclaimed the gentle Wilhelmina, sighing, "if I could, I would
hold you in your innocence and keep you forever noble and true, I would
shield you from the vices of the world. I would do as much for Hubert, too,
if it were possible to wash out the stains that mar his character, I would do it,
but I cannot save either of you. I can only warn you against the associations
of vice and the den of all iniquity, it seems to me is the accursed saloon, where
the fire of hell is dealt out to men and boys. O, if Hubert should have the
habit of using strong drink, shun him ; let not the cup touch yottr lips, O,
Raleigh, never!" Wilhelmina was sobbing and clasping her hi nds in prayer
to heaven, as she thus plead with the child she loved.
And Raleigh had never heard such things before.
I will never dtink!" answered he, laying his hand upon her's; "I will
never touch strong drink. I will tell Hubert what you say, for / thmk he does.
I never heard him say it was wrong to drink."
Raleigh, it is wtong, it is dangerous, for it is a deadly poison ; sooner or
later, it ruins soul and body of the man who drinks."
' ' I have never been told this before. I have heard it was wrong to steal
and to murder.
"The boy or man who drinks, is stealing and robbing and murdering his
own soul, Raleigh, and so many are like you and do not know it. Did you
never belong to a Band of Hope, where Temperance is taught?"
"No, Mrs. Ellenwood had a mission band, in Elmville, to help send mis¬
sionaries off to preach to the heathen in *India. They don't even know there
is a Savior for us."
—"A Band of Hope is to inspire boys with a love of Temperance and
teach them the harm there is in strong drink, Raleigh."
"Can I find books about it?"
"O, yes, in many places, there are school books about it and the children
who go to school are all taught the danger there is in strong drink. Men k7iow
* "There sailed two missionaries and 6,000 gallons of rum on the same vessel
to India!"—Canon Farrah.
AND OTHER WORKS.
69
these things but somehow they forget to teach it to their boys till it is too late,
and they go down by thousands to drunkard's graves."
I will never drink pledged the noble-hearted boy; " I will do all
in my power to save Hubert ftom becoming a drunkard,"—and now Raleigh had a
work before him to engage him more than ever in the welfare of poor Hubert.
The words of Wilhelmina were never forgotten, and, moreover, the bright,
opening mind of Raleigh began investigating for himself the effect of intem¬
perance on the system, and its evil results in the world. He now remembered
the troubles of Mrs. Ellen wood, caused by the drunkenness of Jerry, the tem¬
pers of Aunt Nancy, the sins of Jimmy and Judy O'Rork, and their poverty—
he remembered the glass of beer Hubert had poured for him in the saloon, and
what he had seen there, and no one, till now, had told him the evil, or thought
to warn him of the danger which was so great—O, he would not have Hu¬
bert to become an evil, intemperate man, he would begin his mission of saving
him, and the innocent-hearted, receptive boy, imbibed the exalted thought of
heaven, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself," as if there were an inborn
affinity between his mind and that of his Creator, as if he had been ordained to
go aright and bring forth the fruit of righteousness. His mind was expanding
like a flower, to shed a beauty and perfume around him, as if it were his very
nature to bloom and hope and live a life of purity and usefulness.
CHAPTER X.
THE SORROWS OF HARRIET ELLENWOOD, AND THE CHARACTER OF WALTER
WATKINS.
"Tlioii liiddeii love of God whoso height,
Wliose depth uufathomed no man knows,
I sec draw near thy beauteous light,
And inly sigh for thy repose."—Wesley.
Sentiments—O, so often felt by those in declining years and failing health.
Women with eyes grown dim with weeping, and steps faltering with disease or
age, with no hiunan arm to support, or affection to cheer. Alone—with
burdens and sorrows too heavy for mortal strength, proving the love of Him
who saith, "Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will
give you rest."
The long winter had passed, the months of the " Christmas rose " and the
Snow-drop, and the swelling buds of April caused the hearts of the children of
Elm ville to leap in anticipation to the sweets of June. The varied days of this
month of warm, wooing sunlight, succeeded by chilling wintry winds, made
the Spring seem late. The Easter flower and wild daisy were dwarfed by frost
and snow and raw East wind. There was a yearning toward the full develop¬
ment of heat and verdùre, which makes the summer so charming.
The life of Mrs. Elllenwood was much what it had always been—a life of
service and trial and sacrifice. When I called her husband the "drunken
Jerry," I disclosed to my readers the real source of her affliction and anguish.
Jerry had engaged for years in the business of dealing out liquor «fo men, and
Mrs. Ellenwood, seeing the bounds she could not pass, was obliged to subsist
upon the ''blood money" he made in that way. She must care for him, care
for her home and her children ; how coidd she change him or his employment ?
She felt the reproach of society, the reproach of the poor he was robbing,
the keen and bitter reproach that cried day and night against him to whom she
was united, as he was sinking still deeper in sin and misery. She. was alive to
all this. She bore her soul-grkf, forever misunderstood by those she knew
AND OTHER WORKS.
71
were wronged by him,jwhile expostulation seemed vain and prayer lost. Ah!
these were things she could not understand, and could not change, and it
oftentimes seemed to her, could not bear. She was driven to the secret place
of the Most High; she sheltered herself beneath the covert of His wings; she
endeavored by the most intimate union with Him, to stay her mind, and rise to
find the rest which was not for her on earth. She saw Jerry gradually become
a loathsome drunkard; too demented for any employment, and she bravely
and without murmuring undertook the support of herself and her husband.
The true delineation of character is the setting in array the faults as well as
the virtues of an individual, and it is with shrinking I portray the infirmities
and sins of a loathsome, feeble-minded, habitual drunkard, such as Jerry was.
Such men are so common among us, wretched, lurid, inflated wrecks, that my
desire is, to gather up the fig leaves and cover their nakedness, rather than lay
bare their hideous deformity before the eyes of the world, and harrow by a
portrayal of their living death. It is not the victim of rum, but rum itself we
should curse.
To sum it all up, Mrs. Ellenwood was like a condemned criminal chained
to a corpse ; forever called upon to bear the stench of Jerry's character in
public and in private, as well as the corporeal burden of his support, and the
patient care over him as a pitiable, diseased and dying man. But there were
even keener sorrows than these I have mentioned in her life, probes that sunk
deeper into her soul, and made sorer wounds than any one but a wife and
mother can understand. She was obliged to abaridon all hope of a true home,
that blessed ideal of every noble-minded woman, since, do her utmost, with
striving and prayer, her home could be no sacred, holy shrine to which her
children could look back as clean and godly and typical of the Home above.
To the longing, weary heart of Mrs. Ellenwood such a home as the upright
Christian man builds as a bulwark about the future lives of his offspring was
not to be realized, for the blight of Jerry's character, the mould and mildew of
his influence corrupted the atmosphere her children breathed, and the dese¬
cration of his foul spirit scattered-poison around them. So it was with pain
and yearning and tender solicitude she watched her children begin to develop
and could not help feeling that death was a kindly dispensation, when one after
another they were early laid in their little graves. Yet it wrung her heart that
it must be so, that to them had come life despoiled by the curse of the subtle,
firey serpent of hell.
Reader, to the true mother of sons and daughters, this is the climax of all
sorrow, to bring children forth into sucTl a home, devoid of a head, tainted with
72
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
inherited weakness and predisposition, to dissipation and ruin. Mrs. Ellenwood's
children died in infancy—only one, a girl, lived ; one darling was growing up
beside her knees, a little shining-haired beauty, to nestle in her bosom and live
under the shadow of God's hand, for was she
not a boon given by Him, who hath said :
" I will not leave thee comfortless?"
This child had she, and this added mercy,
withal, she was not to endure the double afflic¬
tion of rearing sons to manhood to fall in a
father's snares, an inestimable mercy. The
mother's heart, alone, can know how bitter it
is, to see the first-born son slain by the sword
LITTLE EMILY. _ .
that is brandished in the hand of the saloon¬
keeper, grimly and defiantly, in her very face and in the face of all law of
men and authority of God. Slain between the very horns of the altar
builded by a consecrated father's prayers, and a mother's eternal love ; torn
from all, and made a victim, by the ungodly and fiendish wretch that stands
with insatiable greed, putting the cup to his neighbor's lips, aye, day and
night—filling up the cup of his own curse also, since,—
Woe unto him that gives the cup,
Cup of accursed wine !
The cup of sorrow, shame and pain.
Woe unto him! O, man, refrain!
God's warning and not mine, O, man, not mine.
Woe unto him that gives the cup,
The seed of death to sow.
And reapest back the awful dregs.
Of God's dark woe!
How deep, how terrible a cup, ah! who may know?
—Jerry Ellen wood seemed failing rapidly in mind; the seed of death had
been sown unsparingly in his system, and was doing its work with remorseless
speed ; the fruit of cruelty and peevish perverseness had ripened, until Mrs.
Ellenwood lived in terror of the one she once loved, and even yet looked upon
with the utmost commiseration and compassion. Let the drinker know this ts
he, not in upright and vigorous manhood, not in full orbed intellect, but para¬
lyzed and blighted, and a burden upon the heart that truly loves him. He may
not have any sense of this, but it is true. When intoxicants robs him of sober
judgment and true balance, he is no longer a strength or a support to others,
but burdensome, cruel and dangerous. I may not have occasion to mention
Jerry again, although Mrs. Ellenwood must remain a factor to the end of my
gtory, wherein her strength failed to support her family and educate her little
AND OTHER WORKS.
73
daughter, her brother, whose acquaintance we will soon form, come to the
rescue ; but the daily, unbearable burden of her life remained ; aye, outlasted
her, growing heavier as time still passed him down in the grade of his existence.
She was formed to shine in full orbed beauty, a luminous star, but the body of
her death forever eclipsed her, and her sphere was narrow, her light and life
obscure. There had been days in the near past when she nursed her little
son and saw him suffer and die from an injury inflicted by his father while in¬
toxicated, days when there was no light. But time had caused to bud from
out the dust of her darling boy, germs of trust. He was gone, at least, from
the example of his father, safe from the appetite for strong drink, which he
might have inherited, which had destroyed his father's soul. He had been her
pride and her hope, as boys are to a tender mother, and the remembrance of
his sweet patience during his suffering was a comfort to her when she was able
to look calmly back after the terrible affliction. Then a little later on she arose
to place him in her thoughts—a bright, happy, holy, heaven child, alluring,
beckoning, helping her up to her true and heavenly home. He became her
real treasure in heaven, associated with her life in Jesus, and her holiest,
tenderest thought of Him. He became a link binding her closer to her
heavenly Father's heart ; doubly dear because of his untimely and suffering
end ; doubly sanctified because of her deliverance from such darkness into the
mysterious realization of its blessing to her life ; the realization that the
tenderest human ties are entwined also around the heart of God, and that He
Careth more than we for the helpless creatures He hath made. Although the
lowly grave of her lost boy was mute and mysterious, yet she saw, as we have
said, her living child upon the bosom of God.
Her own life was hidden in this mysterious life of faith, making it beauti¬
ful and like the life, of heaven, and she was pure in heart.
This was the woman and this the life of her who was faithfully praying
and constantly yearning for the poor boy, Raleigh, that had gone from Elm
ville, she knew not whither, who felt that he was the son of her adoption ; the
son for whom her desires ascended daily as incense to the throne ; for whom
she hoped, (not as many Christians hope), but with faith undimmed, and love
unchilled. Many circumstances tended to discourage Harriet Ellenwood, but
something held her above and superior to disappointment in regard to Raleigh.
No word had ever reached her, no breath, to breathe a hope for him, yet she
did not doubt the assurance of God in his behalf, or the word of His promise
which she believed had been sealed to her by a covenant-keeping Father above,
on that day when the whisper came, ' • Cast thy bread upon the wafer and thou
shalt fjnd it after many days,"
74
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
As these Spring days returned, they brought to her a sense of failing
strength ; in place of the renewing and growing germs of life, a failure in her
earthly existence, of all that was refreshing and bright ; she was growing old ;
the wrinkles were deepening upon her brow and silver threads were many amid
her glossy locks, yet she looked forth serenely, knowing'these transitions were
going on, since, with her increasing days, she constantly felt an enlarging life,
an expanding soul, nearing spirtual voices and scenes ; so remote and intangi¬
ble to many, yet immediate and living to her. She could hear the voice of
the invisible spirit—crying unto her, in words unlawful to utter—and these ex¬
periences were between God and her soul.
She had not, in the slightest degree, lost her interest in Raleigh, or her
faith in his life ; but she had become discouraged in the means taken to recover
a trace of him. The efforts made by 'Walter Watkins had proved futile ; in¬
deed, she suspected there had been little effort made ; Märy Sanford had cor¬
responded with herftiend, Walter, in regard to Raleigh, and he had promised
to assist in finding the poor boy. Mrs. Çllenwood knew he was one of the
busiest men in New York, not that his business was good, nothing of that sort,
the claims of society must be met and in his case they had grown to be
enormous.
The regularity of his letters to Mary Sanford, argued nothing to Mrs.
Ellenwood's mind of his constancy to her, his affianced bride, since the day of
their marriage had been deferred more than once to her certain knowledge.
That he continued to write was because it had become a habit and a pleasant
pastime for a Sunday hour. She, as a woman, beloved by him, had ceased to
exist ; once he thought that he loved her and would love her alone, but
now she had simply faded from his heart ; other and more brilliant ones had
charmed his passions, and led him captive in their turn, until he had lost all
faith in the true, first love of his boyhood days. Mary remained a factor in his
existence, simply because she was so pure and innocent and trusted him. Mary
was much like her cousin Hester and was not liable to change ; and her un¬
wavering faith in the constancy of Walter made it simply impossible for him to
be rid of her altogether. He knew she was spotless and infinitely above him,
yet she could no longer charm, or win her way through the frozen surface of
his soul, and her confidence was groundless. In answer to her anxious inqui¬
ries about Raleigh, he had written, "I have made every possible effort, and
hear nothing of the boy." This was very unsatisfactory to Mrs. Ellenwood,
and as the next letter said nothing about the subject, so near to the hearts of
the trio of women in Elmvillft, she decided to try another plan. Hester had
given up the hope of ever hearing from Raleigh and seemed altogether spiriG-
AMD OTHEM WÔRKS.
75
less in regard to him ; other cares and duties near at hand occupied her mind
and appeared of more importance to her ; the care of Helena's grave, the beau¬
tifying of her room, by cushion and tidy, was dearer to her than the soul of a
child.
The missive of Helena, containing her last petition of such import to Ral¬
eigh and through him to the world, had been mislaid, and the faded bouquet
was made to fill a niche in her room, labeled, "My little Helena's last bou¬
quet," while the fragrance of her life was no longer able to penetrate Hester's
soul, and the memory of Raleigh was as faded, and her hope for him as
withered as the bouquet in the niche. I scarcely know whether I ought to
devote a chapter, or even a page, to the notice of Walter Watkins, since he
was a man of very small consequence ; he was discouraged in the practice of
law and was inclined to think he had chosen the wrong profession ; as a busi¬
ness man he was neither successful nor a favorite among the people ; he had
remained poor which was set to his discredit in society, since he had arrived at
the age of thirty and was a bachelor. He was Attractive in person and fasci¬
nating in manners and figured, to some extent, both in business and social
circles ; he was often morbidly discouraged with himself and was in every sense
a man of moods.
I should have said that about the first of April, he moved to the town of
N , a county seat, and hoped by such a change to succeed in certain plans
he had laid whereby to make money. Without knowing it, Walter Watkins
was a weathercock for every breeze of expediency—a Republican with aspira¬
tions for office in the county to which he removed, he looked to such things as
this : a majority of Republican voters in the county, the wealth of the citizens
and number of political aspirants with himself, besides these major considera¬
tions, there were a hundred turns to be made to gain favor among all classes.
His nag must nod to right and left, he could not say to any member of society,
" I have no need of thee." He ought not to be called a politician, and he cared
little for his party, really, except as it effected him individually; his was a des¬
perate struggle for money and he decided to reduce his patriotism to business,
and make a latch-string of his principles. He was a Republican, but if he had
been a Democrat he would probably have done the same thing. It is such
as Walter Watkins that have made the name of politician a synonym for motal
blight and corrupted conscience, while politics should be the chief plow-share in
moral culture and reform in a Republican government. Yet, what is it, with
all the individual and corporate influence of righteousness left out ? Let the
citizen answer, who is a political shirk, and who places politics and religion in
mortal combat rather than use his ballot to ward off calamity.
76
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
I would probably not have introduced the political character of Mr. Wat-
kins were it not that he had no other, and, also, that he represents a large class
of men in our country, men with scarcely a conscientious moral principle, yet
who stand for law makers and representatives of the people, because they have
been unscrupulous in crowding themselves into office ; they are scarcely calcu¬
lated to honor the State or National tribune with deeds of heroic sacrifice, or
just and equitable judgment. It is to be feared that the virtuous and Christian
people of our country do not realize how puerile must be any system of reform
in the hands of men who have no Christian motive to morality, while vigilance is
our only safeguard, and the flood-gates of crime and vice are open to over¬
whelm and to destroy.
Walter Watkins, as the affianced husband of Miss Sanford, had once fig¬
ured in Elmville ; he was then a pupil under the instruction of James Montifort
and was greatly beloved by that excellent man. If he could know him now he
would regard him with kindly forbearance, while the present minister of
Elmville, Barnabas Plumsock, would crush him as a hypocrite. James
Montifort might have saved Watkins from the abyss of misery which engulfed
him, while Plumsock can only impel him forward by his utmost endeavor.
Why are such men, forever ministers ?
He, Plumsock, would say to Raleigh, if he chanced to meet him while he
was yet in Elmville, never forgetting that his aunt was a Catholic, "Raleigh,
my boy, I fear you do not realize what a benefit it would be to you to attend
the Protestant sunday-school regularly, and commit to memory our catechism !
You are breaking the commandments of God by neglecting to attend Divine
service on the Sabbath day, and I fear you do not conduct yourself with deco¬
rum during the remaining six days of the week." Very little of this exhorta¬
tion was intelligible to Raleigh, who would hang a bashful face and fumble with
the rags above his stomach with nervous fingers.
He would say to Mrs. Ellenwood, "Sister, be faithful, be patient;" and,
"You were absent from the prayer-meeting, on Wednesday evening, I hope
you will not miss these necessary means of grace. I hope you will be at the
foreign missionary meeting, to-morrow night, the dues are to be collected for
the brethren this week ; do not grow slack in this noble work, while so many
are perishing for the bread of life in heathen lands." Plumsock knew nothing
of the richness of Mrs. Ellenwood's spiritual life, and he saw not in the friend¬
less Raleigh, a hungry and perishing soul ; he had never known the angel,
Helena, nor inhaled the sweet fragrance of her heavenly purity ; aged David
never felt the touch of his hand, or Nancy NcNeilly the light of his Protestant
faith. Of what use was he, since he saw not with his eyes, neither heard with
his ears ?
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77
James Montifort would quietly enter a house and there would radiate from
him a halo, which would soften and brighten every object and quicken into life
good impulses and thoughts.
He made ministers of all his
people. He considered all their
good qualities, until he was well
imbued with a spirit of charity ;
his admonitions were therefore
administered so kindly and lov-
ingly, and so mingled with praise
and encouragement, that the
wayward, the worldly and the
sinful, could but acknowledge
his sway.
After the removal of Wal¬
ter Watkins to N , all hope
of his assistance in finding the
lost boy, Raleigh, was at an
end, and Mrs. Ellenwood wrote
to her brother, Arthur Weston,
giving him full particulars con¬
cerning Raleigh, and requested
him to assist her ; she also wrote
to the "Commissioners of Pub¬
lic Charity," also to the " Catho¬
lic Benevolent Society," hoping some of the agents of charity might have
found him.
CHAPTER XI.
IN WHICH SOME VERY IMPORTANT CHARACTERS ARE BROUGHT FORWARD WITH
SOME LITTLE POLITICAL WRANGLE.
I am obliged to bring forward my politicians ; I assure you it is as disa¬
greeable to me to be obliged to do so as it is for you to have me ; but I cannot
go a step further without, as these politicians play an important part in this
story, and they are forever wrangling about political issues.
It was then on the eve of a Presidential election that Walter Watkins was
seated in his office, conversing with a friend, whom I must introduce as a
brother of the excellent woman, Harriet Ellenwood. The topic of conversa¬
tion was naturally political, yet these gentlemen seemed rather listless. The
State election had been held some three weeks previous, and the State had
gone contrary to the desire of the one, and satisfactory to the other. By this
you will know our new character was a Democrat. In our previous glimpse at
our Republican, Walter Watkins, he had the field alone, as Mandeville Lee
is not, nor was he ever, in sympathy with the Democratic party. But when
I bring forward this man, Arthur Weston, (although he be a Democrat,) I
bring to your notice a stronger man every way than Watkins.
"Do you understand why you was defeated in your race for office,
Walter?" asked Weston.
"I think I see several plain reason.s why," responded his friend. I
have enemies in my own party. You see this is an individual business matter,
and a man to win must have eyes. He must be a sneaking, unscrupulous fellow,
and ready to loan a quarter to every tramp and lazy wretch in the county. He
must shake hands with every farmer and market woman he sees, and buy their
truck. He ought to do some quiet temperance work to blind 'fanatics,' ought
to attend church, and be pious at times, and at other times treat the roughs
to whisky in the saloons. He must lie and bet at the races, and do many
other inconvenient things."
' ' Perhaps, then, it became a matter of conscience with you ? but why do
you go over all this to me—I do not understand you ; this does not enligthen
me in regard to your defeat, a» I know you are capable of all and more than
this ? but you are too poor to buy votes. "
AND OTHER WORKS.
79
Weston looked very serious while he spoke, and Watkins laughed. It
was evident they were old friends.
" Well," continued the latter, after a few moments of thoughtful reflec¬
tion, during which his brow became knitted, and his feet went upon the table
with a slam, "Elections come pretty often. I shall not give up yet. The
people only have time to turn around and cool off before they are brought up
again. The chances come often and the offices are very numerous. I am in
the race again,"
"Let us have Civil Service Reform, my boy, and above all, let us steer clear
of the temperance movements," said Walter, with a low sarcastic laugh. "I
know whyjö« was defeated."
" Indeed ! but remember I'm a Republican."
"Yes, look at that opposing candidate! While you was exulting in con¬
fident ease he kept alert, ever thought¬
ful ; it is only another proof of the
survival of the fittest. See, he wrote,
he schemed, he concocted while you
smoked. I have here a copy of a letter
he sent out to bolster up a weak place
in his past career. Take warning !"
And Weston took a letter from his
pocket.
" Did he send out a letter to the
voters.?"
" Indeed he did. "
"Well, you see, Arthur, he is a
Democrat, but he is defeated."
But it has a moral, [the letter I
mean,] and the moral is important to Republican aspirants.
"Let me see it; I never knew anything about it."
"That is only one small thing fou never knew he was doing, and Weston
read the letter aloud, as follows :
"I am a candidate for Probate Judge. According to the time-honored principles
and established usage of the Democratic part)% of county, I was entitled to a sec¬
ond term 12 years ago, and I now ask the party to be as generous as they were then
ready to be severe.' Although defeated for renomination 12 years ago, 1 have been a
faithful and earnest-working Democrat. 1 was born in county, and have lived
here all my life. I am 49 years of age, five feet eleven inches in height, and weigh
about 180 pounds. "When in office I did niy whole duty faithfully and honestly. I
cannot tell why I was not entitled to thevconfidence and respect of my Democratic
friends for a second term of office.
^'It is true, I made a few-sbert Tempemm& speeches in 1874, at the epoch of the
8o
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
Womaiis' Crusade, I merely argued the Temperance question as a moral and religious
question and not as a ¡Political one. I am not in favor of the agitation of the Tem¬
perance question in politics, or of making it s\, political issue. That has been the po¬
sition of the Democratic party since the days of Jefferson. I liave never voted any
otlier ticket than the regularly nominated Democratic ticket. I have supported, upheld
and adhered to the principles of the Democratic party. I have always been in harmony
with the Democratic party. I love the Demo¬
cratic party, whether I am nominated or de
featcd. I respectfully ask an impartial consid¬
eration at the hands of the Democracy, and will
highly esteem your aid, sympathy and suiiport.
"Sincerely, jmnr friend.
"Zounds! let me see; I've been a Republican ever since the war; I am
eternally a Republican, but could never come up to that."
" Why is it, sir, a Republican can't talk two minutes without bringing the
'Union Batteries' to bear? According to history, thousands of Democrats
were faithful, brave soldiers," retorted Weston, angrily.
"I never saw a Republican who opposed defending our country; I've seen
hundreds of Democrats who did, there is just the difference, Weston."
"Well, it is a dead issue, why need you resurrect the ashes to put upon
our heads, and make us forever sit in sackcloth?"
"The issue is not dead, while men talk as you do."
"Walter, I thought we were dead to patriotism, through a series of petty
crimes against our country, petty, Walter, but none the less deadening to con¬
science. "
There was a short pause, and Weston changed the subject and enquired
carelessly,
" Have you heard from Louise lately?"
"No," answered Watkins in a monosyllable, loth to cool down.
"I have; I received a note to-day."
' ' That's right ; I hope it makes you happy. "
"Yes," yawned Weston, "very, very unhappy"
AND OTHER WORKS.
8l
"What does she have to say?" asked Walter, brightening up.
" She has not authorized me to publish."
" Perhaps you have published too much already; but you need not think
to wound me in any way concerning that woman. I have put all her photo¬
graphs in the flames."
"Is it possible, Walter? Yet she comes to you in dreams, she stands
before you with flashing eyes and radiant smiles, she beckons, [you follow,]
then all at once she vanishes, and that is as near as you will ever come to
holding the beautiful Louise Mendenhall. She is artful, she is charming ; she
also sends her remembrance to your lordship. Her object in writing to me is
to make inquiry in regard to my niece Emily, whom I have been describing
to her. You know she has one weak point, and I am very prudent about
touching on that." ironically—"very prudent."
"You mean her jealousy, Weston?"
" Yes, she can't bear anybody to notice a baby and call it beautiful."
"Well, you wrote about Emily?"
"I did not write. I told her about Emily."
"Then you have seen her lately."
" A week ago, or such a matter." Watkins looked vexed.
"I must confess I never saw a more charming woman. Yet she is not
young. That troubles Time has left its traces."
"She is not older than you are, Weston."
"Nor Watkins, since he has voted twenty-five years."
" Weston, jj/ö« are old enough for matrimony; why not espouse Louise
and be happy."
" Right here, Walter, is the source of all my misery. I am forty, and
poor, and Louise has no notion of me."
This sentence was true, with the exception of the word "poor." Weston
was rich. He spoke however in a jest, and meant to be understood so.
"Then you are miserable?"
"I am miserable." As Arthur Weston said this he rose, apparently with
some difficulty, (it was a habit,) lighted a cigar and treated his companion. As
he smokes, let us look at him.
He is a corpulent man, with heavy shoulders and chest, large, well
formed head and pleasing features, heavy black mustache, is well dressed, and
ornamented with jewelry. He said he was forty, but I do not think he was
more than thirty-five or six years of age, (his word is not reliable. ) He is a
bachelor who has trifled through a dozen or more courtships, and numbers his
victini§ îvith pride, I must say, however, for the vindication of his lady
82
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
friends, that he has been the real victim his share of the time, as he was in his
younger years peculiarly susceptible to the charms of the fair sex. But he has
plodded on over all these quagmires and has not lost his health, and what is
more remarkable, from a small beginning he has amassed a fortune. Walter
Watkins, as I have said several times, remained poor and unsuccessful ; but he
is a younger man and more handsome ; he has been a favorite in fashionable
circles ; he has no stability of character, and his affections move in obedience
to his nature, and are as fickle as sheet lightning. Louise Mendenhall is
holding sway in his heart just now, and she is the most capable woman in this
respect I shall be able to introduce in all these pages. She is older than
Watkins, and wears the expression of one who is holding back on time. Yet
she possesses a charm, an influence, a power superior to his nature, and he is
in chains.
If there is anything Louise is unaccustomed to it is self-sacrifice, and if
Walter yields to her influence it is because of weakness and selfishness.
Neither would have turned a straw for the comfort or good of the other. She
loved to inflict the poison of her enchantment and stooped to falsehood and
flattery to gain her ends. He was vain and hungered after the admiration
he believed she held for him, when she really possessed nothing of the kind.
The play was illusiory on both sides, an emanation of deception and vanity,
and, in the words of the preacher, it brought but "vexation of spirit." Not
such was Walter's early love for Mary Sanford. He had held her spotless
spirit with all that was most sacred, and was in those purer days in the state of
a worshipper. And even yet, in the proportion that the influence of the
Divine reached him, the remembrance of Mary was sweet. It was always
linked with the remembrance of his mother. When he returned, as he some¬
times did, in hours of bitter disappointment, or cruel treatment by a heartless
world, to the years of his innocence, and sought a resting place in memory
upon that mother's heart, he would write to Mary with considerable feeling.
But further and further asunder came the times when any tender influence
reached him. Less and less often he turned to the pure and true for sympa¬
thy, while conscientious reflections upon the responsibilities of his life, which
at one period impressed him often and seriously, had ceased almost entirely.
The influence of- Weston had always been baneful to him. Weston was a
younger brother of Mrs. Ellenwood, and during a portion of his early years
was under her charge. She had found him willful in infancy, strong and in¬
tractable in youth, self-indulgent and calculating in early manhood. She would
not have believed it, even Watkins did not know, that at the present time he
was disgustingly immoral and base. He wore a veil so ingenicrusly that his
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83
friends did not see him ; one phase of his life was kept infinitely remote from
another, and he manaeuvered to gratify his ambitions and his lusts at the
same time.
Louise Mendenhall had met him a few times ; she was disgusted with his
manners ; she felt that he was coarse and obstinate, yet there he was, claiming
her thoughts and dreams. What was it about Weston that made him victorious
in everything, everywhere ? What was it that made him a dangerous, seductive
friend—he never intruded himself, he depended upon his power to draw his
subjects ; he seldom displayed any emotion, owing to his strong power of self-
control ? In him, will was despotic, and with it he conquered. He might have
stood upright—he chose to grovel. Secretly he stood opposed to God and his
righteousness.
He admired Louise because she was beautiful, and because she was his
equal, if not his superior in tactics ; but if he could have stripped away her
masque, or been sure of his conquest over her, the chain of her enchantment
would have snapped.
It is to me a shameful and most disagreeable task to portray Louise, and I
would not do so if it were not necessary in carrying forward my history of Hu¬
bert. Such women are so little understood by womankind, that they are
thoughtlessly and carelessly permitted to blight the conscienee of social life.
It is their business to ridicule and sneer down every attempt at virtuous reform,
made by women ; to scorn every safeguard uplifted by her, against vicious
influences ; to disregard domestic purity and happiness, and yet to wear the
modest garb of their sex. One word with my pen would plunge the character
of Louise Mendenhall into the dark abyss, from which we withdraw in horror.
CHAPTER XII.
A FEW WORDS CONCERNING MRS. ELLENWOOD AND HER DAUGHTER, AFTER WHICH
THE HISTORY OF RALEIGH AND HUBERT IS CARRIED FORWARD.
Mrs. Ellenwood had continued to correspond with her brother, Arthur
Weston, from the time he left Elmville up to the present, and little Emily, as
he always called the only living child of his sister, had also written regularly
for two years. She let him hear of all her childish sports, as well as her sore
trials. Every thing of interest, little or great, was made known to her Uncle
Arthur. In our broken and hasty sketches of Mrs. Ellenwood, we have failed
to give much notice to little Emily, now the blue-eyed romping daughter of
fifteen. It was with great pride Mrs. Ellenwood saw her developing into a
beautiful young woman. Arthur Weston was proud, too, and had decided to
make her some elegant presents on her next birthday, and was selecting them
when he last met Louise. In exaggerated language he told her of his niece,
of her exquisite beauty, and charms, and begged her to assist in selecting
suitable presents, to Louise's utter dismay.
Emily continued to write in the romantic, vivacious style, that charmed
her uncle, and they bid fair to become very intimate in their friendship. Wes¬
ton thought of undertaking her education, and relieving his sister somewhat of
her burdens. He made up his mind that in a year or two he would take her to
New York and make her his especial protege, and so far in life what he decided
upon was pretty sure to come to pass.
Another event is to happen in Elmville. Raleigh is to return on a visit.
The efforts of Mrs Ellenwood, coupled with that of her brother, had proved
successful. The commissioners of charity had noted her letter, and on being
questioned also by Weston, again appealed to the aged missionary, who, as
before, taking his blank book, read the name of Elmville, Mrs. Ellenwood, Ral¬
eigh, Eddie, Judy and Jimmy O'Rork. He had visited Raleigh after the
mother of little Eddie had been found; he had also assisted Raleigh in his
efforts to procure an education, and he gave the information so long sought.
Elmville will not know Raleigh ; his shappy, wild appearance has disappeared,
his eager intelligence and thoughtful expression is not like Raleigh of old ;
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85
you may see him many an evening after his day's work is done, bending his
earnest steps toward the home of his aged friend for the blessing of his counsel
and the kind encouragement of his love. He attended the "night school,"
but his anxiety for knowledge chafed him, and his thirst for progress became
the ruling passion of all his hours ; he was in danger of becoming one sided,
for his book was constantly at his right hand, ready for every spare moment ;
he had arrived at that stage of development when his aged friend found it
difficult to advise, he was too dependent to give himself up to his studies, and
too absorbed in their pursuit to be of much use to his employers ; he was,
therefore, glad to know thaf Raleigh would visit Elmville.
Raleigh's first thought, after concluding to go, was, ' ' What study shall I
pursue while there?"
He did not think of his wardrobe, or any of the necessary arrangements
for a journey, had it not been for the kind attention of Wilhelmina he would
likely have gone in uncouth garb.
It was the delight of Wilhelmina to care for Raleigh, and for a few months
she had been keeping house, that he and Eddie might have a taste of
home life.
As she was packing Raleigh's trunk, she observed the new suit of boy's
clothes which Judy had stolen from Hons Vanderhomer's Laundry, and which
had never been worn by Raleigh. When the men came for Judy's body they
found a decent black dress in the bundle upon the floor, and this they used to
robe her in ; the tattered garment which she wore was examined, and in the
pocket was found a few shillings, also the lock of hair, and bit Of neck-
handkerchief carefully rolled together ; this they put in the pocket of the
boy's clothes, thinking, probably, that it was a keepsake, which would very
properly fall to the sick boy, whom they supposed to be her son.
Wilhelmina took the things out, and asked Raleigh, " What are these?"
Raleigh examined them and replied, "These were Judy's things, I saw her
take this bit of hair, and handkerchief, from under the beer casks in the cellar
of Hons Vanderhomer. "
Hubert had been invited to spend the last evening with Raleigh, before he
should depart for Elmville, and as the boys were conversing together alone,
Raleigh remarked ;
"I have found a relic of Judy and the old cellar of Hons Vanderhomer ! "
and he displayed the bit of handkerchief and lock of hair which had been
found by Wilhelmina.
" This I saw her take from under some beer casks in the cellar that night
she burned the saloon. She took them to keep, she rolled them carefully
together, arid put them in her pocket. "
86
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
"Did Wilhelmina see these things?" asked Hubert in Gonsternation.
"Yes, and examined them closely."
" Did she say anything? "
" Only asked where I got them, and I told her Judy found them in the
old cellar."
" Did she say nothing more about it? "
"No, but I think she imagined there was some dark deed beneath it all,
for she turned very pale, and took Eddie upon her lap."
"Raleigh, that is Childreth's hair, and his monogram, seel "
" Yes, I see, and still ft might be some one else."
"No, it was him, and my father was a partner in the awful crime," said
Hubert, clenching his hands in his agony.
"And Hons Vanderhomer?"
"Yes, and Nick Scruggs, a hunch backed man, and a tall Irishman, who
drove the cart."
Raleigh sat anxiously silent, and Hubert walked the floor, as you have
perhaps seen men walk a floor, but never a boy. At last he broke out again,
"Did you ever hear of Hons Vanderhomer's death, Raleigh? He died a most
horrible death I After the burning of all his property he grew desperate, and
imagined Judy was bringing him to justice. He raved, and implored, and
cursed until he could speak no longer, and at last threw himself out of a third
story window, and, Raleigh, my father was a fiend ; it makes my blood cold to
remember the torture I have suffered at his hands ! I wish I had never been
born, I can't escape my father s life ! the more of kindness I receive at the
hands of friends, the more despair I feel ! What can life be to me with such a
childhood to look back upon ? I can nevet be happy, I can nevet free myself
and feel like other boys! " This was Hubert, this was the wounded spirit he
was bearing into his young manhood. If the gentle love and wise guidance of
Charles Gary cannot save him, what can ?
There was another pause, Raleigh had not words to express himself, he
would like to have said about this: "There is reason for encouragement and
gratitude in the fact that you have been delivered from your father's evil dispo¬
sition ; that each individual is isolated to make its own flight ; that the relation¬
ships of the flesh ought not to fashion the soul, or darken its existence ; that
its contact with things which cannot continue, should neither impede nor over¬
come HOPE, which is eternal."
This would have been a cold philosophy at best, if it had been presented
to the mind of Hubert at thaf'time, although it is just the philosophy which
he reached in after years. Raleigh only replied.
AND OTHER WORKS.
87
"Did you ever tell Mr. Gary these things, would it not do you good to
confide in him ? "
I can't do that! I can say these things to none but you, he could not
understand my feelings as well as you can, he knows nothing of poverty, or
such misery as you and I know
All that could have been said to Hubert by way of sympathy or counsel,
would not have effected as much as did what suddenly followed. A quick,
light tap at the door, and then it fiew open as by magic, and in fluttered some¬
thing very beautiful and airy—a butterfly—a bird—; "yes, both "—but it was
only little Eddie in a lady's long costume. She had a surprise for the young
gentlemen in the next room. It was Eddie's birthday, and her mamma had
helped her manage a little frolic on this, the last evening of Raleigh's stay with
them. It was delightful, tea all served in her own dainty china ; with her own
pink fingers, she poured the tea, and made the boys at ease with her prattle ;
the oriental sleeves of her cambric dress fluttered everywhere ; the curls danced
upon her shoulders ; her lips and teeth were brilliant with beauty, and her
eyes two flashes of delight. "You are ten years older than lam, Hubert;
Raleigh is not ; I am begging a kiss of Hubert ! Raleigh may not be allowed ;
in ten years more Hubert may beg a kiss and I may refuse ; then Raleigh may
laugh and kiss me without asking. To-night I am six, and after tea is done, I
shall sing, and Raleigh shall sing for Hubert, who is master; Hubert is a
fine lad."
They all laughed at the wit of the little fairy. Raleigh forgot his books,
Hubert his morbid melancholy, Wilhelmina her sorrow for the time, for let me
say here, that Eddie Childreth was~- one of the most radiantly hopeful and
happy children in New York. She was bright as the sunlight itself, and would
remind you constantly of the dancing crystal rivulet amid the blossoms of the
meadow, all fragrant with bloom and purity. After her little tea, just as she
was arranging for her concert, there was an interruption. A gentleman called,
who proved to be Arthur Weston. He wished to inform Raleigh that he had
concluded to start on the morning train instead of waiting until afternoon, as
he had feared he would be obliged to do on account of some business in his
office. He entered a moment to speak to Hubert, whom Raleigh wished to
introduce. When explanation was made concerning the birthday surprise,
which was in array before him, he appeared enough at ease to kiss the dainty
lady in white, who fluttered too near him in her quest for appreciation. Eddie,
not to be outdone, stroked his close-shaved head with her dimpled hands, then
gleefully led him to the table. He was seated with much ado, and with the
appearance of a huge hulk at the pier, he hung upon the words of Eddie, who
88
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
sat primly at the opposite end of the table and served. Weston was not
accustomed to anything quite so brilliant as this; Hubert was charmed, Raleigh
bewildered. And this affair, which to my readers may seem so small, was full
of results in the sequence. First, Arthur Weston did not fail to observe
Wilhelmina and decide two things in his mind,^that she was unconsciously and
simply beautiful, yet had a preoccupied mind ; that while she seemed to enter
into her surroundings she was shadowed with a grief to him perfectly incom¬
prehensible, of course. He reflected that he saw there the two extremes—the
most beautiful joy and the most beautiful sorrow ever expressed on human
visage ; and he made up his mind to flnd out the history of Wilhelmina's
trouble if possible. Weston was in dispositibn a ferret—a detective. His
business was large on account of this one extraordinary capacity. He could
trace a crime with scarce a single clue.
Before Weston realized that a moment
had flown, he had been among the chil¬
dren an hour, and he felt as he entered
the street car, accompanied by Hubert,
that he was still environed by the pure
delightful magnetism of the place. After
being seated he took occasion to exchange
a few words with Hubert.
"You have charming friends, Hubert.
I am glad to have been there. You
WESTON TRACING A CRIME. Raleigh after to-morrow. He
is going to my own old native place, and will be with my relatives during
the summer. I wish you might accompany him. In what part of the city
do you live?"
"Nut far from High bridge, across the river. I make my home with
Mr. Gary. He is a very kind friend to me."
"Then you have no parents?"
" My parents are dead."
"If you are in the home of Charles Gary you are fortunate. I know
him well, he is a college friend. By the way have you been long acquainted
with Mrs. Ghildreth ? "
"I am not much acquainted with her, but Raleigh is."
"Her name, Wilhelmina, is German," continued Weston.
"Her husband was an Englishman, but she is now a widow, he
was rich." said Hubert.
"Did her husband die here in New York?" asked WestoPt
AND OTHER WORKS.
89
"He disappeared mysteriously. He was a dissipated spendthrift, and
some think he deserted her and went back to England." Hubert looked
anxiously out into the darkness adding, "I presume it will never be known
what did become of him."
"It can be known whether he returned to England, to claim his estate,
and if so or not, his wife and child are entitled to a share of it," responded
Weston.
Hubert had never thought of that before, and he immediately sealed his
lips on his own account. Weston noticed this, and said nothing more on the
subject. He talked of Elmville and his lovely niece, and at parting shook
Hubert warmly by the hand. If you could have noticed in the darkness,
Hubert did not take the road to High Bridge when he left the car, but went
immediately to a police station. He felt impelled to do this rather than return
to the home of Charles Carey. His mind was in a tumult. After Weston had
left the car and he had time to reflect, he concluded that without doubt
Weston was a detective and was needing his testimony in regard to the disap¬
pearance of Childreth. This to him was enough to justify escaping such an
ordeal. It was not known—it must not be known—that his father was
a murderer. He was not in conscience bound to bear testimony against his
father. To look upon himself was too much—must he suffer the torture of
being looked upon by others as the son of a murderer? No 1 He would escape,
he would plunge into darker places, he would leave the precious home which
love had given him, and swing out again into darkness, into the labyrinths of
misery and want, of which Charles Carey knew nothing. He must part with
Raleigh also, and never have another friend to whom he could pour forth his
anguish. Perhaps he would look back from his life of shame and indigence
and see the two bright years just past, standing out as two bright stars in the
galaxy, the only two of life for him. He had better not go home. No, that
was too sacred a name for him to use, he had better not go back to Charles
Cary to-night, for a detective does not lose time when he is scenting. He was
too prudent to return to the place he had pointed out to him as his abode.
While this was going on in his mind he was walking mechanically along the
street. Arriving at the station he sat down for a moment in the shadow. It
was Spring again, and a gentle mist was dripping through the mild atmosphere.
"The clouds are only mist," as he looked to see if there was a moon, and saw
the full moon almost overhead, indistinct, but round and white beyond the
clouds that floated in its halo. His hands were clasped spasmodically and lay
upon his knees, his face was pale and agitated, and he looked much older than
he really was. It appeared then as if he thought it made little difference what
became of him, yet it was because he cared a great deal that he was so wrought
90
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
upon. He had longed for a true character, for a life free from guilt and shame,
and to-night he had made a false estimate, substituting reputation for virtue,,
placing self uppermost, and forgetting the supremacy of self-sacrifice in every
mortal combat. Wrong is always below right, and Hubert was a boy to
acknowledge that truth, but to-night he was not in a state to weigh his thoughts
or estimate his eonclusions.
The morning found Hubert determined to seek another place of employ¬
ment. A woman on G street had advertised for a boy to assist in taking
care of plants. He would apply immediately, and he accordingly called that
day and made application for the place. Several other boys were in advance
of him, but he had an advantage, as he afterward learned, in that he was well
dressed. He had worn his best clothes on the previous evening, and still wore
them. The aged woman who had advertised for assistance seemed well
pleased with his appearance, and would try him a few days, and if he proved
useful she would hire him during the season. "These plants," said she,
"require great care and skill in their culture." This woman was neither
agreeable in looks or manners, but Hubert went immediately to work under
her directions. The first afternoon proved to be a great trial to his patience.
He was nervous and irritable after the sleepless anxiety of the night, yet he
thought he would do his best to suit this woman and continue with her if
possible. She was quite old and in feeble state, and she made a great deal of
noise with her staff, which grated on his sensibilities, for whenever she directed
him in any branch of his work it was her way to strike very-sternly upon the
fioor with her cane, with the question in a high tremulous voice, " Now ào you
understand?" letting her voice drop at the last word, and dropping the last
letter altogether. As I said, if Hubert had not been troubled, he could have
borne this easier. She retired early to an upper chamber, and left him to sleep
in the conservatory and to keep the temperature regular during the night—
something which was going to be very difficult for him to do, as it would
require great wakefulness on his part. After dark his eyelids refused to be
lifted. For a short time he heard voices in the room above, which seemed like
women's voices pitched into a quarrel, accompanied by the knocking of the
cane almost incessantly on the floor above. But his senses were soon dead to
sound, and he slept—nor wakened on the following morning until the glorious
sun of May, had for two hours or more, been bathing the Geraniums and Carna¬
tions, stirring the fragrance of thousands of new-born blossoms in the room,
and gilding with rainbow tints the beauties of the aquarium
CHAPTER XIII.
in which Hubert's experience under the roof of his aged friend is
further recorded.
The hours spent by Hubert on that morning in the green-house of the
aged woman seemed to him, (as he looked back in after years,) hours in
audience with the angels—that strife and victory, beneath the shadow of the
lily and the rose tree. He had risen and no one was astir ; he walked and
returned, and found himself still alone. There was a solemnity and glory in
the silence of the place, where the bloom of a thousand gorgeous plants
opened like pure hearts before the light, and were motionless as sentinels
beside the portals of his soul. He could never analyze the train of reasoning,
which awakened and led him forth a changed being. He had been summoned
to breakfast by a colored girl, who informed him after the repast was over, that
he need not expect to work until afternoon—"indeed, there will be days when
you will do nothing at all. The lady is often too feeble to attend to anything.
if you please her you will do well." Hubert had no doubt in regard to the
latter part of this assertion, but considerable in regard to the former. He
returned to the green-house, and it was eight o'clock ; still some time before
noon ; the splendor of the beauty he gazed upon awed him, and questioned
every motive of conscience in his short, selfish life. He reviewed his reflec¬
tions of the evening he had been interviewed by Weston, and he saw that his
fears had little foundation. Was not Weston going to Elmville on the next
morning train? then, too, he had said nothing any man might not have
said under the circumstances ; had he not himself been in a morbid state of
mind, he would not have noticed anything to alarm him ; or any intimation
that Weston was attempting to interview him in regard to the disappearance of
Childreth. After all, when he remembered just what had been said, it was he,
himself, who had turned the mind of Weston to make such inquiry, and per¬
haps, yes, in all probability, he had no suspicion that Hubert knew anything
about the affair. Indeed, to sum it all up, Weston did not even know, until he
had so informed him, that Wilhelmina Childreth had lost her husband—all this
was very true, but Hubert had betrayed himself—for Weston could read
92
ËLËVëN WÔMëN AiJO THlkTËEN MEN
human nature, and had come to the conclusion that Hubert had some secret to
keep in regard to Clarendon Childreth.
What then had caused him to take flight and leave Charles Cary? Abso¬
lutely nothing but his own imagination. Hubert could not stop here ; step by
step his thoughts advanced, and were illumined, until they led him on to con¬
fess his guilt. Even if Weston had tried to obtain information of the death of
Childreth, and thereby sought to secure Wilhelmina's property, it would be
tight for him to do so ; since it was by the utmost exertion she supported her¬
self and Eddie. At this juncture the sweet face of the little child seemed
looking at him over the cup of a lily, and a tear trembled on its leaves, and a
vine shook its tresses mournfully at the sigh of the breeze by the open win¬
dow ; the Pansy looked prayerfully up, and the Fuschia down; the Bleeding
Heart seemed to tremble on its stem in sympathy with the pure mother and
innocent child. Was it not the Revealer linking a chain of reason and
arranging each illumined thought, clearly and simply before the untrained
conscience of the boy who was not (in himself) capable of eliminating truth
from the chaos of his conflicting ideas ? And now, before his imaginative mind
and affectionate heart, arose Hubert in the garb of a coward ; had he not read
of boys casting themselves into certain destruction to rescue a child, or save the
life of a friend ? He had heard of men rushing through flame and flood in
brave self-forgetfulness, while he, at the merest apparition of danger, had for¬
gotten everybody but himself.
The tender, healing Hand—probed still a little deeper. How much hath
Wilhelmina and Eddie suffered while you have been so blest? bearing separa¬
tion, bereavement, hunger and nakedness, while you were clothed and com¬
forted? The tears which had been gathering in Hubert's heart now broke from
his eyes, and fell in great shining drops upon the moss at his feet. What sent
him to this place, whom had he forgotten and caused anxious suffering, by his
own self-seeking? The kind, wise and noble Charles Gary ; he whose hand had,
first of all mankind's, rested in benediction upon his head. Hubert had now
fallen upon his knees ; his soul was writhing in self-abhorrence rather than the
self-pity of former times of agony. He was not consciously appealing to God,
he had not yet thought of doing that, but it must have.been God that sent relief ;
that sent so perfect an answer to his distressed soul. The door had been
opened unheeded by him, and a hand fell gently upon his head. He knew it
must be the same, it could be none other. With swollen eyes he turned his
face upward and met the anxious, loving face of Charles Cary. " O ! my son,"
exclaimed Mr. Cary, bending Npon his knees beside the boy. There was no
audible prayer; Hubert was sobbing aloud, and the arm of his tender friend was
ANÖ ôTHËk WÔkKS.
clasping his waist. Mr. Cary had been so anxious about Hubert that he had
given himself no rest ; and it was after all, by mere accident that he had been
enabled to find him. Arthur Weston, who was a friend of the family of the
aged woman, having called there on the morning of his departure for Elmville,
had observed Hubert in the garden, and meeting Mr. Cary, while on his way to
the depot, had upon his anxious inquiry given him the information. Hubert,
seeing how deluded he had been, and realizing how strange his actions must
seem to his friend, decided to tell Mr. Gary everything, which he did, without
the least reserve or concealment. Well for Hubert that he made so clear and
explicit an explanation of his situation to his kind benefactor, else the trying
ordeal which he was obliged to pass, could scarcely have been borne ; for he
had not surmised too much, in suspecting that Weston would ferret out the
matter of the disappearance of Clarendon Childreth, and probe the mystery to
the very bottom. Weston was not capable of sympathy, which would stand in
the way of success in business, and knew no mercy in legal justice, and he
would depend much on the knowledge he believed that Hubert had in this case.
He expected to find out a great deal of Hubert's life by Raleigh, during his
visit with him in Elmville ; and his visit there would be shortened to suit the
convenience of this case. He felt satisfied that it would be an easy matter to
get the case into his hands, as he was sure he would be able to induce Wilhel¬
mina to allow an investigation of this mystery, after he should make the necesr
sary explanations to her.
Mr. Cary thought it would be well to leave Hubert to finish his week of
trial with the aged woman, as the work would be calculated to divert his mind ;
he bade him give up his fears in »regard to these troubles, and cast his life for¬
ever into the hands of the merciful Friend above, and left him till the end of
the week, when he would call again. At the same instant there was a
trembling of the foliage, a shivering of the tall stems of the plants; it was
evident a draft had swept through open doors, while the sharp knock of a cane
announced to Hubert the coming of the aged woman among the shrubbery.
He made haste to respond to the summons ; with head uncovered, he bade the
woman a polite good morning ; this little act of courtesy, whieh from any other
boy she had ever employed would have been treated as impertinence, seemed
to fiatter her, for she instantly assumed the air of a lady. Hubert possessed a
delicate sense of the feelings of others and could do a thousand acts of kind¬
ness and civility unthought of by many boys, and under any reasonable circum¬
stances, his obedience was ready and cheerful ; though there had been times
when he had refused to obey his father, and his shrinking flesh had borne
torture. It seemed to the boy that on this second day, the cane was used less
94
eleven Women and íhiríeen men
frequently and its stroke was not so sharp upon the floor ; this might have
seemed so on account of his own subdued and peaceful mood ; once when the
old lady, by accident, broke the stem of one of her choicest plants while
endeavoring to lift the tub, he ventured to blame himself for the accident—
begging her not to attempt to lift, but to allow him to do it always. He spoke
so gently, with the air of one who cared for her, that instinctively she looked
up into his handsome black eyes, with a lone, wistful expression, as if the years
had been many since she had felt the warmth of a kind thought in her behalf.
A short time after this, it was a very slight thing, it seemed to Hubert, that
caused a strange unreasonable demonstration of rage on her part ; a worm was
found on the leaf of a plant which had been carefully washed on the previous
morning ; the cane made fierce acclamation, and the feet, or rath^ right foot,
of the old woman stamped with rage, she also flourished the cane vigorously
over the head of Hubert to his utter consternation. "What! What!"
exclaimed he, rushing near to the frantic old creature.
"The worms ! the worms ! will you not destroy the worms? "
"Certainly, as many as I find," replied Hubert, upon which he destroyed
the worm, and the aged woman subsided into her former manner.
All day Hubert had worked, yet as in a dream ; he felt feverish and
drowsy, and before dark, very faint ; at last he was obliged to tell his employer
that he was very sick. She bade him lie down immediately—and with her own
hand arranged a couch fof him. At the end of the week Hubert was still upon
his bed ; he had been carefully attended both by physicians and nurses—but
all hope of his recovery was at an end—he had been removed by the orders of
the aged woman to a comfortable room near her own ; he was to that house¬
hold a stranger, they had not even remembered his name or place of residence ;
it seemed that he had been cast upon them to be cared for and die. A solem¬
nity came upon the aged woman, as she hobbled from one apartment to
another in the spacious mansion, yet her orders were stern and imperative.
Her cane was used, but only down stairs, when she occasionally made a visit to
the green-house or kitchen. Most of her hours she spent beside Hubert.
Wild and incoherent utterances were constantly falling from his tongue. Now
he would tell his story all over again to Charles Cary. The pitiful words of
the child touched the heart of the old woman. He talked of Hons Vander-
homer and his father, of Weston and Raleigh—with the sorrowful reflection
that he was the son of a felon. Sometimes he would repeat the old lady's
words, "The worms! the worms! will you not destroy the worms?"
One afternoon during the treek, the aged woman sat down a few moments
in the green-house and indulged in a soliloquy. If you could have heard her
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you would have heard the simple, childish recapitulation of her memories of
olden times ; of her girlhood and first love ; she often fell into such moods of
talking to herself as if to a listener. To-day she said, " Louise is a fine look¬
ing girl, but I was more beautiful, I was only sixteen when all the beaux in the
village declared me to be the most charming lady in the world. Joe, my
lover, was not much older, he looked like the poor, sick boy up-stairs ; he had
just such eyes and would look down on my face just as he did that day in the
green-house. They called my lover Joe: but after we were married he was
called Joseph; Joseph was his name, Joseph Hoadly. Louise's name, of
course, is Mendenhall, and that is a very pretty name ; I have been introduced
many times as Mrs. Mendenhall, for few people know that Louise has been
married.
It is not long since I, myself, saw Hons Vanderhomer, and he assured me
the child is in the academy ; I gave him as much money as was necessary for
the support of the child." It was very frequently the case that these reveries
of the aged woman ended in great rage against some imaginary enemy. It was
supposed she had, in a measure, lost her rational reason ; so no one noticed
these things.
Charles Gary called when the week was up, and asked to see Hubert; the
old lady was alone in the yard below. She answered his inquiry in this way,
"Why do you ask to see Hubert? he is well cared for and you cannot see
him ; he is very sick ; he is a stranger and has no friends ; he has been cruelly
treated by his father who is a felon ; why, then, do you come here to inquire
of him ; you are no doubt his father, but he is now under my roof, he is very
sick and pale, and his face is no thicker than my hand ! " With a violent beat¬
ing of her cane upon the pavement, she exclaimed, "I bid you be gone this
moment from my door! " then turning hastily, she said softly, "I must return
to him now;" "I bid you be gone!" After the old lady had retired into the
house, Mr. Gary appealed to the servants, who in their turn appealed to
Louise, who received him ; then there was a conference between Louise and
her mother which allayed the suspicions of the latter, and Mr. Gary was
admitted into the presence of Hubert. The poor boy did not know him; he
could do nothing but leave him to the care of Mrs. Hoadly and her daughter,
assuring them that he would bear all the expenses of his illness.
In order to give you an adequate knowledge of the sufferings of Hubert's
Infancy, and thereby apologize for his hopelessness, and the suspiciousness of
mind, which he was never fully able to overcome, it will be necessary to take
you back to the day of his birth, and introduce you to his foster parents, and
also to his own mother, this will fill another long chapter, and will come in more
appropriately a little further on.
CHAPTER XIV.
" AFTER MANY DAYS."
Raleigh, knowing no motive for concealment, told Mr. Weston frankly all
he knew of Wilhelmina's troubles ; of her husband's supposed desertion, also
of his acquaintance with Judy and Jimmy O'Rork ; of his awful suffering in
the cellar of Hans Vanderhomer and Judy's conflagration ; but no word con¬
cerning Hubert's father, or his history in connection with the saloon. He was
silent in regard to the supposed murder of Childreth. Weston was puzzled,
but on adroitly approaching him concerning Hubert's earlier history, and his
parents, Raleigh's manner was so visibly changed, and a confused reserve,
mingled with anxiety, took possession of him, his suspicion against Hubert was
confirmed, and he concluded that Hubert knew what neither of them dared to
tell ; or was perhaps implicated in the crime. Weston knew that children were
often made to serve as tools in accomplishing the most fiendish deeds.
If Hubert possessed knowledge, which would throw light on the case, he
was determined to investigate, Weston intended it should be forthcoming.
Weston was not a stranger to the criminal, Hans Vanderhomer, whom he
believed to be implicated in this affair ; from a most remote chain of circum¬
stances, [which had been brought forcibly to his mind, by Raleigh's description
of the inner cellar,] in a case he had once undertaken, in which he remembered
an Irishman to have figured, who answered to the description Raleigh had
given of Jimmy O'Rork. This Irishman had been employed to drfve a cart for
Hons Vanderhomer, but whether now living or dead, neither Weston nor
Raleigh knew. It might be no easy matter to find Jimmy O'Rork, meanwhile
let us visit Elmville with Raleigh. Three years before, he had gone out, friend¬
less, naked and despairing, into a more hopeless nakedness ; from want to more
utter want ; where Mrs. Ellenwood feared nothing could reach him ; nothing
save him from swift destruction. Her yearning prayer had followed him each
day of those years, since her hope was caught up and held steadily on a
pinnacle of glory. Her love had clung to the lonely child and her effort been
unwearying in his behalf, until now he is found. As he again entered Elm¬
ville, a well-dressed, well-mannered thoughtful boy, bringing his store of books
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and giving evidence that he had a purpose, in life, also accompanied by her
own brother, it seemed too ideal, too much like the fancy of dreams. Yet
was it more than for which she had hoped and prayed ? It was not. Was it
greater than His promises ? It was not.
After Raleigh's first formal greeting he assumed the old natural look and
many of the old winsome ways. He instinctively knew that Mrs. Ellen-
wood's house was to be his home, and stored his books in a corner of her
sitting-room, and he looked with the same frank, guiless spirit to her love and
counsel.
Hester Montifort had felt that it was her duty to adopt Raleigh, accord¬
ing to the wish of little Helena, but she dreaded his appearance in Elmville,
dreaded the responsibility of taking charge of the boy, and he had been in the
town a week before she invited him to come and see her.
He loved to be alone as of old ; not a spot he had known that he did not
visit ; the nooks of the birdling, the clumps and hillocks in the woodland, the
blooming banks of the rivulet knew him ; and he declared that he saw the same
birds, and their nests in the same spot where they used to be ; there were the
same old ferns, and the same Flower-de-luce, bursting into bloom ; the noise of
the woodland which to many ears is but a jargon, was to Raleigh, trills, inter¬
ludes, and duetts ; all harmony ; and he wished he could bring it into the old
voice and song ; although that merry voice was not heard ringing his ecstasy,
the deep, full respiration of his soul, restless as a mighty sea upon the sand,
throbbed for utterance in some life of language ; he longed to touch the deep
concealed fountains in the heart of humanity and bring peace out of tumult ;
he longed to do something, even something for God. There was a bird among
the reeds swaying to and fro, and he looked upon the bending rushes and
sighed thoughtfully, "There," said he, "is my Aunt Nancy McNeilly in the
poor-house, I can go and help her."
It was at this time Raleigh was standing on the land bordering manhood,
his childish fancies and inspirations were merging into the strong impulses and
ardent hopes of life, whose broad, impetuous billows were dashing at his feet.
Little Helena's grave was a bank of flowers, not shaped at all like a grave ;
he purposed to visit it alone ; he remembered her love for him and the advent
of her spirit into the cellar of Jimmy O'Rork, when the shadows had fallen like
mountains upon him. He was standing beside that little grave, and was
startled from his reveries by the approach of Hester Montefort ; he arose and
advanced to meet her ; there were marks of weeping upon his face, and Hester
was softened, she spoke kindly, even tenderly, to him, " It seems strange that
we were left to meet at this little grave, Raleigh ! "
98
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
Raleigh's heart was too full foe utterance.
"I had expected you would run in and see me without being formal."
" I haye been waiting for Mrs. Ellenwood to accompany me." He spoke
politely and with a frank freedom of expression Hester was not expecting.
" How long is it, Raleigh, since you left Elmville?"
" It will be four years in November."
"The same month my little Helena died; Raleigh, I wish you would
come over to-night, you remember the sealed missive she left in your care, I
want you to read it." Raleigh's tears were falling now as he looked up. " It
is a long time waiting for you, Raleigh 1 "
"I will come over to-night," replied he, and then he walked slowly away.
It was very seldom Hester evinced so much emotion as to-day when she met
Raleigh at the grave of her little daughter.
In the evening the visit of Raleigh to her home was celebrated by tea.
Mrs. Ellenwood, Miss Sanford and Raleigh were the only guests. Miss San-
ford has changed since you saw her in the public parlor in New York; then
she was bright and full of beauty, now she is pale and very thin. She has not
the disease of broken hopes and despairing love, she is still happy in her love,
and confident in her trust of Walter Watkins ; her disease is probably that of
which little Helena died, one hereditary in the family ; she was declining rap¬
idly. Mrs. Ellenwood knew this, Raleigh observed the great change. Hester
had not suspected so much, though she was very careful of her cousin. Mary
seemed not to realize her condition, she was spirited, cheerful and delighted to
see Raleigh ; yet she knew, and felt deeply, that she must prepare her spirit
for a not very remote change ; she longed to tell Walter this, and that she
could never now become his wife, yet she feared it would grieve him so, and
forbore to wound his heart. She longed to break the thought to Hester, but
there was a barrier between her and her cousin she could not surmount ; she
had talked with Mrs. Ellenwood, and poured out all her fears and desires, and
the burden bearer added yet this to the weight upon her heart ; she soothed
and comforted the dear girl in times of forebodings, and contrived many little
pleasures for her among her friends. Mrs. Ellenwood wished Walter Watkins
could sympathize, wished he would come and visit her now ; but his letters
continued regular, and breathed, if not of love, at least of constant friendship.
It was better for Mary he did not come ; better his absence than the heartless-
ness of his touch, the false breath of his polluted lips. During the evening
Hester gave Raleigh the letter of little Helena. "This was Helena's will,"
said he, after reading it over Several times without any effort to restrain his
tears, " If I had known this when I was so despised and alone, when I had
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not a single friend on earth but Mrs. Ellenwood, whom I had forsaken ; but
now I do not need your home so much, I have planned to educate myself, and
have promised to return to dear friends in New York; and most of all, to
Hubert; most of all, to encourage him and save him from despair." Hester
felt relieved, and Raleigh told them that evening of his trials and triumphs in
the strange, great city—of all his friends, and of his school, and especially of
Wilhelmina and Eddie ; how he had set his mind upon his books ; but, he
added, sadly, that an obstacle was now looming up before him in the shape of
Nancy McNeilly, who had been taken to the poor-house, and he had already
fixed a day in which to walk over (a distance of fifteen miles) and see her.
CHAPTER XV.
IN WHICH POLITICS IS TOUCHED UPON DE CLARE BECOMES VERY MUCH EXCITED,
AND MANDEVILLE LEE REVEALS SOMEWHAT OF HIS HISTORY TO WESTON AND
IMBIBES STRENGTH.
As Weston was proceeding to Elmville in company with Raleigh, he
dropped a line to Walter Watkins, saying he would visit him on his return, on
important business, and wished him, if possible, to arrange his matters so as to
return with him to New York for a week. His office was overcrowded with
work which must be got off his hands immediately. He limited his stay in
Elmville to three days, all of which time he spent with his sister, Mrs. Ellen-
wood, and his niece, Emily. He left Raleigh for the summer, and hastened
back to New York by way of N . The evening spent with Watkins was
full of interest to politicians (such as they were), as a scheme was being laid in
the interest of Watkins, who had succeeded in being elected to office in the
county with certain higher ambitions. The English traveler, Mandeville Lee,
and his attending physician, M. de Clare, were stopping a day or so in the
city, and were the guests of Watkins, with whom they had formed quite a
friendship; they were, however, spending the evening in a walk upon the
street, while Weston and Watkins were discussing the private matter of busi¬
ness, which had brought Weston to a halt over night. " Watkins, it is money
you want and need, but if you are afraid to risk anything you will never have
any ; there will be no danger in using this money, you will be sure to make it
double itself before you need to settle up, and if not, remember it is Weston
backing you ; the taxes will come in between December and P^ebruary, and
that is the very time to strike. If I undertake it for you, it will not be likely
to fail, but I shall be very busy, and there is no reason you should not under¬
take it yourself."
"Weston, you know I'm an unlucky dog." Watson laughed. "It is
because you are such a cowardly one; you'r afraid to take hold of the game."
" Maybe, but I hate to us« the money because it is not my own."
"It is not necessary to repeat that assertion again to me. It is not very
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likely you will ever have any of your own to use," said Weston testily. We
will drop the enterprise and say nothing more about it. "
The subject was accordingly dropped for that evening. They both felt
sure, however, it would be resumed again at a not far distant period of time, for
Weston was bent on the speculation, and Watkins could not withstand the
temptation to borrow the public money, confidently expecting to double it in a
short time, and that the matter would never come to light. He did not mean
to embezzle, and Weston had said he would stand by him. He did not reflect
that Weston never had assisted him to a pennyworth. He did not reflect that
in case of a failure Weston could not be proved implicated in the theft. He
was trusting wholly to a man's honor that had none ; to the principles of a
man whose principles were false and selfish. He was simply becoming an
instrument in Weston's hands. In case he succeeded Weston would be a
gainer ; in case of failure he would remain uninjured. But the will of the
stronger man, coupled with his own illusive hopes, would gain sway in the
end, and he would without, even realizing what he was doing, become a
criminal. The two gentlemen remained silent a little time, when Watkins
observed a "butternut," neatly carved, dangling at Weston's vest. "Why do
you wear that ' butternut ' upon your chain ? ' "
"That, Walter, means State Rights, if you please. It is an emblem of
liberty, a relic of Calhoun. Does it suit you to see me wear a 'butternut?' "
" Traitor!" exclaimed the hot-headed Watkins, bringing his fist upon his
desk, then rising and straightening himself, he stood before Weston, who
remained perfectly cool. ' 'Are you not uttering the sentiments that betrayed
your country to bloodshed, and would have terminated our national existence
without remorse? If there is no love of country, no patriotism for the Union
under the present reconstruction of the States, what is to save us from ruin ?
No? Weston, it is the old grudge; you favored the Southern conspiracy, and
you hate the power that crushed the institution of slavery and made us a free
people."
"And yet," replied Weston, "There are millions groaning under the
wheels of our civilization ; the cry of the laborer is even as bitter as was the
moan of the slave in his chains."
"And yet," retorted Watkins, "The remedy is not found in any princi¬
ple of Democracy, so-called."
—"Politics again," observed, Mandeville Lee, as he entered the office.
"And where is your friend M. de Clare?" asked Watkins.
"I left him at the door. Something going on outside he wishes to
investigate."
to¿
ËLEVËN WÔMËN AND tHIRÏËËN MËN
"Watkins," continued Weston, "the Republicans are parading a ghost
and flaunting a phantom rather than any political issue to-day. It has been a
glorious party in the past, but it no longer bears a standard ; it cannot much
longer marshall its men. A ' solid Union ! ' would be a glorious thought, why
not introduce it into politics?"
It was about 9 o'clock and M. de Clare suddenly opened the door of the
lawyer's office, and manifesting considerable excitement, shouted, "Upon my
word, gentlemen, you are very composed. You are not probably aware there
is a riot upon the street to-night. Do you not hear the noise of it?" There
was indeed, but several streets distant, the sound of men and boys shouting.
Rockets were rising above the buildings, and general disturbance was mani¬
fested on all hands. Men were rushing along the pavement, boys cutting
across the street in the direction of the mob. Watkins caught up his hat and
joined the crowd, but Weston sat still merely turning to look out the window.
"Where is the mob, de Clare?" he asked of the Frenchman, who stood
with eyes wide open contemplating him with amazement.
" It seemed to form in front of a telegraph office, where a great crowd has
been gathered for two days awaiting the returns of the election. It broke out
and seemed to whirl the people just as a whirlwind whirls the dust. Some
yelled, some cursed, some turned and fought each other, some swung their
arms aloft and tossed up their hats, some ran wildly catching up material of
all sorts for a bonfire. One old man ran that was denuded of his wig, and
another was tossing it upon the top of his cane. I even saw some daubing
red paint upon the door of a saloon. Beer casks, boxes, tables, chicken coops,
everything was thrown into the fire. Pistols were shot, property was demol¬
ished, and no one seemed to have a disposition to quiet things. Sir, the women
talk politics in the parlor, and the children talk politics on the street. The air
is full of it. This excitement is unnatural, it is oppressive, it is ominous.
The ' clubs ' vociferate fire and blood ; the women scatter the wildfire of
fanaticism, and the children are tossing fire. The crowds upon the street are
bordering on terrorism. The Mayor and town officers are identified with the
parties ; the policemen take stock. Is there not danger—nothing to ap¬
prehend, sir?"
"No!" answered Weston, "it has been rather a stormy campaign, and
neither party likes to give up a single dispatch, but in a few days all will be
a dead calm, as far as the people are concerned. The reformers will keep up a
croaking all the year round."
" These seasons of politiial contest, observed Mr. Lee, " are not without
some good fruits after all. Intrinsically they are not so very strange nor so
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very wrong, and the readiness with which the parties will yield to the law of
the majority proves that the Republic has reached a high standard of self
government, and society a spirit of self-control, gained by generations of equit¬
able political training."
M. de Clare did not appreciate the words of Mr. Lee, and, wrought to
the highest pitch of excitement, he darted down the stairs and out upon the
street, and Mr. Lee was left alone with Weston.
" Have you been much in New York, Mr. Lee?" inquired Weston.
" Only a few days, when I first landed three years ago."
" Have you been so long in the United States?"
"Yes," answered Mandeville. "I have spent a great deal of time out of
England. I have traveled all over the continent ; been a year in Scotland, two
»
in Germany and several in Ireland."
"You are not as much of a politician as your friend M. de Clare? "
"Perhaps not. I could scarcely be a politician of the highest type. I
am not an American ; indeed, have ceased to consider myself a distinctive
citizen of any country. I have in my heart many lands in close fellowship. In
my mind a bird's-eye view of a world which has in a great measure lost its
angularities. Yet I am a cosmopolite of very positive principles. I was a radical
Abolitionist. I am in favor of free trade, and have decided temperance views.
Nothing is more distressing to me than the eternal temperance question.
Nothing is gained by the incessant legislation against the 'Liquor Traffic.'
The leading parties will toss the Prohibition idea to the winds. The prohibition¬
ists, why, let them take their choice of horns. But the idea is the true
one."
" Men cannot be rallied to it in sufficient numbers to form a majority,"
said Weston listlessly.
Yet they should be."
"Well, I don't know. Men should be allowed the large liberty consistent
with the welfare of society, and most men use strong drink in some form or
degree. They will vote for personal liberty. "
"You only prove that the majority are dissipated and have not robust
consciences."
"That I deny not. We are a pack of fools ; but I remember hearing a
minister explain once how God himself allowed indulgences to hard-hearted
men."
"Yes, God gives men their choice of things they will take, but never a
lieense law."
' ' But politicians and even devout chufchmen, have a desperate feeling as if
I04
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
anything were allowable in a political crisis. The atmosphere grows murky
and roars around the stunned virtues of the soul."
"That, though, is not the time men form opinions and choose principles."
" No, but there won't be any trouble just yet about a temperance prohi¬
bition crisis. Restriction is in high spirits. Its cry will dominate all other
notes—restriction by high license."
" Restriction is a delusion, then, and there is no restriction, only a deeper
impoverishment of the poor and helpless. It is not the traffic that needs
protection."
" Unless we are to go back to savagery we must admit to every citizen his
personal liberty, else how can a people develop substantial morality. These
are considerations that ought to be better appreciated by Church and clergy as
well as by reformers of law.
"The wicked people have had the world a longtime. They have the
hoary head of age, without a crown of glory," said Mr. Lee, sadly.
"And I presume the world will keep moving on about the same to the
end. There will be dens and drinking places to accommodate the bad and
discomfit the good. Evil will have its conspicuous proclivity, while religion will
stand sleek, on same by way, or paved court, avoiding the thoroughfare and
wearing its cowardly aspect."
As Weston spoke these words he turned and gazed out upon the serene
starlit canopy of heaven with a close calculating eye, as if he might be num¬
bering the degrees of space from steep to steep. He was indeed calculating,
but his calculations at that moment had little reference to heavenly height or
moral issues. It was his habit to calculate, but not to discuss political or theo¬
logical questions. If Mr. Lee could have read his thoughts they would have
been this: "Seven times eighty-five thousand is—let me see; seven times five
is thirty-five, seven times eight is fifty-six with three to carry, fifty-seven, fifty-
eight, fifty-nine—five hundred and ninety-five thousand dollars, at a reduction,
^nd an inchoate title. That was a clever forecast in Strong. / can't do that!
J had better take all the capital stock, if the balance due is not too large."
Remembering himself, but forgetting the former subject of conversation, he
turned again toward Mandeville, who had now assumed a sad and wearied
expression, as if his mind had journeyed a long and sorrowful flight in the
silence, and began on another track, exclaiming ;
"Ireland is disquieted."
"She always is," responded Mr. Lee.
"And justly?"
" It is a hard question, a difficult problem to the best men in England,
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"To me it seems plain enough what they want."
"Ah?"
' ' All, and more than they ask ; an ecclesiastical hot-bed, where ignorance
and intolerance may germinate crimes and miseries of the most horrid descrip¬
tion. Strip Ireland of her rags and make of her a pontiff. In their own phrase¬
ology I say to you, (as an Englishman) Mr. Lee, "Don't lift her till she
falls 1 " Weston spake lightly, ironically—I think his mind was preoccupied
by nearer interests.
"Goodness knows, I do not wish to Uft her from anything lower than to
what she has fallen." There was a sadness in the tone and in the expression
of Mandeville Lee, that had its meaning, which Weston could not help
noticing—as he continued, "It is too true that there is a tendency in nations
as well as in individuals, to shirk an earnest attempt to develop the principles
of social progress, and to cramp by conditions which prevent society (without
a violation of conscientious religious faith, or legal restriction), from becoming
what they might become. Ireland is wearing the political shackles, which gall
and dishearten."
"I did not expect to hear you concede so much; you seem more partial
to the Irish than many of your countrymen."
" If I have spoken in the language of pattiality how shall I express the
truth? What shall I say of the characteristics of the Irish people so admirable
in my sight ? The virtuous qualities generally acknowledged as distinctive and
original, but which are rather in my opinion the outgrowth of a remote, moral
culture, and scientific training. Once the young men of the surrounding
pagan countries, England and the continent, frequented the Univetsities of
Ireland, then the seat oi learning and of Christianity."
While Mandeville Lee thus talked Weston's attention rambled ; he thought
of the case on hand and the Irishman he wished to find on his arrival in New
York.
" Indeed," replied he yawning, "We have rambled over a number of
subjects since we have met, Mr. Lee, which to me have been very entertaining,
but you have not told me why you are a bachelor. It strikes me as an incon¬
sistency that you have never entered into wedlock ! You esteem woman so
highly, and yet have never loved."
"You apprehend wrong, sir, I have done both. Afar back there is a
history of one I loved, and still love ; of one to whom I was wedded, and am
still wedded." As Mr. Lee uttered these words, he a.ose and reached for his
hat, as if it were his habit to retreat into secresy, body and soul, with the
thought of that heart history.
I06 ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
"Are you going out? It is late, and Walter will soon be in," urged
Weston. Remembering himself Mandeville dropped his hat again, and with
a countenance betraying great nervous excitement, paced backward and for¬
ward across the floor; presently gaining a degree of self-control, he took a
seat, and wiping the perspiration from his pale brow, gazed with an intense
expression of anguish, full into the eyes of Arthur Weston. He spoke in a
low voice that shuddered with the emotion of his soul. "I am a wretched
man ; the anxiety of my mind, the inexpressible, restlessness of my longing
heart, is driving me mad. If I knew that she were dead, it would be different ;
if I knew she loved another and was happy, I could rest ; but this uncertainty,
this mystery without definition, cannot last much longer. I am constantly
moving from land to land, I go, and return again to these shores in the hope¬
less hope of one day finding her ; I have no friends to whom I confide my
thoughts; I have always felt since the first year, that it would be useless to
endeavor to find Annie, and why speak to others of what I must bury alive in
my own bosom.
Lately I live as if allured to certain points by extravagant hopes, which
in turn fade, and render the darkness doubly dark ; then I linger in fancy and
call back the vanished ima^s of love and joy ; I court my imaginations and
emulate them, at the same time knowing they are false and vain, and only
deepen the inconceivable gloom of succeeding hours of recollection and disap¬
pointment. The distant years are clouded and shrouded, the present is
darker still. The times are rare when my mind can dwell with any degree of
strength upon other subjects, I lapse soon again into the same horrible deep of
despair to hear the same death knell of every hope ! " And now Mandeville
Lee had said more to Weston, the acquaintance of a day, than he had ever
said to M. de Clare. Mandeville was silent, and Arthur Weston knowing
the sensitiveness and refinement of the man whom he approached, paused
upon the threshold of the sacred sanctuary of such sorrow.
There was at times a power arose to express itself in the eyes of Weston
that must sway the soul upon whom it was directed; he now fixed them
tenderly, y^t unwaveringly upon Mandeville, and spoke, ' ' My dear sir, you
have aroused not only my curiosity, but my sincerest sympathy by your
manner and by your words ; yet I would not intrude unbidden ; if by any
means I may ever assiet you in finding that beloved one I will most gladly do
so ; I would never yield to despair, as you seem to have done, but would use
every available means to accomplish my purpose ; / would never bury alwe a
■woman I loved, while there was"^the least ray of hope in effort ; and you have
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107
not buried all hope, else you would forget." It was not the words of Weston,
but the wonderful power of his soul that inspired Mandeville Lee.
The two men held each other's gaze, and read each other's meaning ; one
the language of appeal, the other that of assurance. The decisive spirit of
Weston, which made him superior to difficulties, gave confidence to Mande¬
ville ; they understood each other so well through the voiceless revelation, that
Weston, grasping Mandeville's hand, held it a moment firmly, and said in low,
tender tones, "Then you must tell me all."
' ' The story, of what has been everything in my life may be told in few
words," said Mandeville, still holding to the strong hand of Weston, as if for
support. ' ' After I left Oxford I was traveling with my father, who was an
invalid ; during a stay of some months on the borders of the Irish Sea, and
among the hills of the Atlantic coast, we were in company with an Irish gen¬
tleman who was an "old friend of my father; he was a man of great wealth and
resided in Dublin ; Annie was his only daughter, and on our return to that city
I was much in her society ; yet she was betrothed to a man of distinction,
through the influence of her ambitious father ; but in a short time Annie and I
were truly betrothed in heart ; our love for each other was passionate and
mutual, and not being able to obtain her father's consent to break her engage¬
ment with the man she did not love—nay, abhorred, she eloped with me to
England ; we succeeded in living together a few short happy months, when we
were overtaken by her enraged father and separated ; her angry Irish lover, not
being able to obtain her consent to become his wife, persuaded her father
against her ; he succeeded in making him believe base falsehoods against her
chastity, and he sent her broken hearted, friendless and alone, in an emigrant
vessel, to this country. I do not even know where that vessel landed. As
soon as the tidings reached me, I followed her, I have reason to believe there
was a child born to me. She was scarcely more than a child in years when I
took her from her father." Unclasping a magnificent jeweled seal, Mande¬
ville drew from it a tiny curl of golden hair, just a few wavy threads, "this,"
said he, "she clipped from her brow and playfully gave to me one day, just
before they came and took her ; this is all I have on earth that I prize—this
and de Clare ; I have made no friends. "What her fate has been I know not.
At the time I employed detectives who made every effort to find her, but all
was unavailing. [Yes, I have a slight wound, sir, I received in the army, for
I joined a regiment and served during your war to divert my mind, if
possible, from my grief.] Not a few think the vessel lost in which she sailed."
"I know you must have been a gallant soldier, and, dear sir, I think you
may find your Annie yet ; stranger things have happened under my eye. I,
io8
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
Arthur Weston, promise to bear you in mind at every turn, and if there is
such a thing as finding her, I can find her." M. de Clare had made a mistake
in not talking to Mandeville freely and firmly as Weston had now done ;
strength was imparted to him by the physical contact—with the steady nerve
and healthful grasp of Weston's hand that Mandeville felt in every fibre of his
frame; then when Weston arose calmly, and giving him his arm, said, in a
deep, steady voice, "Let us walk," he felt something like his youthful vigor
upon him. It was Weston who so readily and delicately turned the current of
his thoughts, not away from Annie, but into a freer channel, into a scope which
compassed hope at least, into a more vital breath of being. Such was the
power of the man, Arthur Weston, which he so often used to mislead and
betray, so often to gratify his selfish lusts and ambitions. Weston felt as
M. de Clare, that assistance must come soon, if at all, to the poor man. Yet
firmer than M. de Clare he held the hope of being able to find the lost
woman, and we shall see what gossamer threads were caught upon to hold the
heart of Mandeville Lee.
Beneath the feet of Arthur Weston, unknown and unsuspected by him,
there was a burrower in the person of Nicholas Scruggs. Cunningly dis¬
guised, Scruggs was hunting him and at no late day he was destined to
be undermined and brought low through the tactics of Louise Mendenhall.
Nicholas Scruggs w-as in an underground den, with one near companion,
dispatching messages to Louise at the very hour in which Weston and Man¬
deville Lee were communing together of the lost Annie.
"It is as I suspected, she is not in Elmville," said the companion, "and
how came Louise to be so stupid, she is not generally so," said Scruggs,
growing livid with anger.
" And yet she bids you remain here in N to keep a lookout? "
''She has not so bidden, but I have seen fit to remain near Weston, and
go with him wherever he may be pleased to journey for a little time."
" And Hubert, where is Hubert, does Louise know who the boy is? "
"She has not the slightest suspicion, not the remotest icea, you infernal
ferret."
"Nor Mrs. Hoadly ? "
"I am not thinking of Hubert now, I'm not disposed to worry over
Hubert to-day, he is probably dead, but if she is in Elmville I must know it, if
she is here I must see to it she goes no further with Weston."
"And Mandeville Lee has found Weston, something may corne of that.
He may find out the whole of* it through Jimmy O'Rork 1 "
"Or through you, or me, but not through Jimmy,"
AND OTHER WORKS.
' ' Jimmy knows evetything ! ' '
" And that is just the reason he'll tell nothing ! "
" But the girl, what does Louise ivant of the girl ? "
"To get even with Weston, and gratify her spirit."
" But where is she ? "
"I brough.t you to find that out, of what use are you to me, you wax-
end. I brought you to be a beau, because I am a hunch-back and won't do
for that. You are to go out and find her, I am to keep clear of society."
Stamping vigorously, "See, here is your mustache under foot! See, you
stupid, drunken pup, the twist is lost, and the top of this wig is frizzled with
your cigars, and your cosmetics are sifted over the table, and the girl is not
found! Ask me again, 'Where is she?'" and Nicholas Scruggs fell into a
terrible rage.
CHAPTER XVI.
IN WHICH M. DE CLARE LOSES HIS SELF-RESPECT.
"Turn the rascals eût!" ejaculated Walter Watkins, "turn the rascals
out, and we will have a surplus in the Treasury.
"Do the people ask ior 2. surplus in the Treasury, or would they rather
have their money in their own pockets ? Sir, their own money, which they
have earned by the sweat of their brow, perchance by digging in ditches and
swamps, perchance at the counter, perchance in dismal factories or mines,
perchance by going down to the deep in ships? " inquired M. de Clare.
" Without a doubt the pockets of the people are the best repository of a
nation, but there will be no change during the Democratic Administration
except for the worse, and, sir, we must chose between a high protective Tariff
or a deeper impoverishment of the laboring classes. There would be no Labor
parties and Anarchists could the principles of the Republican party be
universally adopted."
"In my opinion, the Anti-Poverty-Society of this country is the Prohibi¬
tion party. The tariff issue is a bug-a-boo. Sir, do you know it is a very old
bug-a-boo? Bosh! you are blinded by demagogues and you'll ruin the land! "
said M. de Clare. "I allow you are right in motive. You desire the over¬
throw of the evil of intemperance, but there are other issues, even greater
issues, to be considered. The great perplexing, underlying problem of our
Government is, what shall be our attitude towárd the emigrant, the foreign
pauper? And even that is a delicate question for parties to handle; neither of
our great parties like to undertake it. The best work the third party can do is
to educate the foreigners, for the moment they strike our shores they strike
hands with the Democratic party and go to augn^ent its power. If we Repub¬
licans take too radical a stand for temperance reform measures we will lose the
few foreigners we have gained, for they are wedded to the brewers' interests,
and in losing them we lose adl. Sir, the very foundations of our Government
would crumble beneath us should the Republican party lose its sway.
AND OTHER WORKS.
I I I
"Instead of a tax law on liquor dealers, we would have a license law.
Instead of the German control we would have Irish rule. In neither case can
we have what the enlightened Christian people would choose. And are not they
in the majority in this land, could they cut loose from party cast?"
Here M. de Clare was interrupted by a Democratic preacher, who said ;
"Politics is a strange thing; I'd most as soon part with religion as to lose the
name of Democtat. I'm a temperance man. I am right on the fence, [and
mean to stay on the fence.] One thing, you Prohibitionists have more respect
for us Democrats than for Republicans, because we are not trying to use
hypocrisy. We do not profess to be a temperance party. I hope Prohibition
will prevail, and advise you to advise the women to circulate the best literature
to be obtained, and agitate all they can, but to remain non-partizan."
"Your temperance sentiments are the same as mine, only I must vote the
Republican ticket so long as the free trade movement menaces our land," said
another citizen.
Once more we are in the company of politicians, and it is just as well
perhaps that we enter as they are winding up their argument. These characters
are Walter Watkins, M. de Clare and two of the well respected citizens of our
city. They were discussing the Tariff—a question that is now agitating
the country.
M. de Clare had consented that Mandeville Lee and Weston might go in
company to New York, while he remained in the city of N to witness a jolli¬
fication which neither Mandeville Lee nor Arthur Weston cared to see. M. de
Clare had spent most of the afternoon in asking questions and imbibing all the
information he could possibly obtain from Mr. Watkins on political topics.
The strain upon his animation and attention had been most prodigious. He
was therefore glad when the time for the "jollification " at last arrived.
The hour of dark bedimmed the lurking places of the town. The streets
had been imperfectly illuminated by a man who drove from one post to another
in a spring wagon, lighting the lamps which were in use. It seemed to M. de
Clare that a disjointed body of horsemen were endeavoring to form into
phalanx somewhere in the darkness of the suburbs, but where ? seemed to be
the question among themselves. Each horseman carried a twinkling torch and
galloped round about. M. de Clare grew very impatient with the manœuvre-
ings of these detachments, and finally being furnished with Watkin's spirited
horse, he undertook a reconnoisance for his own gratification. Away twinkled
one, two, three torches, and away darted the Frenchman in pursuit. But a
short turn in the shadows, or a suddôn extinguishment of a torch would cause
M. de Clare to grow excited and confused, and thus rendered it impossible for
I 12
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
him to follow them so as to arrive at any satisfactory solution of the mystery,
and he very properly concluded at length to return to the center of the town
and await the course of events, there believing they would finally bring up in
sufficient order to march in procession. He heard one horseman declare that
he had a pocket full of rocks to use when he should join the main squad ; and
another, who seemed very much excited, halted beside him, and asked if he
knew where they were forming, evidently considering him one of the number
who was expected to figure. M. de Clare thought this would be a good
opportunity to ask for certain information which he was curious in regard to,
so inquired, " What then, is the meaning of the Raccoons and Roosters in this
political jollification?"
"The raccoon," answered the horseman, "means a devil that will
devastate, and it means that free trade will devastate and impoverish the land.
The rooster is for the raccoon to devastate and devour."
" Oui, oui ! Je m'etonne sais tu quelque chose de plus," exclaimed M. de
Clare in a rage at the ribaldry of the horseman, as he galloped away. M. de
Clare here caught sight of Barnabas Plumsock and Peter Mowls in an alterca¬
tion, and ^stopped a moment to see what it was about. Mowls spoke :
' ' Ther is no creeter in these wherabouts that has any knowen but leaves
the devils their own ; ther's no use to talk agin Beer in this here town. The
citizen is full uv it hisself, an' it acts like the sperit of them dead Injuns in Elk
river. Wus than any livin' Injun, when they riz up from their mouns at the
full uv the moon. I'v seed um myself kikin' an' wabblin' in onreg'lar disquiet
gibbin down the hollar in ole Virginny."
"My friend," said Mr. Plumsock, "I perceive you are given to supersti¬
tion and blasphemy. Do you not know there is no such thing as spirits of
Indians on the earth doing as you speak of ? "
"Spose you never seed um, sir; ther spirit '11 come, an' you no more
hear them than a flea jumpin' to'rd you, but ther're sure, and I wuz drawin' a
comparisun betwixt um and these here town folks in the jollification, an' if you
Stan aroun in the way here with yer lages weak, you'll find yoursel afore you
think on the groun dirty and blood-kivered. I think there'll be killen goin' on,
an' you temperance preachers '11 be fust in eternity, cuz yer sort of fit for't,
see ! "
" I am not a Prohibitionist."
"I dunno what that is, but yer among the weakest alius, I'll bet—better
Stan yander while these fellers go by. Ther'e swarin' an' full uv it, an' look
like fire itself. Its curus it puts sich wildness in um."
AND OTHER WORKS.
"3
" Much of this is no doubt the work of the evil one, and rum is a dreadful
curse, and few will act this way unless fired up with alcohol."
"You mean drunk?"
' ' I think the Democratic party has the true political idea, and in course of
time will put down the liquor traffic. I'm a Temperance Democrat. I repose
great confidence in the principles of our
party."
I'm a Dimocrat, but the men of us
that'll help put licker under, are sceerce as
squerl chawins on the leaves when yer look-
in' fur a dinner ! Take my word for't we'll
jiever be a Timperance party, I'm tellin'
God's truth, an' you may hev hard feelins,
if you like, / hev none.
"You, my fellow-sinner, have a repro¬
bate mitid."
"It's my 'pinion, politics and religion
niver can hitch bosses, as I heerd you say
yerself. "
"You misunderstand me. I hope public
sentiment will be aroused, so that parties
... • r T ..I REPOSE GREAT CONFIDENCE.
can accomplish something for 1 emperance.
"I guess it's the duty uv preachers to hope so, but you ought to jine in
with a party that shows some sign uv it, an' not stan with watery eyes in the
Dimocratic ranks. Yer witched an' calfy, or you'd fight um."
"I endeavor to do my part to arouse public feeling on the subject."
"Tarnal if ever I'v heerd uv yer preachin' 'bout it, an' scarce like to,
while the elders are opposed !"
"I do not desecrate the pnlpit by so doing. I am called to preach the
Gospel. I would not object to lecturing under the awe-spices of the women.
No one could find fault about that. "
"I reckon they could then. There is nothin'twixt man and eternity so
much to be feared as wimmen who lectur' timperance and larn politics and are
worritted ter vote, an' if ye sick them ahead mind if ye ain't sorry for't yet.
And its my 'pinion ther is nothin' dacent about you or them fer sayin' what yer
said. You are not a true Dimocrat if yer favor wimmin and her timperance
legations."
' ' Sir, you mistake me and are very wrong again. I am opposed to
Woiaan's Rights, and all its appurtenances."
114
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
"Its cu-rus, when its the timperance wimmin you want to lecture for; and
I'm sartin ther appertinences of everything agin the rights and freedom of men
an' our party is opposed to all such things, an' all sumptuary measures to
suppress metis rights."
"I was speaking of the temperance question."
"Its cu-rus, but I waz tu and believe in individual freedom on the
timperance as well as other doins, an' you do not."
"I repose great confidence in the Democratid party—"
M. de Clare found he had been losing time, the bonfires were already
blazing upon the corners of the Public Square. So he made haste to join the
crowd of spectators there. In what seemed to him an incredibly short time,
the procession began moving before him. Several men near by him took out
their watches to note the precise time at which it began to move, or else, as he
conjectured might be the case, to calculate the length of the procession by the
time it might take to pass a given point.
It is not at all remarkable that this chapter finds its way into this volume.
To one unaccustomed to the manners of our people, a jollification, such as
this was, would not only be a novel sight, but important as furnishing ideas,
suggestive of the peculiar politics and characteristics of our male citizens ; and
particularly so to an individual such as M. de Clare had, the world over,
proved himself to be. It is a truth which cannot, and perhaps need not, be
denied that the young men of the country are alive to the welfare of the
general public ; there is no abstract question of social or religious interest,
which so enlists the active energies, and excites the emotions of patriotism or
the humane virtues of the soul, as the principles of patty politics in the breasts
of our citizens. There were in attendance upon this jollification, delegations
from numerous adjoining townships, and even counties, with varied uniforms,
banners and badges ; there were the horsemen, and there were the footmen
bearing flags, and mottoes, and flaming torches ; men were blowing horns and
strutting ; some men bore hickory poles aloft, upon which roosters perched ;
some had roosters tied upon their wrists, as was once the custom in ancient
Palestine among the prize men. M. de Clare saw a lame man walking in the
procession with a rooster upon his hat ; he saw men strut and crow like roos¬
ters, yet he was unsuccessful in his attempt to find the exact meaning of their
embletns " and ceremonies. " What," asked he of a smart lad standing near,
" is the meaning of the phrase, ' Up Salt River?
"It means," answered the smart lad, "It means just now, a river of
briny tears and raccoons quarters ! (Now go home, Sonnie, and get your hat.) "
M. de Clare was shocked at the impudence of the young boy, not being
AND OTHER WORKS.
IIS
accustomed to such rudeness, but feeling about his head, he found that his
"black silk hat" was gone from it. In his excitement he had not missed it;
how or where he lost it, he was never able to discover. With a shower of
French idioms of indignation falling from his lips, he rode to the office of Mr
Watkins; and after composing himself, he found that the office was even a
better situation for observing tlie "jollification" than the street had been ; and
as there was no probability of
his obtaining any reliable infor¬
mation, he believed it was as
well to be alone. Mr. Watkins
was actively engaged in the
"jollification," being, I think,
a secretary or president of one
of the "clubs." As M. de
Clare therefore looked from the
window at the novel proceed¬
ings, he overheard the follow¬
ing conversation, on the pave¬
ment below :
One individual (they were
men from the country) asked
another fora "chaw." When
a plug of tobacco exchanged
hands ; the one to whom the
plug was handed, asked :
"Which end?"
The other replied, "This
end is Derriocratic, that end is
Republican."
"I chaw for the Democ¬
racy," said the first, taking a
chew from the end designated
as Democratic, and returning
the tobacco.
At a small grog shop near
b'y, and I meant to have said
, ^ , DE CLARE LOOKED FROM THE WINDOW.
some time before this, that
every saloon in the city was doing its bestto supply the demand for strong drink,
[one of the distinguishing features of a political campaign, is the free use of
eleven women and thirteen men
intoxicating drinks—and one of the saddest reflections of good men and wo¬
men, is of the growing evils of intemperance in our land with so little disposi¬
tion manifested by any to resist the curse of drunkenness, or to train the
children to avoid what has been the weakness and sin of the past generation].
Even small boys were seen by M. de Clare, drinking and smoking on this oc¬
casion ; men were there fighting, drinking, cursing, kicking and throwing them¬
selves upon the ground, with '^Hurrahs" that penetrated the sky. M. de
Clare was by no means a perfect man himself, and did not see to the profound-
est depths of true political economy, and possibly did not estimate the immi¬
nent danger our government is in, through high handed treason against the plain
commands of the great Ruler of Kingdoms and Nations ; but he had for rea¬
sons too serious to be lightly spoken of here, in the senseless excitement of a
jollification, for abhorring the traffic and indulgence of men in strong drink,
and for being, politically, a Prohibitionist ; and, whether from excessive heart
sentiment, or cool and veritable grip of btain, it matters nothing in my narrative
of his experience and observations in N , but at this juncture of the jollifica¬
tion, he thrust his head from the window and without manifesting any weakness
or indecision, mopping the perspiration from his face, with the bearing of a man
who has a great work to do, he shouted, in a voice that rose and rang above
the clamor:—"How do the people rise in a Republic! How grand the
success of self-government ! How exalted the virtues of a patriot 1 This is
indeed 'the land of the free,' this is indeed 'the home of the brave!'"
There was a manifest lull, and he had the ear of all within reach of his
voice for a moment as he continued—
"Shall we have any law, save such as is ratified by the leaders of the
liquor organization ? Shall we have any temperance regulation, save such as
augments the power of rumsellers to harm society? Shall temperance men
[while all their petitions are disregarded by the old parties,] continue to vote
for their candidates ? Shall the liquor traffic boycott God and all the people ?
Shall it be permitted to live and assassinate all opposition until there shall be
no libetty in the land ? The black flag of the saloon is hoisted deflantly against
the flag of liberty and the banners of Christian civilization ! Soon there will
be no room in the blue dome of heaven for aught else, and it bears inscribed
in letters of blood. Poverty, crime, RUIN, WOE AND DEATH ! The anti-
poverty society of the nation is the Prohibition party."
At the name Prohibition, the rabble began hissing and crying out against
him, " Agge him! agge him!" and "blow his brains out!" arose on
every hand.
M. de Clare, seeing that he had said too much, withdrew from sight till the
AND OTHER WORKS.
117
excitement he had created by the harangue had subsided, and he could only
hear a cry of "crank! crank! crank!" and "where is he?" murmured at
intervals, and at some distance from the office.
"Well," said a Democrat, who had dropped into the office to rest,
"people, in my opinion, should have the largest liberty consistent with the
welfare of society; and prohibition, you see, would be a failure. Sumptuary
enactments are wrong and can never succeed." And another man who was, it
seemed, in great sympathy with the temperance movement, [and always had
been,] said to M. de Clare, in a confidential undertone, " I see you are a Prohibi¬
tionist, and you are right. The saloon must go, but you carry the matter too
far. You had better not stop the manufacture of liquor. I would come out
and identify my interests with you at once, if I could see any advantage to
myself in so doing. I'll hold on a little yet, and see if the old party might
possibly want me to fill some office ; I have a family to maintain and must look
out a little for myself. When you get a going fairly, if there is a prospect of
my becoming popular in your party, I'll be with you. Meantime I'm too
prudent and too poor to venture so far from the old stall. I expect something
.will soon turn up in my favor."
Three things always remained a mystery in the mind of M. de Clare to
muddle his understanding of a political "jollification"—
Why Watkins, being a Republican, joined in a Democratic "jollification."
{^He rode in a boat!)
Why he (M. de Clare) lost his "black silk hat" which had never been
known to fall from his head without good reason.
Why the Democrats held a jollification, seeing they were defeated when
full returns were made.
I presume these difficulties might have been readily cleared up by one
possessing a good knowledge of politics, and understanding the exact meaning
of the peculiar ceremonies and emblems, customary in a jollification like it
was. M. de Clare felt that he had heard and seen little of consequence. No
harangues save what he, himself, had made. He was puzzled, politically
puzzled and distressed, while in an ethical sense, he was more sorely puzzled and
distressed ; being a scrupulous and conscientious individual himself, he had in
his simple credulity expected that the minister of hlmville, Barnabas Plumsock,
a pronounced advocate of teetotalism and prohibition, would vote according to
such principles as he understood them. He did nothing of the sort ; and
M. de Clare was compelled to believe that in his case it was indeed as Walter
Watkins had said, "that in the matter of an American's ballot conscience was
not allowed a voice." The unreasonable party cupidity, which became so
ii8
elevëM women and thirteen men
strong as to overthrow the moral convictions of this minister, just at the point
where the lever of his influence should have been used to uplift the principles
of the gospel he preached, was in the eyes of M. de Clare a shocking proof of
the great depravity of our political training.
He, however, did not venture to catechise the minister of Elmville in
regard to his ballot. He was sufficiently informed to know that it went
diametrically opposite his ethics ; but he did ask the editor of a newspaper in
N , who had at the juncture of the " Womans' Temperance Crusade,"
entered his sheet in support of the cause of temperance, and had, with more or
less vigor, held to his faith, ' ' why, at the beginning of this exciting campaign,
he had lowered his temperance, and erected a Republican standard.
' ' Seeing the people have despised the day of small things, I must do as I can
afford," answered the editor.
If M. de Clare had asked the minister of Elmville, he would not have
received so faithful an answer from him ; he would have offered a reason for
voting the Democratic ticket in toto, which M. de Clare could not have appre¬
ciated so fully. M. de Clare decided in his illiberal mind, that the afore¬
mentioned minister was an extravagant reprobate puff of wind ; he had yet to
learn how little is unlawfid when cloaked by " expediency," and how little that
word depends upon any conscientious conclusions, or honest private judgment.
The fact was, M. de Clare was too ideal and impracticable in his expectations.
If he could have known James Montifort, the father of little Helena, the
husband of Hester, when he was the minister of Elmville, the asperity of his
judgment would have been essentially softened toward all, for he would have
seen a man even superior to his ideal type of Christian excellence. One who
violated none of the principles of Divine love shed abroad in the human heart,
while his influence was such in all the walks of life as to awaken spirituality
and preclude all thoughts of sordid self-seeking, all contamination with unbelief
or worldly ambition. Of rare culture and intelligence,-when he talked of public
matters he did not talk as a partizan.
James Montifort was a freeman in his fight for human weal. Unlike the
present minister of Elmville, while he realized there are fmdamental evils which
law has no power to reach, which can only be touched by intellectual and
moral forces—forces he wielded with a marvelous power—he did not under¬
rate the "go-carts and crutches" which convey the weak over the dangerous
besetments of evil. While he would not trust too much to legislation. He
believed it to be a chief reliance until a higher and purer society finds in its
own resources a self-adjusting' law of order. Unlike him also, \^ho would not
make Ûve pulpit serve the public in its civil interests, he made it hetald truth in
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119
every cause. Boldly advocating his faith without haggling over the opinions of
others, he did not abstract or divorce the political from the common list of
human responsibilities.
But our friend, M. de Clare, emerged from the mystifications of party
platforms and principles, nay, he was, as it were, thrust forth from the foetid
fogs of partizan quagmires, and forced to conclude that the Republic which
claims to be the skylight of the world is not yet perfect, and is trampling right
under foot and disregarding many of the inherent principles of self-government.
"Yet in spite of all his reason, and the light of conscience, M. de Clare
found in his mind a certain temper, and he could not help judging himself, for
the words of Peter Mowls, the mountaineer, in regard to "wimmin" had left
in his mind a lasting consent, a temper that arose to bias his judgment. Mowls
had said, " wimmin are uppish, and worrient to vote, and not fit for it, and
inclined to diveling, and the kentry would hev to come under if she sot herself
to it, and men would hev to be keerful, while wimmin ought to look to their
husbands." M. de Clare did not like to own that such foolish words had gone
to prejudice his mind more than all the philosophy of Barnabas Plumsock or
any other man could have done. In spite of himself he looked also upon the
political work of our country as the work of bunowers and scavengers, that have
no need of wings. And like many of his sex he had the ephemeral idea that
woman is more fitted for a winged state than man. He feared to have even
the Prohibition party rise on pinions too ethereal, and felt, like Jacob's caravan
on its way to the promised land, that it would be better to lead on softly as
regards "Woman's Rights."
As I have before said, M. de Clare concluded that it would be as well
never to tell Mandeville Lee much about his experience at the jollification, as
the words of Mr. Lee concerning the judicious political training of the system
of government in a Republic, now came vividly to his recollection and he
more fully appreciated the fact that there was little truth in it, and did not
care to provoke any discord between himself and his friend. M. de Clare, as
I have also said before, had an unfortunate habit of plunging into harrangue
when excited, and was then apt to say things he had better,left unsaid. His
harangue at the close of the political jollification, as you have seen, called a
crowd before the office of his friend and well nigh created a riot. He had
witnessed the angry wrangles of the Reichstag, in Berlin, and riots and broils
in his own land, but nothing so tremendous as this, and the state of excitement
into which he was thrown was overpowering, it was therefore scarcely
knowing what he said, that he thrust ^is head from the window and cried out
to the people in language I have once repeated.
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ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
However, after the riot had subsided sufificiently to justify his so doing,
M. de Clare again looked from the window to make further observation.
" My friend," said a short red-faced old Republican, (who may generally
be seen upon the street crossings,) if you would change these things, go home
and dig up your currant bushes, root out your corn and barley, and cut off
all supplies, so there shall be neither beer, wine or whisky manufactured."
"I am at a loss, gentlemen," answered M. de Clare ; " not so much in
regard to the intemperate habits of the people as to the whole system of Repub¬
lican government. Is it not a failure ? "
He addressed his words to all in general, but a fine sized man, with the
air of an educator or college professor, who stood near by, with a face as clean
and as cool as an icicle, answered :
"I pay very little attention to home politics or literature; I have little
time to read, and confine myself mostly to foreign news, and especially to the
affairs of Germany. Sir, I have been in Germany myself. I have seen the
old Emperor; I have walked the streets of Berlin. Did you know, sir, that
the prelate del Mantelletto, of Saxe Weimer, is suffering with a fish bone in
his throat ? "
"And," said another, who could scarcely wait till the professor got
through, "I have been a leader of a Band of Hope for two years, and my
wife belongs to the Temperance Union. In principle we are Prohibitionists,
but public sentiment, you see for yourself, is not ready for the measure we must
wait ; and, meantime, we vote—I vote for the best man on the ticket, irrespec¬
tive of party—we are non-partisan, we vote—I vote where it will do the most
good. We hope that by and by temperance laws will become effectual."
M. de Clare felt sick at heart, and was about to deliver a temperance
lecture, such as this leader of a Band of Hope had never heard, when a sky¬
rocket exploded over the head of the professor and dropped its shower of fire
so artistically about him as to send him, irrespective of the feelings of
Emperor William, out of the crowd of men, proving that he had some respect
for the jollification, after all, and some appreciation of the doings of his own
land. The explosion was immediately followed by a pistol shot in the prox¬
imity of M. de Clare's nose, that cut the words out of his mouth, and he very
prudently drew his head into the office and was silent.
M. de Clare saw a giant at the jollification blowing a blast. Some
believed the Republican candidate was fairly elected, and this man was a Repub¬
lican and carried a small horn to blow upon. Some thought M. de Clare
resembled this giant, and bnce during the heat of the jollification he was
taken for an Honorable, leader of the Greenback party, who lived in the place,
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and twice for the Immortal "J. N." He was at a loss to estimate the value of
these respective compliments, but did not forget that he, himself, was a French
physician and the companion of Mandeville Lee, a gentleman of London.
M. de Clare next saw a preacher look around the corner of a church and
then draw back ; this he seemed to do several times before he could get
courage to venture into the rabble. At last he came forth holding his head a
little on one side and boldly steered to an editor and handed him something
for his paper. The editor glanced rapidly over the manuscript and returned it
to the preacher with an air that showed plainly that he had no sympathy with
the opinions of this clerical individual, whatever they might have been, and
did not care to publish them. A very tall and elderly man from a neighboring
village, also an editor, read a little of the manuscript over the shoulders of the
other, and remarked, "Religion and politics never went together only during
the war, that was a righteous cause and it was thundered from the pulpit—but
the temperance question should remain out of politics, it is a moral issue. As
Republicans we must remain a brotherhood, let love continue to bind us in
union." By this time the city council came up in a body to see what should
be done with the fanatical preacher. "Let preachers stand aloof," decided
the council, "and not meddle with business ; the citizen should have the
largest liberty consistent with the welfare of society. The best thing for
you to do, sir, is to keep out of this cesspool of politics with your kips and
kids, and may heaven have mercy on your soul for the venture you have made
here to-night."
The very tall and thin man was decidedly of the opinion that the city
council was in regard to religion and politics. "We temperance people,
both Republicans and Democrats, can do more good by being, at least, non-
partizan. We must be united, not divided, in the tremendous conflict against
the liquor traffic. If it be taken into politics it can control either party—I
mean either of the two great parties—for it has us by the nap of the neck. I
tell you when it comes to legislating sin and crime out of society, it is up-hill
business ; the heatt and conscience of .the individual man must be changed by
the potency of the gospel. Our government is one by the people. Public
sentiment must reach a higher standard before temperance laws will become
effectual. Men will not enforce law that interferes with personal liberty.
Now in cases of murder, theft and such like, ihe people will put it down."
The man to whom the preacher had presented his manuscript now turned
upon the city council, and, bold as a lion, spoke thus, standing very near the
plucky little preacher as he uttered tírese thrilling words, while all the people
gave ear : ' ' Although I may not agree with this clergyman as to means of
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ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
reform, I am disgusted with the rulings of the council of our city, but last
night we had a lesson written in human blood, will it be heeded?"
In the murder of the estimable and manly young man, Thomas Roach, Is written
a lesson that should not be permitted to go unheeded by the good cltlzei s of our city.
For more than a year I have, In season and out of season, raised my voice and Influ¬
ence against the gambling hells and low dram shops that Infest our city, and through
their nightly violations of the laws of both God and man lead the weak and allure
the young to ruin. No longer than last spring we waged a- i-elentless war against
these dives of the devil and continued our exposition of their wrong doings and open
violations of law, notwithstanding we were threatened time and again with bodily
harm unless we would desist from our work. The people listened to our appeals, and
for a time we thought that these sink holes of Infamy and shame were to he driven
from our midst and the weak and young saved, while the desperadoes and outlaws
would he compelled to seek other places for their unholy work, or tuVii their atten¬
tion to more honorable callings. But as time passes we find we were mistaken, and
that the reforms we looked for and were promised have not come to our fair city.
"Where the fault lies we will not stop to discuss at this time. It Is enough to know that
they have not come and that Instead of these dens of crime having been driven from
our city, they are more numerous than ever, and that from night to night they ply
their soul and life destroying vocations In many parts of Newark, seemingly without
fear of molestation or arrest. We have a city ordinance and a State law, either
one of which. If rigidly enforced, would wipe this shame from the fair brow of our
city, and had this been done. It Is our candid opinion that the sad, heartrending
scenes through which our citizens have passed In the last few days would not have
occurred. In other words, we firmly believe that had these places been closed, as the
law plainly provides, the noble young Irishman, Thomas Roacli, would still he living
and In good health, and Bill Gorman, whose hands are reddened with his blood, and
whose soul Is blackened with the crime of an unprovoked and foul murder, would be
at his daily work Instead of cringing In the cell of the criminal and outlaw as he Is.
It will he observed that this crime was, as nearly all others are, committed late In the
night, long after all legitimate and honorable business houses have closed their doors
and the proprietors and employes have retired for rest. It Is at these unseasonable
hours that these desperate dives meet with their greatest success ; It Is there and then
that men are prepared and fitted for the desperate work of crime and murder ; It Is
then and there that the hraln of such reckless and desperate men as Bill Gorman Is
made craz}'- and ready for such bloody work as he performed ou last Saturday morn¬
ing, only a few minutes after the bell In the court house tower had pealed forth the
solemn hour of one ; It Is there and then that men lose their last cent In the game of
chance ; It Is then and there that manhood Is lost and hell gains full sway ; It Is then
and there that the way Is paved for the commission of all the crimes known to the
calendar; It Is then and there that reason Is lost and the demon In man asserts Itself,
arousing all the baser passions ; It Is then and there that manhood, honor, credit,
morality and reason are lost ; finally. It Is there and then that man, created In the
image of God, Is made a devil Incarnate.
We now refer to this matter In the strong language we do, with the hope that
those In authoifity will awake from the slumber of political and municipal death and
make at least one grand effort at staying the tide of this monster evil by driving every
gambling hell, hack alley dive and gross Immoral den from the city. For this there Is
already law sufliclent ; the good of the city and the welfare and safety of our citizens
demand It, while the blood of ^lie mui-dered policeman cries for the sacred keeping of
the obligations of office as a sacred trust. Then we are of the opinion that It would
be for the welfare of all citizens, rich or poor, If our City Council would wisely fix an
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hour when all places where intoxicants are sold shall close for the night, and then fix
the responsibility for the rigid enforcement of the ordinance where it will be readily
enforced. Had these things been done before, Eoach might still be living, and the home
of Bill Horman would not be filled with sorrowing sisters heart-broken over the crime
committed by their wayward and reckless brother. Such a step will, in our opinion,
receive the hearty endorsement of all law-abiding and order-loving citizens.
"We cannot enforce law, " answered the council, "that interferes with
personal liberty. All sumptuary enactments are wrong and will be disre¬
garded. Of course it is our business to fix the ordinances of this city, but the
citizen must have the largest liberty consistent with the public welfare."
"O consistency thou arta jewel," shouted M. de Clare, making a desperate
effort to reach the side of the fanatical preacher and support him, fearing he
might faint, for the council looked menacingly upon the two men. The
preacher stood his ground bravely, however, and even dared to answer calmly :
"Yet you will not even protest, will not lift a hand or a voice against the
saloon, the fell murderer of homes and hearts, the gluttonous thief of the poor
%
man's wages and the rich man's honor ; the destroyer of woman's virtue and
man's peace. And because I'm here to-night to make one single appeal against
the most monstrous crime-breeder of society, and the most fell engenders of
strife and sin on the face of the earth, you say /, a preacher of righteousness
and one ordained to declare the whole counsel of God, must be silent and allow
the council of this wicked city to say what shall and shall not be the
ordinances thereof."
' ' Shame ! and away with the counsels of hell and the revocations of
damnation," shouted M. de Clare, in a voice to be heard by the city council,
and he would have said more but some woman near him began talking as fast
as she could, and pulled his coat-tail to attract his attention to what she had to
say. M. de Clare was too polite to disregard a woman, and gave her his ear.
[Meantime he lost sight of the council, and minister, and all.]
"Some of you temperance people," began she, "are the very ones
connected in some way with saloons. You rent buildings for saloon purposes,
and I have no confidence in such temperance workers."
"Nor have I," answered M. de Clare, "I would let a building rot or burn
before I'd allow a saloon in it, but your own husband, your son, is guilty also ;
the State, the Nation is foul with the price of blood. Your government
protects, owns and \_fattens f] on the revenue or profits of rum. Your country,
more than any rum seller, or vender of liquor, is guilty before God, and every
man who votes consent is guilty as he who sells or drinks. The- individuals
you refer to remotely connected with saloon property, may be fettered and
entangled by the chains men have forged by their ballots, or handcuffed by the
124
eleven Women and thirteen men
legislation of wire-workers. Such an individual, perchance, would, if it were
possible single-handed, wipe out the whole traffic, while thousands stand with
nothing to do but point to the seeming inconsistency oí such."
"Anyhow, such people have no influence and better keep back and
say less."
"It is hard to estimate the influence any one individual exerts. And we
have no right to think of it. If there is temperance work for our hands to do,
madam, let us throw ourselves upon the altar of sacrifice, and the responsibilty
upon God."
"If ptohibiiion's what you want, sir, my man says, keep that wotd out of
the plank, and you'll get it. He's a Republican, and Pete Mowls he's a
Democrat, and says he, to my man, ' That is the sure way to give yourselves
away to the rum power, and deserves unqualified damnation.' But Pete is
always against the Republican party. My man'd like to see prohibition, but
not if it would destroy the party. I tell yon the old Dimqcrats'd like to see
us split, but we'll stick to the Republican party come what will. We can't see
through temperance arguing, but we know where we vote—I mean John votes,
of course. He knows, my man, he says all you Prohibitionists think you
have to do is to lick out the Republicans. But Pete is clever, sometimes I
think a heap ahead of John, and he says, says he, 'They'll find when they get
through with the Republicans that they are only just to the earthworks, and
the liquor power after all is really entrenched behind the Dimocrats. If
that's so, you had better batter away, you've got lots to do yet. And my
man says too, that women ought to remain non-partizan and not help agin the
old parties. He says the only hope for the timperance cause is in the Repub¬
lican party. And Mowls, on the other hand, says, in the South its right the
other way, that there the Dimocrats are the biggest fools about timperance, and
the Republicans stand out agin it. I guess, taking it all around, its which and
tother, and your'e goin' to have a hard fight with both parties to get your third
party on top. Nobody sees the need of a third party ; there are parties
enough for any good, and you're only injurin' the cause. The quieter the
people keep, the quieter the liquor men will be, and they hold the most power.
Keep the matter sugar-coated a little and go step by stepj and keep the words
out of the plank, and we'll get ahead of them yet. The Republicans have to
do it here in the North, and the Dimocrats there in the South."
There now appeared in the procession a boat, marked " Up Salt River,"
a scene emblematical of something M. de Clare was not able to understand, yet
it left a vivid impression on "his mind. In the boat were four men lying in one
bed, and another was being directed thereÄ. These were to represent de-
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feated candidates who had done something worthy to be made an example
of. "This is a cold, a terrible region," sighed one of the men. "I cannot
keep warm, but I see I'm crowded on to the very rib of the bed, where I must
hold on to keep in at all; but I have been here ever since the days of Vallan-
digham, when copperheads were below par. I count myself a Democrat in
good standing, and am ready to run for office as soon as I feel that I'm forgiven
and likely to succeed. I hold on to hope yet, and console myself all I can
under the circumstances." " I," said a second, raising wrathfully up and
addressing the new-comer, ' ' was defeated by rascality. I was counted out.
Just you hold on a little, if you please ! We're badly confused here now, and
can't agree any too well. Wait! I'll be out of this; I'll rise and run inde¬
pendent of party dictation. I am not tt) be trifled with thus. Let me sleep
this off a little, and I'll be ready for them. I understand the war-whoop yet."
"I," said the third, who kept his mouth covered, as if it had been the offender,
" I argued the temperance question some years ago. I merely argued it as a
moral issue, when I thought the gale blew that way. I was under the awe-
spices of women, I've served my party long and faithfully. I know no rea¬
son I am laid upon the shelf. I desire office. I am inoffensive ; I say nothing
against the count. I love the party, whether I am elected to office or not."
" Not so with me," said the fourth. " I am defeated but not disheartened. I
am defeated through false brethren and personal enemies. I have warm friends,
and shall not give up my race for success. This is a personal business matter,
and as for remaining here, I don't propose to. I'm not looking to the welfare of
the general public. I'm a demagogue, but the party must bend to my dictates or
I'll leave it. I'm not to be trifled with, and I turn cold shoulders to all at pres¬
ent. " " O, my heavens !" exclaimed the fifth man, as he gazed upon the scene,
" I meet with a cold reception, and am already weary and discouraged, and you
direct me to fall in with these defeated politicians, do you?"
"Most certainly, sir! You have exerted yourself to that end, and it is
not my province to condole ; I have always heard it asserted that ' misery
loves company. There you are, sir. Come, make no trouble! "
Again the preacher loomed up before M. de Clare's sight, and a man,
kindly laying his hand on his back, was speaking thus and thus to him :
"You have forsaken Christ's sermon on the Mount. You spend your
time denouncing the only party [the Republican party] that has ever made any
progress in the right direction, the proper direction. It will not do to enter the
arena of politics and form an unholy alliance with a patty to advance temper¬
ance reform. You trail your white banners in the mire. The Dow Law is
good; the Republican party enacted it. It is a step toward prohibition. Wait
120
ëleven wómeñ and thirteen men
a little; vote with us, and by and by we'll take another step." Thus spoke
the keen-minded Republican in the ear of the preacher, who did not conde¬
scend to answer his logic at all. But M. de Clare said it was his opinion that
"this man was a partisan, and that the faint temperance glow his party was
said to emit was a " will-o'-thc-wisp." And as for the Sermon on the Mouut,
the preacher was the one persecuted for righteousness sake, and an alliance
with the Republican party would be as unholy as with any other."
"The Dow law," continued the man, "fails to a limited extent to mitigate
the evils of intemperance, but it is the only step that has ever been taken by
any party in the proper direction. O, let brotherly love be our motto."
"The Dow law is no big thing at all, and you know it. You know the
Democratic party has imposed higher tax in many States than the Dow law
imposes—I should say it fails to a limited extent, by what we see here to-night.
I tell you to your teeth, you are a scoundrel to pretend to belong to a
temperance party. Why didn't you give us the Temperance Educational bill,
you had it in your power? All you do is whdX.little you know will please the
balance of power, then hold it up and crow over your temperance regulations
to keep the eyes of honest, ignorant temperance people closed."
This Democrat talked loud, and was a little thick of tongue, but his wife
hung on his arm, and M. de Clare heard her say, " Harry, I hate the Prohibi¬
tionists, what makes you take their part, Harry?" "So do I hate the Prohi¬
bitionists," said he in an undertone, "but there is policy in helping them,
all the same."
" I don't see it. I'd never help them, you bet ! "
"Never mind. Puss, women can't see into deep things; don't worry,
they'll never get there, at least it don't look so to-night. I tell you the
Democrats are strong in old . "
" O, Harry! it makes my heart swell to see the banners and hear the
drum beat. Could you get me some more roosters to decorate with? I'll put
them on my fan, and on the china, won't it be perfectly lovely ? just divine
and adorable on the berry set and water pitcher ; a crowing rooster, I wish I
could do it justice, could I but "
" O, Puss! give us a rest. I guess you would vote all right if you had
female suffrage.
"Harry, Harry, hush; don't be so vulgar, I'll have trouble enough
without bringing it up to my mind every minute. All you men think of is
something low and mean."
"Why Puss! what you<got in your head to turn so quick?"
M. de Clare did not hear the closing remarks of the woman, for he saw
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something that was calculated to absorb his attention near where he had a
little time before seen the city council. What he saw was a fine appearing
young man who looked plump and sturdy, and was surrounded by a body
guard. M. de Clare had intended to call on this man, believing it would repay
him all he had lost by remaining to witness the jollification if he might form
his acquaintance. He kept his eye on him, and all at once he saw him
walk energetically to the portals of a saloon, pick up a. ponderous hen-coop
and shoulder it, and plunging forward fall with it into the bonfire from
whence he was instantly rescued by his body guard. M. de Clare
set him down as rash.
"By no means," said one, standing near, " but he believes in individual
freedom, he believes in the largest liberty consistent with the public welfare, he
is a true Democrat. Did you see him the night of the riot?"
" I did, but did not know then who he was ? "
"He is ours, he would climb the Alpine Heights bearing the banners of
Democracy."
" Do not mistake me, I am a Ptohibitionist," explained M. de Clare.
"Then you are a fanatical crank, and no business here on the street
to-night—but that young man there knows the truth, and is doing right."
The young man now turned, and in a clear voice addressed M. de Clare,
"You, in your zeal for temperance are in danger of becoming a fanatic. I do
not believe in sumptuary enactments—the citizen should have the largest
liberty consistent with the public welfare. Do you not know that Christ
himself made and drank wine?"
All this jargon and this jostling of opinions seemed strange to
M. de Clare, but he reflected that it was no worse for this descendant of a
great general to be at the jollification than for himself, a French physician and
the friend of such a man as Mr. Lee, a gentleman of London. He felt that he
was losing his self-respect, but resolved for the third time never to tell his
friend about the jollification.
His mind was next attracted toward a man who was being pulled forward
by a woman who talked in an excited, sobbing voice, "Come, come, we must
seek a new party, I can no longer remain tacit, but will cry aloud and spare not.
The Democratic party is no longer what it was when our fathers bled for our
country." The man held back and braced himself with his feet, but with the
strength and determination of an amazon, she brought him forward, jerk by
jerk. M. de Clare watched till they were quite out of the company of rioters,
and the man then walked willingly'>along with his wife ; they seemed to be
128
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
from the rwal district. He next saw two Prohibitionists suffer a rebuff. They
had been conversing in confidential tones and calculating thus :
"We will bring to the support of our party the women of the land."
They then very politely approached a group of timid women, and with
all due reverence said, "Come, cast your lot with us and use your
influence to advance our cause, and we will give you your emancipation
and enfranchisement."
One of them, a squabby, talkative old lady, answered, "I don't know
exactly what that means, but to cast our lot, and use our influence with any
other man but our husbands would be an outrage and a scandal-shame. I will
not suffer you thus to insult me. / iff//^0/zô/wî", " she screamed, "this is no
place for women," and away rushed the whole group.
M. de Clare afterward overheard two women out of the number to whom
the Prohibitionists were talking making their calculations, and getting ready for
female suffrage. These women had no husbands, or brothers, it would seem, to
guide their political inclinations. They began, "We are no doubt to have out
suffrage soon, and ought to be preparing our minds for it. I have concluded to
adopt the party to which So-and-So [meaning some individual] belonged at the
time of thé war ; poor man, I think he was a Republican, I am sure he must
have been, for he was slain for our country."
"Fiddle-sticks, Jane, how foolish to imagine he ever had a sentiment for
you. Why, if he had got home he'd gone straight as a gouge and married
Phebe Pool, and you are always looking back tenderly toward him. I will not
join the Republicans under any considerations."
"Well, Martha, you may do as you choose. I suppose you'll be a Prohi¬
bitionist, for you never had a lover, and care nothing for men, and are hard-
headed, to boot. But the morning of election day, we will have to be up
early, and I will get the bite of breakfast while you milk Mooly, and let out
the hens, and feed the cats, then "
"I will npt look any for the deaf catt, Jane, if she does not come to the
pan, and besides I think you have chosen the easiest share of the work."
"If the deaf cat belonged to you, Martha, you would not go to the polls
until it had its breakfast, if you ranged creation after it."
It is not mine, Jane, and besides I will not have it about me any longer;
an everlasting botheration, since it will not come to the pan."
"Let us not quarrel about the cat, but prepare our minds for our emanci¬
pation and election day. We will wear veils and look down as we go to the
precincts ; it will be a great «ross for me to go to the polls with so many men,
I hope they will have soldiers there to guard us."
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"Will it be any more of a cross than to go to the jollification, or the
races, or even meeting, since there are eternally men about? "
"Aye, but election day, they will swear and fight."
"That we hear and see almost every day in the year."
"I will bring out my silk umbrella, and wear my best dress, and
look a great lady."
"There, Jane, you are foolish again, the precincts are dirty, and the sun is
not hot so late in the fall."
"It generally rains on election day, Martha, but such things need not
trouble us so much as to see that our political principles are true ; we must
study the party platform."
"My mind is made up, Jane, I'm a Prohibitionist, no matter what the
platform is, and I shall see that you vote as I do, or we cannot live in
the same house."
"Then I will move my things, for if I am to have liberty, liberty it shall
be; I will be a Republican."
M. de Clare was shocked to see these sisters fall out over their imagi¬
nary " rights," for Martha actually caught Jane by the shoulder and shook her
severely before the jangle ended. Women should be more intelligent and
more studious and better versed in politics, thought he ; women have as much
right to vote as men, and are, as a rule, as well calculated to do it conscien¬
tiously, but many women are inclined to dictate, and quarrel, if they cannot
have their own way in small things. M. de Clare believed they were more
quarrelsome than men, though he never had any actual domestic experience
himself, however these considerations did not alter his mind, or prejudice him
against womankind in the least.
Little by little the crowd began to be diminished and the .enthusiasm
of the jollification abated, and at last M. de Clare laid his head upon
his pillow too weary and excited to sleep, but with brain alive to the
memories of the night, and busy with numerous well meaning plans for
the morrow. One thing he determined upon, was to write an article for the
newspaper, which article was destined to fall to the ground.
Early on the following morning he made his toilet, visited the barber
shop, put himself in respectable trim for the day, and «auntered forth,
purposing first to call upon the ministers of the place. There being a little
vacation for religion, and a spiritual rest among all the people, he found but one
minister at home who had remained to hold up moral ends, while the others
recuperated, and he seemed determined and full of fight. [The arch enemy in
his cun.ning had allured Barnabas Plumsock to N to help him.]
I30
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
M. de Clare was more successful in finding the doctors of N , who were
generally to be seen standing alert on the corners of the street, and in front of
their offices ready for emergencies and accidents. They were mostly small in
size and keen in wit, but he found that not one of them possessed any knowl¬
edge of materia medica-, except, perhaps, the Priest and one other, whom he
found seated at his desk in his office compounding decoctions, and analyzing
various mixtures which were in array before him. Intent upon his investiga¬
tions, and absorbed in his awakened ideas, he did not notice the entrance of
M. de Clare. He seemed bewildered and for some time did not answer his
salutation, finally he looked up and spoke thus :
" Fifty cents, and ten cents for each powder."
" M. de Clare suspected that he had understood him to ask the price of a
prescription, dhd explained, "I am a French physician, stopping in the place,
and desire to have a little talk with you on scientific subjects, believing that we
will be mutually benefitted thereby."
"I have here," answered the doctor, "formulas which are of inestimable
value in chronic cases, and I will be glad to treat you, feeling confident I can
relieve your malady."
AND OTHER WORKS. I3I
"I am a stranger here, and do not come seeking medical treatment, but
only to have a social chat," explained M. de Clare.
"Ah! yes, rheumatism," said the doctor, staggering across the floor,
"certainly, sir. I have a remedy that will positively effect a cure in every
case of rheumatism—it has become a prevailing ailment in this climate of
extreme changes"—hic-hic. The drunken doctor thus talked and mixed and
hiccoughed and would not hear a word from M. de Clare until a good sized bot¬
tle was filled, corked, labelled and thrust into his hands ; then the doctor
brightly and confidently made out his bill. M. de Clare, who was always
short, actually felt, for the first time in his life, a twinge of rheumatism in his
knees as the bill [one dollar and fifty cents] was presented to him. He how¬
ever was polite enough to pay it without prevarication, as the doctor continued :
"If I'm not mistaken there is a small account on the book," but as he stag¬
gered back to his desk to look up the unsettled account M. de Clare
slipped out unheard by him and proceeded on his way, encumbered with his
demijohn of poke-root. M. de Clare reflected, it may be almost anything, for
how could one so demoralized by strong drink possess enough discretion to
mix in exact proportion a complicated formula in ^'Materia Medica" and
bestow it upon suffering humanity, as this doctor had done in thrusting this
demijohn into my hands? As he walked on considering these things which so
effect the whole "practice of medicine" and cast reflections upon the best
physicians, he grew very angry, and determined to take still more advanced
grounds on the temperance question, as it relates to the science of medicine.
"DameJeanne le diable " muttered he, which in our own language resemble
an oath. "II se conduisit tres mal—le diable ! le faut des medicins, le diable !
qui que ce soit." M. de Clare was walking rapidly; his rage was caused
principally by the loss of the money, of which he really stood in need—having
been obliged to buy a black silk hat the night before ; it would probably now
be necessary to draw on his friend to meet the expenses he had incurred during
his stay in N . As he still walked on purposing to call upon the editors,
he overheard great wrangling on e\^ery side concerning the count. It was
claimed there had been frauds practiced in making out the returns of the
election. "This thing," said a large, influential man, "is an outrage,
I will not abide it."
"And if, and if," answered an important looking fellow, "you could have
managed to be counted in instead of out"
"That would have altered the case," said the first, then I would have
been very well satisfied, for it would "bave been the right count. We must
132
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
have reform in our ranks, or I will forever hereafter run independent of
the regular ticket."
"Well, run! It's which can be the sharpest knave, sir, at ourprimafies."
The editors all hid themselves when they saw M. de Clare coming, carrying
a demijohn and some manuscript, and walking so rapidly ; they were sure he
meant to do some temperance work, and would rather be excused, for they
had got wind that he was a Prohibitionist.
He saw here and there lawyers strolling the streets in about the condition
Walter Watkins had been in during the morning. He would have called on
some of the most notable members of the bench and bar, but hesitated to
the nation's pride and glory, mingled with crowing "roosters, as if to mock
his opinion of the glory, pride and welfare of so great a people, and the
safety of the rising generations. The open door of every saloon seemed
to cry in his ears, as with the open mouth of hell, "The blood be upon us,
and upon out children."
Troubled and totally disheartened he would have sought seclusion and the
communings of his own heart during the remainder of his stay in our city, but
the actual experience proved on the contrary that he was not yet through with
the exciting scenes and experiences of N , for on the morning of the day
he departed for New York to join his friend, Mr. Lee, Barnabas Plumsock, to
his great surprise, called upon him, but most especially to make inquiry con¬
cerning Arthur Weston, as Mrs. Ellenwood had sent some communication to
N by him, expecting her brother had remained to witness the jollification.
There is a dark side to M. de Clare's life, which has not been touched
upon as yet, but the remembrance of which sometimes depressed his spirit and
caused him great suffering. When with Mandeville all such memories as
saddened him were forgotten in his benevolent and absorbing desire to make
advance upon them alone and unprotected after
the harangue he had made, which had rendered
him somewhat notorious and obnoxious to many
of the best citizens, who had gone home from the
jollification resolved not to lower the flag of the
Republic, which ornamented and festooned their
dwellings until he should leave the place. There,
therefore, waved over his head as he walked
abroad, the banners of freedom, as if to defy his
anxious and heartfelt utterances on the previous
evening. He especially observed that the saloons
were all ostensibly decorated with the emblem of
AND OTHER WORKS.
135
his friend's life endurable, but when left alone, as now, when unstrung from
nervous excitement, such as he had undergone during his stay in N , the
old dread feeling would seize him and always drove his thoughts into a channel
dark and hopeless, an abyss beclouded and filled with fears. M. de Clare was
a reformed man, he knew the woe of the drunkard's cup. He had pondered
much on the subject of temperance and felt deeply the necessity of social
reform. He was not prepared for any assault on the movements of reformers,
and some words dropped by Plumsock against taking temperance into politics
caused him to exclaim :
"Why!" his face growing pale with excitement, "why! it has been a
question in politics in England for five centuries. For five centuries the
people have had restrictive laws, restriction by high license—by heavy taxa¬
tion. But the curse of intemperance has steadily increased. Have you not
had the temperance reform in politics here ? Has there been no legislation in
the States? Have politicians taken no steps to restrict the terrible vice, to
remedy the evils ? Have they ever looked upon it as a moral and religious
question, against which they may not legislate ? Has there been neither high
license nor taxation ?"
My dear sir, you are most fiagrantly ignorant concerning our temperance
laws. We have law enough on our statute books, if enforced, to virtually
prohibit the sale of strong drink. It is not better laws we need, but better
enforcement of the laws already existing. But by the grace of God I will do
my part toward keeping the question out
he might gain some ideas from him concerning the Woman's Crusade, a
movement that had interested him very much during Mandeville's visit to the
land of the Orientals, whither the tidal wave of the crusade had reached. He
had not known much about it, or its results in the United States.
"I consider the crusade a failure, a worse than failure," said Plumsock,
"like others, I at first believed it to be the spirit moving the women and that
of politics. The question is one of moral
and religious liberty and not a political issue.
I do not believe in a third party." It was
evident that M. de Clare and Barnabas
Plumsock could come to no understanding
concerning temperance legislation, but M.
de Clare concluded that it was to keeping
prohibition out of politics that the clergyman
had set himself. He hoped, however, that
OUT OF POLITICS.
134
ÈLEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
God's time had come to deliver man from the thraldom of strong drink, 1
felt willing, if it was God's will, that woman should be the weak and humble
instrumen,t in the warfare, while there was nothing for men to do but stand
CRUSADE MEN.
Still and see the salvation, but the result proved, beyond a doubt, that God
found them unworthy to accomplish His purpose; it seems the matter was
only made worse. The saloons increased seven-fold faster the next
year or two than ever before, for the liquor dealers and manufacturers
doubled their zeal, and the puny hand that was lifted against the
deadly giant only inspired them with fury, and the effort proved worse
than useless. There was Mrs. Ellenwood and Hester Montifort, and
many others in Elmville, that seemed beside, themselves for a time,
and now they have relapsed into a state of feeling akin to shame.
I, Barnabas Plumsock, wish there never had been a Woman's Crusade."
I doubt not there are women in this town of N who then marched
boldly forth, relying on a mistaken faith, and plead with the saloon keepers to
forego their damning business, and accept the offered mercy of God before it
was too late ; women who plead with prayer to God, and tears of compassion
for men, unwittingly and in vain, who, seeing these things in a clearer light,
could not now be persuaded even to attend temperance meetings ; the reaction
has benumbed and deadened conscience, or else it was as some opine, the work
of the devil from the beginning, and they now know it, whereas they were
then blind. The cloven foot of the arch enemy I verily believe marched with
those holy women to advance his own kingdom. Many novel and ludicrous
sights were seen by men—mothers entering saloons, and clasping their arms
about their sons, brought them forth never to enter again, for very shame.
Some saloon keepers, and some drunkards were converted, it is true, because
there seemed to be a softening and melting influence in the streaming tears and
trembling tones of those women. My wife, Mrs. Plumsock, stood against it
for a time, but one day, as the procession mbved by her window, they began
AND OTHER WORKS.
135
singing "Must Jesus bear the cross alone," and she caught her bonnet and
joined them, and out-doing all, went to a shocking den of vice and brought
forth our son for whom our prayers were ascending, and he was made free
from that time. Yet the crusade, without doubt, brought a reproach.
"Did they not use religious and persuasive efforts? Did they not do
more than men could have done ? Did they not arouse public sentiment as it
has never been aroused by any movement under heaven ? "
"True," answered the clergyman, "but religious sentiment avails little
against such gigantic evil. The strong arm of the law should be wielded
rather than the puerile voice of prayer."
" Ony how, " interrupted a tall, lank looking Irishman standing near, "a
dacent mon that would creep oot of law without a thaut of the interference of
the Almighty, cannot stand oot agin prayers and sighs ; a divil of a scruple
I'd hev about law, your riverence, if I wus thirsty, but the swate voice of
woman would pester me more, an if it wuz the work of the Almighty in the
beginnin, he is aquil to it and knew all from the first ; and he must be a baste
an an infidel that would say the prayers of them wimmen was agin His will an
His way, that is all. Ony how it is safe enough to leeve ony bizness He
begins in His hands to finish before ye condim yersilf and judge Him." And
stooping forward with hands behind him, Paddy walked on.
"Blast the preacher," said the coachman, a well known Irish Catholic
citizen of the place, as he helped M. de Clare into his coach, "I don't care an
infernal about the women or their crusade, but I like to see a preacltet
stand perpendicular."
M. de Clare, understanding the magnetism of sympathy which the coach¬
man's rough manner was far from betraying, grasped the hand of the man and
exclaimed, "I can trust you, my friend, you, like a strong weather-beaten
oak may have a gnarled and rough exterior, but you are true and
sound at the core."
"You think you've had a rough time of it here in N , but
it will be a heap hotter next time you come along, for we Democrats
are getting on top again."
M. de Clare and the coachman were now at the depot, and it was a
beautiful thing that happened just then. A troupe of lovely young girls
entered carrying baskets of flowers. To each hoquette was attached a card
bearing a motto ; they were to be distributed among the poor, and the prison¬
ers at the jail. One of the girls bestowed a large knot of flowers on
M. de Clare. The crowning element in M. de Clare's nature was gratitude,
and this touching tribute of flowers awakened his heart to its true vibrations
136
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
and put the harrowing thoughts of the morning to flight. Turning toward the
young ladies, he exclaimed with most thrilling eloquence, "I thank you, O ye
of God's white army! Ye who awaken thoughts of humanity! Your sister,
your mother, timidly walked forth to clasp the hand of the bloodthirsty, the
wretched saloon keeper, and lay it in the hand of God. To touch with the
love of heaven, the love of angelic spirits, the breasts of the polluted and
sinful, and plead that he rise out of death and anguish. Ah ! thou vile
murderer of the innocent, thou wilt one day stand naked before His judgment
seat, where will again appear before thee, the pure, gentle faces as they were
once lifted to thine in pleading, bearing a message of compassion. Again
thou wilt hear the holy songs that then penetrated the very walls and counters
of thy heaven cursed saloon, and caused thee to quake before His
presence. Thou didst in conscience know that day, O ! man was fraught
with eternal interests to thee ; interests beyond the conception of mortals.
That invisible consecrated weapon hath smitten thee, and eternity shall
disclose it to thy soul.
Yes, on that day when the prayers of women deluged the throne, the fiat
of heaven was sealed against the liquor traffic, and the hour is near when it
shall be destroyed, root and branch.
The results of that holy march are unfolding day by day, as the
white sandaled feet of His hosts move on, [no longer kneeling without
the sin cursed saloon door stretching forth the hand of mercy,] but
bearing the banners of His warfare triumphantly forward, led by the
conquering King of Glory."
During the harangue to the young ladies, the,coachman's mind had
wandered, and when M. de Clare was silent, he turned to him and his question
seemed rather abrupt: "Well, did you see any Greenbackers in N ?"
" Yes, " answered M. de Clare, on returning to the office after calling
upon the doctors, " I saw a man just turning green back."
"Just turning?" laughed the coachman.
" I think that was the case, and seeing I was anxious in regard to it,
he invited my candid, attentive investigation."
I see," said he, "no difference at all between the two old parties, no
issue between them, nothing but party name and prejudice, but I see a need of
ret'orm ; the currency and labor question is the issue before the people to-day."
"I see it, sir, can you not see it?"
I was afraid to say I saw it, for if I saw anything I could not tell what I
saw, but I answered, " I'm sure I see need of reform, how would your party
effect the morals of the country?"
and other works.
137
"It would change everything, everything, sir, if the principles of our
platform could predominate. Can you not see it?" he asked again.*
"I see," answered I again, " need of reform. I see beneath what you
or I perhaps have ever been familiar, a strata of slaves of toil. What do we
*The Union Labor Platform dismisses the temperance question by declaring that
it will settle itself when the working men obtain the legislative i-eform for the
alleviation of their lot that they demand, although the greatest among their leaders
speak in snch words as follows :
" Bum is the greatest curse of the working-man to-day. ... I can conceive
of no place on the face of the earth where, if the question of Prohibition were raised,
I would not vote for it at every opportunity. ... I recognize no half-way
station between Prohibition and free rum."
Said P. M. Arthur, Chief of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers, in a
speech in Cleveland, March 28th, 1886: "If I could, I would inaugurate a strike
which Avould drive the liquor traffic from the face of the earth. ... I say, close
up the saloons and keep them closed, not only on Sunday, but every day of the year."
Said Terence V. Powderly, Grand Master Workman of the Knights of Labor,
before the General Assembly of that order: "The temperance question is an impor¬
tant one, and 1 sometimes think it is the main issue In the whole
English language I can find no word that strikes more terror to my soul than
the word, ' Bum.' "
"I know I am right. I know that, in refusing to even touch a drop of strong
drink, I was and am right. In refusing to treat another to that which I do not
believe to be good for myself to drink, I know that I am right. In not allowing a
rumseller to gain admittance into the order of the Knights of Labor, I know I am
right. In advising our assemblies not to rent halls, or meeting-rooms over drinking
places, I know that I am right I have done this from the day my voice was first
heard in the council halls of our order. My position on the question of temperance
is right. I am determined to maintain it, and will not alter it one jot or tittle. I
know that in the organization of which I am the head thei-e are many good men who
drink, but they would be better men if they did not drink. Ten years ago I was
hissed because I advised men to let strong drink alone. They threatened to rotten
egg me. I have continued to advise men to be temperate, and, though I have had no
experience that would qualify me to render an opinion of the efficacy of a rotten egg
as an ally of the imm drinker, yet I would prefer to have my exterior decorated from
summit to base witb the rankest kind of rotten eggs rather than allow one drop of
liquid villainy to pass my lips.
Ten years ago the cause of temperance was not so respectable as it is to-day,
because there were not so many respectable men and women advocating it. It bas
gained ground. It is gaining ground, and all because men and women who believe
in it could not be brow-beaten or frightened. Take a list of the labor societies of
America, and the total sum paid into the treasuries from all sources from their organ¬
ization to the present time will not exceed $5,000,000. The Knights of Labor is the
largest and most influential of them all, and though so much has been said concerning
the vast amount of money that has been collected from the members, yet the total
sum levied and collected for all purposes up to the present time will not exceed
$800,000. Now let us turn to the other side. In New York alone it is estimated that
not less than $25,000 a day are spent for drink, $7,500,000 in a year. If I cared more
for the praise and approbation of labor'».enemies than I do for the interests of labor I
would remain silent. We are seeking to reform existing evils. We must first I'eform
oqrseJyps."—Grand Master Workman Powderlt.
138
eleven women and thirteen men
know of the life of men, bound in the strain of muscular exertion, until mind
is almost buried. The life of the moiling millions, whose years are consumed
in the darkness and din of drudgery until soul is almost obliterated. Have
you found a tangible lever that laid hold upon would lift them into the daylight
of life ? If so, let every man bring his strength to bear, and let the poor man
breathe the blessed atmosphere of heavenly inspiration. Yet the laboring
strata is not the most pitiable strata of society. The evil that produces most
vice brings the darkest woe and the deepest degradation to humanity, and the
everlasting destruction to all classes is the evil of drunkenness. It hath been put
thus on record in the eter¬
nal Word: 'Who hath
woe? Who hath sorrow?
They that tarry long at
the wine.' I see need of
reform. I see the tyranny
of monopolists and the
wrongs of employes, but I
am disgusted to see men of
all parties, on all fours,
looking for party issues, when there is so much before politicians to
engage their active energies in crushing out so great an evil as an organized
liquor association.
"Then as I was walking the street the next evening after the jollification
I observed some men sitting like a row of nine-pins in front of a saloon. An
officer passed by and striking each man below the knees with his mace, he
cried out authoritatively to them : ' Begone now to your homes before every
cent of your wages is in the hands of this saloon keeper.' It is no wonder the
families of the day laborer must mourn in indigence and the children remain
illiterate. You chafe and clamor against your employers, when the larger half
of your wages is spent for that which is worse than nothing. No wonder you
are without homes and the comforts of life. Rum is robbing you ; the
rapacious maw of the saloon is swallowing up your children's bread. You win
all needed comforts by your toil, but the remorseless, red-handed fiend of a
liquor dealer clutches every luxury, yes many needed comforts before you
reach home on pay day. Then you grovel about to find something else to
blame for the workingman's poverty. Aye, I must repeat it, sir, I am dis¬
gusted to see men on all fours looking for party issues upon which to base their
reforms."
" Not a bit of need of it, sir ; the principles of om party are ever the same
AND ÔTHËR WORKS.
139
—with the staunch old Democracy, no need of new issues. Our party
embodies the only true American idea. I think, by the way, I have seen that
cranky old Plumsock somewhere before. He's a Republican, ain't he?"
"A Democrat, I fear, answered M. de Clare."
"Where does he live when he's at home?"
"He lives in Elmville."
"I thought I'd seen him before. He's a black-mouth Presbyterian.
When I was over on election day to gather up our dead-beat voters, he got in
the omnibus and rode over, and I supposed he was a Republican of course, so
I charged him."
" Do you bting your voters to the polls in carriages ? "
" Only the sick and disinterested. I went to Elmville after Jerry Ellen-
wood and a few like him."
" I thought Jerry was dead," said M. de Clare in some surprise.
Not yet, [blast him he ought to be,] but if I get a ticket in his hand and
get him to the precinct it counts one for the Democracy every time. Such
men should not be allowed a voice in controlling the interests of the country.
Drunkards and saloon keepers should be classed with women, in my opinion,
and disfranchised."
"It is our principles that all who are governed by the law shall have a hand
in making it. "
"Some men sell their votes, I'm told."
"They are getting so they expect a little something if they are your man,
but a glass of liquor generally fetches them."
"Then they go home and abuse their families."
"Not many of them ; a man has to get pretty low to do that."
"I'm concerned about my friend Watkins."
" Watkins will have to get over the fence. He stands no chance in the
Republican party in this county, and another thing he ain't got money
enough to run a campaign. It's money at top, middle and bottom. Money
all along the line. And Watkins ain't got, and never will have, office unless
something should divide us, which I very much fear. There's Judge and
Gen. and me, are worried over some of the doings of the party. I tell
you, sir, these 'are a ring.' One thing about us, we are not divided on the
temperance question. We can count clean, clear, cool heads on that. We
all believe in allowing men the largest liberty consistent with the public
welfare."
"I am a Prohibitionist, sir, I—"
Eleven Women and thirteen men
"You're a There is about forty in the township like you. You
need not think party is in sympathy with You need not grasp my
hand expecting me to help you on in your tomfoolery. I'm a temperance
man ; I never drink, and I believe in a judicious system of license. You see
for yourself it is a moral and not a political question."
"I see no such thing! As there is a God in heaven I see no other issue
so tremendous before your nation to-day as the political temperance question.
You cannot suppress it; the great pendulum is swinging with increasing force
and speed at every sweep. It being a moral and religious issue makes it
only the more momentous, sir! You may as well attempt to stay the tide of
the ocean as to check this God inaugurated political reform. It is no dead or
slumbering issue. It strikes the heartstrings of home, of women and children.
It will be a bitter contest, for it has arrayed in mortal combat the two extremes
of society. The thought, the issue is that which underlies all true patriotism.
The protection of the weak and innocent against the ravages of cruelty and
oppression. The thought, clasping home and the tenderest ties of affection and
of humanity, is arrayed against the foe of social purity ; the inhuman fiend of
licentiousness and crime, the debaucher of politicians and the ballot box. The
damning monster whose foot is upon the neck of your party, sir, is strong and
incorrigible, but there is that which in heaven is called wtath of God, risen
against it, and it cannot stand the face of that force."
"The Democratic party is better as regards temperance than the Republi¬
can ; neither is it so bitter against you Prohibitionists. They are your worst
enemies—the Republicans."
" I know, sir, the reform is coming! The brain and the soul of the nation
is fast falling in line."
"There is too much money in the hands of the Liquor Association. They
will conquer with their money. The bone and sinew of warfare is against you.
That's why we can't afford to listen to conscience. The party, neither party,
can afford to lose the liquor power."
"Then you shall by-and-bye lose all else!"
"I see that of the Republicans, the tempest's in the teapot already—
leave the lid on, or take it off, it's going to bust."
"Then the best temperance idea is in the Republican party, and the party
may yet advance to it."
"Never! It is the beer party. It was born of a beer mother, nursed
on a beer bottle, made drunkards of its brave boys in blue, turned its glory into
shame in the rank and file of our army, and now, by the infernal, you think it
* See Dictionary.
AND OTHER WORKS.
14t
will become a tempetance party.. No, you can't learn such an old dog new
tricks. You may as well give up expecting the Republicans to turn Prohibi¬
tionists. The worst cranks will come from that party into yours, no doubt ;
but when you get a Democrat over you've got a man of principle. But work
away, you are not dangerous."
"Aye, but the whirlwind of heaven is, and we rely on God for His help
to overthrow the liquor parties."
"All right! Go ahead! Let Him help all he can. I don't see any
danger to the Democratic party if He does."
It was time for the coachman to open his omnibus, for the east-bound
train was coming, and M. de Clare would soon be whirled on to other exciting
scenes and adventures.
Lest the introduction of so much politics make my book dry and
obnoxious to women and children, I must hasten on with my story. I hope to
insert in this volume words expressing the opinions of a number of the leading
citizens of our own city and county on the subject of temperance legislation.
Among such I call particular attention to the letter of Dr. J. M. Black, on the
introduction of Temperance Study in the Public Schools. Dr. Black, one of
the foremost scientific scholars and writers in his profession in our land, appre¬
ciated far and wide among medical practitioners, gives no uncertain sound in his
note of warning against the "poisonous cup."
In this humorous chapter in which I have gathered together many of the
opinions I have myself read and heard, as expressed by esteemed friends, I
have given such, as seem to me, make most clear the attitude of the parties
toward the great temperance reform, which is agitating society. In an
ordinary, every day style, as expressed before our children and friends, I have
arrayed these opinions before you. The words are, many of them, exactly as
I've heard them. The philosophy of Plumsock is not drawn from imagination,
I assure you. The expressions of M. de Clare and the coachman are exactly
such as I heard used by Christian and rough politician. Many of the sayings
are word for word, what I've caught up as I have conversed or listened to the
converse of others. I have gleaned arguments from Democrats and Republi¬
cans of our own city, just as they have appeared in county paper, or have been
listened to from the platform. I only wish 'they were bettet and more
convincing, since these are the parties that now hold the interests of
society at stake.
The opinions in regard to the great reform are meager as expressed by
party leaders, because they habitually avoid the question, and shift it aside as
ELEVEN vVöMEN AND ÏHÎEÏEEN MEN
one of little consequence. The gigantic problem is treated as if it were not art
issue, simply because it threatens death to the party that handles it, and that the
demagogue knows. The average voter makes a false estimate of public senti¬
ment and guages his conscience thereby. The estimate made, when popular
sentiment is measured, leaves out in the first place, all the desites, the prayers,
the sufferings and horrots of two-thirds of the members of society, vs. the
women and children. Secondly, it leaves out the Christian spirit and humane
hopes of many voters, and reckons from the impressions, all these things make
on legislators, and the legislation, we are able to grind out of them by petitions,
largely circulated by the women. Why not rise abreast of right! O man !
when you cast your ballot, rather than be content to vote according to public
sentiment, so estimated.
Extract from the Farewell Address of Canon Wilberforce to the American
People.
" I do not understand your politics, and I may be treading on dangerous
ground when I say it ; but I am utterly unable to understand the value of this
compromise which you call High License. I don't understand how taking
High License money from a wrong can make it morally or financially right. If
you must have the liquor traffic in New York, I'd rather it would be down in
the lowest grog-shops than in the gilded saloon with its semblance of respect¬
ability. Your son and mine will be in less danger of being tempted by the
low, filthy groggeries, than by the gilded saloon. If a thing is wrong can
taking more money from it make it right? If the price of Judas' crime had
been $i,ooo instead of thirty pieces of silver, would it have been any the less
detestable ? I want to see the day when from Florida to the great lakes your
country shall be under Prohibition.
"England is blighted by the liquor curse. It is an octopus which is
throttling the life out of us. Thirty-nine million pounds of Excise money goes
annually into the public treasury. And she spends ;£^io,ooo,ooo on her pauper
and criminal class, 10,000,000 for charity, 5,000,000 on her police—a sum
greater than the cost of maintaining her army and navy. Just so far as a
nation renders herself wealthy by the degradation of her people, so far is she
on the downward course to ruin. God keep America from ever getting into
that condition. All the world is looking to you. We are all watching this
experiment of a government of the people, for the people, and by the people.
If you fail in this experimentxyou will block the wheels of the advancing civil-
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143
ization. You will fail if you don't get your heels down on the neck of the
liquor traffic.
"How is this to be done? Only by dealing with this thing on the
principal of total abstinence for the individual and prohibition for the State."
"I insist that, considered merely upon the lower plane of political
economy, there is no one subject now before the American people at all com¬
parable in gravity and importance with this one. How to curtail and finally
destroy this evil is the great problem of the hour. Its solution stands next on
the world's calendar of progress."—Ex-Secretary Windom at the Woodstock
Fourth of July Celebration.
"As sure as there is a God of justice and righteousness in heaven, so
surely will this liquor usurpation and those who abet its rule pay the penalty
for having outraged eternal right. It must come."—T. H. Peatne, D. D.,
address delivered at Cincinnati M. E. Pi cachet s' Meeting, June 13.
CHAPTER XVII.
in which we are back several years to the early history of hubert.
Hubert's mother.
The night was black and stormy ; the day had been a bitter, disagreeable
one, but the mansions of the rich do not let in the cold. The affluent home of
one of New York's most respected and wealthy citizens was bright and warm,
but the beautiful and only child, Louise, was lying sick. This idolized
daughter had never been permitted to feel a desire unrealized, yet she was
miserable, cold hearted and selfish ; no bestowment of money, no luxury of
dress, or expenditure of flattering care, brought gratitude from her soul. She
had passed a restless day ; not that she was so sick, she was discontented and
irritable, and would not allow her mother or herself to know she was better.
The mother was a woman apparently sixty years of age, yet not care-worn ;
she was more patient, more considerate, than Louise, and there was a stately,
cold pride encircled her, like the atmosphere in which she moved, and which
forbade the approach of friendship ; she was narrow and constrained in
thought, how could she be otherwise in action. She esteemed Louise as a part
of herself,, and denied her nothing ; all the love she was capable of bestowing
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145
had so far been bestowed upon herself and this beautiful daughter, who never
displayed any appreciation of her mother's devotion, or gave, during her whole
life, one single proof of affection. On the morning of this dark, inclement
day, mother and daughter had been laying important plans [which must be
carried out soon, if at all]. In the afternoon the mother had gone out in the
disguise of a servant, to one of the most depraved quarters of the city, and
had held conversation-with a woman of base character. In the same vicinity
she had also conversed with a German saloonist and his wife. After her
return to her home, strange things were taking place in her own private room ;
indeed, for three weeks no servant had been allowed to enter it, and she had
spent most of her time there. On the evening of this day she had been
packing a wardrobe, elaborate and beautiful, evidently selected with an eye to
the protection and comfort of the wearer. Then came the work of muffling
and lulling an infant, preparatory to a journey into the darkness. She held an
infant to her bosom, rocking it, looking often anxiously into its tiny face, to
see if it were asleep, but it seemed restless ; at last she tied its soft hood, and
while she tied it, a little pink hand clasped her finger and held it with all the
energy and strength a child three weeks old was able to exercise. She looked
into its little apology of features as it laid so helpless in her arms, clinging to
her finger, then rose with a peculiar relaxation of her face, and carried it to
the beautiful Louise ; she walked with a weary, intrepid step ; " Louise 1 " said
she, taking the little creature to the bed, " look here 1 it does seem too bad ! "
"Take the ugly thing away; that has brought me all this suffering and
trouble, " screamed Louise, without bestowing a single glance upon the child.
Then gathering it closer to her bosom, and unclasping its hold upon her finger,
the woman retraced her steps to her own room. Louise was her only child,
and this was a grandson. She must secrete its birth from the world, yet she
intended to do well by it ; but some way, by its own mysterious power, it had
magnitized her heart, and she could not lay it aside without pain. Louise was
a wife, and the child could have been protected under the roof without
bringing disgrace, but Louise had neither the instinct of the wild beast, nor the
pity of the savage. Her young husband, of whom she had tired, and had
spurned, had finally deserted her, and now it must not be known in society
that she is a mother. She must again reign in its ranks without a peer. After
the child had been disposed of, and the heavy-hearted grandmother had
returned to her daughter, Louise demanded, "Bring me a mirror." The
mirror was handed her, and she gazed upon her image, turning her face from
one attitude to another, assuming variechexpressions, now smiling and bowing,
now affecting scorn and disgust, now an arch, innocent, confidence, and now a
146
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
sly, coquettish smirk; for nearly an hour she employed herself with
such grimaces, then languidly gave the mirror to her mother. After a
long rest, she asked :
"What are the dispatches, to-night?"
"The battle is still raging, my dear."
"Is papa commanding?"
"Yes, my daughter, and thousands are falling on both sides."
"Did he send you any money, to-day?"
"No, Louise ; there has been no time for a word even to us."
' ' Pshaw ! I was afraid he would forget to send his check, have you plenty
for me ? I must have a grand outfit for the first ball, something more elegant
than ever before. Mamma! it is such a disgrace to have been married; I
wonder if Oscar joined the army when he left.?"
"I do not know, but I presume he did; I see that a captain by his name
has been promoted for bravery, and spoken of as a fearless, gallant soldier."
" Does that mean a common soldier?"
" No, Louise ; but he must attend to the duties of his post."
' ' What post is he at ? "
"I mean, my dear, he must command his men and help to plan
the battles."
"That is nice; he is not in the ranks, then?"
"No; not as a common soldier.
"Is he in the battle, then?"
"Yes, dear; but you will become exhausted; try to compose yourself
and sleep now."
"I am not sleepy; I want to talk, but if you won't talk, hand me the
mirror, there is one thing I want to learn," replied Louise, angrily. She then
raised herself and sat up in her bed, mirror in hand ; held her head on one side
and dropped it, till her exquisite chin touched the laces on her dimpled neck ;
then opening her large, black eyes, raised them to a certain angle, and drew
her mouth into a pout. " That," she snapped out.
"Yes," my darling," responded the mother, and Louise dropped with a
weary sigh upon her pillow.
"Mamma, do you know whether Harry has returned to England?"
"I believe not; he seems to be the idol just now."
' ' O, mercy, mercy ! Why was it so, why have I been so treated, why
was that dreadful thing born?"
"There, there I my darling child, you must forget your sorrow and try to
sleep."
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147
"I tell you I am not sleepy and shall not compose myself. I am awake
all the time thinking over my trouble." The fact was Louise had been nap¬
ping all day and was now wide awake, while her mother had been unusually
active and anxious and was very much exhausted. She had taken the infant
to a German by the name of Richard Kruitz and his wife, a woman of gentle
and quiet manners. On entering the room with the little outcast, this woman
took it in her arms, and looked upon it with a mild emotionless gaze, slowly
and comfortably arranging its clothes
about it, without the least exhibition
of flurry or agitation. , This woman
had no spirit ; years of docile servitude
to her brutal husband had rendered her
character what, perhaps, the character
of her ancestors in Germany had been,
who became beasts of burden and
drawers of carts beside the oxen their
husbands own. Her meekness was in¬
bred, and there had never been any
encouragement in her life to awaken
any latent ambition which may have
lurked within her. She was well calcu¬
lated to nurse the infant, if it had not
been for the interference of her hus¬
band, who ruled the house. She laid
the infant upon the bed and softly
opened the door of the saloon. With
a strange grunt, her lord arose and
came into the room. You have seen
a hundred such specimens. He was
no more a representative German than
tatives of the Irish. He was probably an outlaw and a vicious citizen at
home, and a few years in America have not been calculated to improve him.
He was then a walking hogshead of bad beer. His eyes were small and pig¬
gish, his face red and blotched, his arms short and heavy. In soul he is worse
than the brute, as his eyes indicate ; the bleared, unfeeling stare says, that he
has no regard for others of his kind. He is cruel, ravenous and gluttonous ;
in truth he possesses all the evil qualities of the swine with none of the
good. He has no children of his own', and has decided to adopt one for the
consideration of a large sum of money, besides its support, which he meant
RICHARD KRUITZ.
Judy or Jimmy O'Rork are represen-
148
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
should figure up high. He does not look at the infant with whom he has
now connected himself, he simply stands before the grandmother with his
hands upon his hips and waits for the solid benefits of the written contract.
He has bound himself to do so and so, but he is not responsible and
feels no responsibility. There is, of course, no such thing as conscience or
honor left in him. After the money is paid, which he receives with a
grunt, he orderes his wife to unwrap the child.
A girl of about fourteen, with slight figure and fragile colorless face, stood
against the wall, not far from the gentle Mrs. Kruitz. Mrs. Hoadly directed
her gaze toward the girl—whose profusion of flaxen curls almost concealed her
face and form—as she explained the uses of the elaborate and beautiful ward¬
robe given for the infant. She no doubt guessed the young girl was to be the
infant's nurse. With deep intelligent eyes Caroline [for that was the girl's
name] showed her interest and her appreciation of Mrs. Hoadly's words.
However she did not speak or venture to move from the wall where she was
standing, and on the entrance of Kruitz a nervous spasm seized the colorless
face, drawing the mouth to one side and bringing a more deadly pallor to the
child's lips. A vicious glare from the wretch's eye and an ejaculation, unin¬
telligible to Mrs. Hoadley, caused Caroline to drop her head, and a crimson
flush of shame suffused her ghastly visage as she slipped out of the room
pressing her hands upon her heart. All this time the tired and really anxious
grandmother remained standing. She is now given to understand that she is
to take no further trouble or care upon herself concerning the child or its
future welfare. Indeed, Kruitz had it inserted in the contract that she was not to
see it at all to draw its affections away from its foster parents, but must be regu¬
lar in all remittances that should be asked to assist in its education and support.
She made a mistake in her contract, bnt she could do no better, and she
expected to have a close lookout kept by one of her able and trusted male ser¬
vants. Immediately after the grandmother quitted the dismal apartment, Hu¬
bert's life of suffering began. At night he must be laid in the coal closet, that
his crying might not disturb the foster father in his heavy slumbers ; he must not
be fed or attended during the night, for the same reason. But as Kruitz was
oftener abroad than at home, this did not fall so heavy, for the gentle woman
soon grew fond of her charge, and was for a wonder independent enough to
manoeuvre to care for the helpless little creature, who soon grew sickly and fretful
from frequent exposure, which served to bring still greater cruelty upon its head.
By the time Hubert was a year old he had learned to tremble at the sight of
the brutal man, and the pain that quivered on his lips could not force an out¬
cry in his presence. Kruitz Icnew two things—that he had Hubert under
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149
control, and that he had made it pay. The very first day, the beautiful outfit
which had been prepared with so much taste and expense, was sold for a good
sum. There is no end to the things that can go to make a small child
miserable, and poor little Hubert was always mistreated. Then when he grew
older his life of hardship and toil gradually grew bitterer. Punishments were
inflicted often, and with great relish by his foster father. At regular intervals
reports were made to the grandmother, ingeniously contrived, footing up con¬
siderable, and always, from time to time, increasing expenses, which the afore¬
mentioned male servant of her own indorsed, and which she was prompt in
meeting, being greatly gratified that Hubert had found so good and respectable
a school, where he was reported to have been since his fourth year, while
instead, Hubert was initiated among the boys and girls of criminals and vicious
people, and taught to enter into all manner of evil habits.
Caroline, Hubert's little nurse, had been in the employ of Kruitz a short
time before he adopted Hubert. She had been hired to him by her father who
was in debt and under obligations to the saloon. Caroline had a habit of
pressing her hands upon her heart when in distress as if her sufferings were
breaking it, and they were. She had been lovingly and carefully reared by her
mother, who was now bereaved of her, a drunkard's wife, dying of want,
without even the comfort of the loving child's presence, and it was only since
Caroline's separation from her mother she had grown so fragile and sensitive.
Her father was a daily frequenter of Kruitz' saloon, and yet the sound of
his footsteps or his voice would cause the strange hysterical twitching of Caro¬
line's face, and sometimes she would be completely overcome and would fall in
a fainting fit. She had been his good angel in his own miserable home, but
here in the saloon she could not bear his presence. She knew that her mother
was deserted and dying while she could not go to her, while she must stay and
be whatever Richard Kruitz wished her to be. Puny as she was, she had
heretofore been the wall between her darling mother and the brutality of her
drunken father—the wall between him and swift destruction ; now she was
swept down by the resistless tide of his ruin, and placed where rum places the
worse than fatherless daughters of its victims by thousands, swelling the great
gulf of infamy and misery. Rum, the giant fiend, the fell destroyer of the
innocent and weak. There was no way of escape that Caroline's helpless,
timid soul knew of, except one—death. Her homesick heart shrank from
taking that one step, which would cause her poor mother yet keener anguish
and the loss of her only earthly joy. The coming of little Hubert into the
place interested Caroline. She became self-forgetful when there was anything
to do for the relief of another, and the neglect and suffering of the infant
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
enlisted her sympathy. She was permitted at length to be its nurse and to
take it out, and this also gave her an opportunity to steal to the abode of her
sick mother occasionally ; but at each visit the parting grew more painful—
her mother soon passed away, and had it not been for Hubert, had it not been
that he must have her care, she would have gone to her poor mother, she
would have made her escape. But the old habit of pressing her hand upon her
heart frightened Hubert, for there was a wild, sharp expression in her eyes
and a strange hardness about her mouth, at such times, he could not bear to
see. He would cling to her neck and hide his eyes in her flaxen curls and
scream till Caroline would be obliged to soothe him and carry him away before
Kruitz should come and punish him, and so Caroline waited and lived on a
little while longer for Hubert's sake. As he grew older, and his hardships
multiplied, he nestled still nearer to her heart for protection, and the two
children, enduring such cruelty at the hands of Richard Kruitz, sat together in
close union, but Caroline's desperation was growing upon her, and the one
step, the one way of escape, came offener to her thoughts. She would not go
down to the lowest deep of shame and misery, she would go to her mother.
During Hubert's life in the saloon, which outlasted Caroline's so many years,
he carried a living picture of her death that haunted him in every room and
made the place doubly horrible to him. Aye, there remained during his
entire life a secret dread gallery in his memory, foul with sin and anguish in
which the death of Caroline was ever the central figure, causing his soul to
sink and his heart to bleed for her, for Caroline had taken her own life, and
Hubert remembered her a beautiful girl, in the full bloom of womanhood, at
the age of nineteen, dead in the room next to the saloon, with stony
eyes that stared upon him when he opened the door, and found her
there ; he remembered her the victim of her fathet's sin, the victim of
rum, accursed rum.
And in another gallery in Hubert's memory, was the picture of little
Caroline at prayer—her face and form completely shrouded by her profusion of
flaxen hair which almost touched the floor as she kneeled and sobbed beside
his bed. He would wait long for her sobs to cease, wishing she would rise ;
sometimes he would venture to disturb her, she would tell him that she had
been talking with her mother. Then he would watch her gather up her hair
and bind it, and her face looked very fair and beautiful as she stooped to kiss
him, as she always did before she left him for the night. It would be hard to
explain the nature of the attachment Hubert felt for Caroline, it was a love so
pure, so sealed with sorrow, that to the end of life, when any suffering or trial
reached him, his first thought was of her, and her sympathetic smile as she
AND OTHER WORKS.
would gaze on him, through her sad expressive eyes, that were a part of his
being, imprint just like the eyes of a mother are forever mirrored on the soul
of her children. The summer she died, she would take him by the hand when
Kruitz would be away, and they would sit together by the old wall in the little
back yard. She was a woman, then, and she would tell him that they would
have to part, that he must not miss her, for he was a boy and could make his
way in the world, and that he would soon be a strong young man, out of the
reach of his father's cruelty. She would tell him that she meant to go away
from the saloon, because she could not bear to be there, and because it was
wrong for her to stay. He often awoke to see her kneeling by his bed
in the morning, and he wondered if she had been praying to her mother
all night. Poor Caroline was taking her leave of the dearest object of
earth, for she was preparing to take the one step that would usher her out
of misery into happiness.
A few months after the death of Caroline a daughter was born to Richard
Kruitz, and the gentle wife died, and Hubert was bereft of the last friend on
earth that lived to show him any kindness. He was also obliged to take the
sole charge of the infant—his little sister—who soon grew to be a great delight
to him, but she was puny and in less than a year sickened and died. Kruitz
was too degraded to love her, and Hubert was constantly obliged to shield her
from his brutality in times when he was intoxicated. In a cruel humor he would
hold the frail, nervous babe for an hour in a vice-like grip, so as to prevent its
moving, scarcely giving it freedom to breathe, and the little sufferer learned to
bear its torture without a moan. Hubert could not endure this, and he would
steal away with the babe and keep it for days out of its father's sight, for
which he often bore sore punishment. He would walk stealthily away and
nurse it by the river, where he could secrete himself, and the people became
accustomed to seeing him walking back and forth, anxiously soothing the little
sufferer. It wasted slowly away, always dropping its little weary head on Hubert
for rest. It became too sick and weary at last to be taken to the river to be
soothed and diverted by him, but in the rear of the ale-house there was a little
open space where the sky looked down, and there he would stand or walk,
pointing out the clouds and the flickering rays of sunlight to the babe. At
last, after a few feverish days of real disease, it was dying, and its father was
informed of its condition. He sat down and held it firmly during its death
struggles. He sat near the fire, and more than once Hubert thought he saw its
little tender hands strike against the stove as it threw them up in its agony for
breath. It would be hard to tell whi^h suffered most—Hubert or the babe in
that dying hour. Motionless the former stood, with pallid features and an
152
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
expression of desperate helplessness, sympathy mingled with horror. The
stricken, ghastly face of the infant seemed to turn to him in mute appeal just
as it took its flight. Thus had passed away his sweet little sister, leav¬
ing him to live on alone, as thousands of children live that have not the
sunshine of love. It was at the age of thirteen Hubert was first introduced to
you, and immediately after the death of Richard Kruitz, his tormentor, whom
he believed to be his father. It was his knowledge of the crimes of Richard
Kruitz that rendered him so unhappy. His association with this fiendish
man left its impress on his character and darkened his life.
He was ever alert and morbidly sensitive in regard to his father's crimes,
and it was his knowledge of them that Arthur Weston had determined to
wrench from him. Hubert had not guessed wrong in regard to Weston, nor
left Charles Gary too soon to avoid him, and it was as you now know to his
own grandmother he had flown, and unwittingly found employment and the
safety of home, where it was his rightful heritage. In the same room where
his grandmother once nursed him a helpless babe, where he had touched her
affections, and held her heart strings with a tiny hand, she now unsuspectingly
sits beside him, who has again won her affectionate interest. Yearningly the
desolate old heart of Mrs. Hoadlyi lingers and listens to the fitful wandering
memories of his sufferings as he talks in the delirium of his fever. Mrs.
Hoadly as yet guessed nothing of the truth ; she supposes Louise's son to be
in the school, where she has been regularly paying enormous expenses for his
support. All such funds are being appropriated by Nicholas Scruggs, her
trusted servant, who now takes all the money that he once was obliged to
divide with Richard Kruitz. Nicholas Scruggs knows Hubert perfectly, but
he believes his secret to be safe, and he has a plan by which to be rid of him
if he lives and it becomes necessary. Scruggs has been indispensible, and
still is indispensible to Louise, as we shall see. He has become rich in her
employ, and an adept in her hands.
CHAPTER XVIII.
IN WHICH IS RECORDED AN INTERVIEW, WHICH PROVED UNSATISFACTORY TO
WESTON.
It was with considerable anxiety M. de Clare remained in N to witness
the jollification while Mr. Lee went on with Mr. Weston to New York. But
Arthur Weston was minded to become more intimately concerned in the
affairs of MandeVille Lee, and the sequel will prove what Weston could accom¬
plish. Not only did he expect to find the wife of Mandeville, but he purposed
to save him from death and the loss of reason, which M. de Clare feared was
imminent. Quietly and firmly he held him to certain expectation yet patient
waiting, and ealculating study of plans. When they arrived in New York and
Weston was again in his office, his whole mind was absorbed in the case involv¬
ing the mystery of Clarendon Childreth. He explained all he knew and sus¬
pected in regard to it to Mandeville. He arranged an interview with Wilhel¬
mina, and begged to be allowed to introduce Mr. Lee to the radiant Eddie.
Wilhelmina, as Weston had expected, was very willing he should undertake
the investigation of her husband's disappearance, and secure her property to
her again if possible. Little Eddie and Mandeville were friends—Mandeville
reached forth his arms at sight of her, and she rushed into them, and there was
perfect harmony. If anything was beautiful, anything ever charming to Man¬
deville Lee, since the loss of his own dear Annie, it was this child, as she
stroked his pale cheeks, as was her fashion with Raleigh, and prattled of her
sports, her toys, her Raleigh and her mamma.
Had Weston known that Raleigh's Jimmy O'Rork was the husband of
Judy, and the same as Yallow Jim, the information would have been of great
importance to him. Wilhelmina had spoken to him concerning the lock of
hair and the monogram as it had been found by Judy. But the Irishman who
had driven a cart for the establishment of Vanderhomer, he had no doubt, was
possessed of information that would be a key to fhe mystery. After much
perplexing thought he wrote to Raleigli for an explicit statement of all he knew
about Judy and Yallow Jim, surmising there might possibly be light from that
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
source. In Raleigh's answer the links were clearly established in Weston's
mind, so far as the beer kegs were concerned, though he had no information
or the slightest evidence against Jimmy O'Rork himself. The next step in the
proceedings was to find this Irishman and interview him, and Weston succeeded
in this without much difficulty by appealing to the missionary who, according to
Raleigh's statement, had removed Jimmy to the hospital, from which time he
had never seen or heard of him. The aged missionary knew the place where
he was employed, and without losing any time Weston repaired thither.
Knowing nothing of the character of Jimmv O'Rork, Weston approached
him carelessly, unprepared for what followed. He was digging upon the road
with slow and even stroke, which appeared as no motion at all. From out a
corner of his eye and without the slightest movement of the head, he observed
Weston nearing him, and with a low, derisive whistle, he blew the ashes from
his pipe, and answered the salutation of the lawyer in a disheartening outflow
of slang :
"Arra! a new dude in town." Then, with upturned eyes, "St. Michael
stand between me and the varmint or a divil of a day I'll have of it ! "
Weston was discomfitted, but thrusting his hands in his coat pockets, he
remained silent and stood before Jimmy with the air of a monarch.
"Mr. O'Rork," he began, "I am a lawyer looking into a certain case,
and it is necessary for me to obtain certain information you may give me,
which cannot affect you in the least, and may throw light on a very important
subject. "Were you the owner of the cart you drove, while employed at
the ale house of Hons Vanderhomer and Richard Kruitz?"
Jimmy begun, "And is it yersilf wud be priggin the loik of Jimmy
O'Rork ? What mathers it to ony lawyer if I should save a few pounds an' buy
me a cart, or should spend the same money in my distitution for mate. A
divil of a shoam for a foin gintlemin like you see yersilf to be, to pester an
unsignified crather loike me. I remember the lawyers at the assizes at Dublin,
in trouth they were Englishmen, and came at the biddin of the swate queen,
and they were diver and dacent, they wud not drap the hat on the sideboard
till the same was dusted nate."
"But, Mr. O'Rork"
" And afther the first male in the dinin room, the lawyers at Dublin ate in
private, because they loiked not the small, dirty childre to clamber aboit
the table and upon the mossy floor ; the small childre wud cry out one to
another in a frolicsome way, to the outher distraction of the worshipful bench.
"But, sir"
"One child wud cry out, Jooly, Jooly! be asy wid de baby, and
AîiD OTHER WORKS.
quick, have it say dada for the gintlemin. " And another would cry back,
"Tell the foin gintlemin your name, Jooly." It was a shoam intirely
to distract them so."
"But, Mr. O'Rork, my time is limited, I have but a few questions and
will trouble you no more."
"Trouth, and while it's no bother at all, I did not mane to forget these
same lawyers in Dublin said as much when they were obliged to wait for the
gracy mutton leg, till the servants had their quarrel out at the sideboard, which
took more time than the worshipful bench could well spare, and if I take up
your time too intirely, ye will walk away and lave me to continue my conver¬
sation with mysilf and St. Michael."
"Well, then, Jimmy, will you walk in and take a glass before we shake
hands?" asked Weston, determined to pull another string.
" A maley male was it when we sat at our potatoes in Lucklow, and got
dry, but faith, yer more maley than the potatoes of Lucklow 1 "
Jimmy had laid down his mattock and his pipe, indicating that he was
ready for the saloon, as he continued to talk to the great amusement of Wes¬
ton. " Lucklow is a romantic and strange, beautiful counthry, the water is
white at the foot of the waterfalls, and the cliffs are purple overhead, while the
trees entrate as they continue to wave, and the rocks roar in the dark shadow
forninst them; a heavenly day, yer lordship," as they enter the saloon.
"Very fine, indeed, Mr. O'Rork, and I confess to you (after the second
glass) one of my objects in finding you, was to invite you to spend an
evening with me in my private room. There was a little matter brought me
here, I felt backward about mentioning, until I could introduce it in the right
shape. A fine, Irish girl, not long from Ireland, has been in my employ, who
would like to form your acquaintance and has asked me to intercede for her."
"No, thin!"
"Yes, and if you will come over, I'll have her there, and introduce you."
' ' Arra ! What is the fellow saying ?"
"I will also make the evening agreeable with some of my best
Irish wines."
"You say the gurrill is in consate of me already?"
"Yes, she is fond of you, and is a very fine girl."
"Beded! "
"Will you promise, then, to come over to-morrow night?"
" For the dhrink I will not, for I promised poor Judy on her dying bed,
when I kissed her good-bye, that I would dhrink but leetle. But if there is a
156
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIETEEN MEM
foin, virtuous young lady, who has a sentiment toward me, (and I don't
dislike women, but lean toward them,) I will."
Weston thinking he had surely made a successful hit, well* pleased with
himself, began to cast about for a suitable Irish maid to help him carry
forward his scheme.
With all his acuteness in reading men, he knew little as yet of Jimmy
O'Rork, or he would spare himself the trouble of setting traps for him.
CHAPTER XIX.
"I have read in the marvelous heart of man.
That sti-ange and mystic scroll,
That an army of phantoms vast and wan,
Beleaguer the human soul."
—Longfellow.
About this time some strange and interesting events occurred in Elmville.
Raleigh walked to the Ashville poor house to see Aunt Nancy. All day had
he toiled, foot-sore and weary, over desolate, ploughed fields, or through the
coarse grass of the meadows on his return, but sorer in spirit, although the
times were seldom when he gave way to disheartening circumstances. Slyly
along between the green walls of the moss covered cliffs, through a deep,
narrow fissure, stole the cool water, where Raleigh stooped to drink and bathe
his face ; he sat down and fanned him.self with his broad-rimmed hat, and as the
flush of heat faded, you could see that he was pale and somewhat careworn,
remarkable for a boy, but never discernible in him, except on occasions like
this, of great anxiety. Aunt Nancy had, by her bitterness, wounded his
boyish pride. She had become almost imbecile, and withal very discontent
with her lot ; she had informed Raleigh that his mother was only a vagrant,
and that he himself was born and kept in a poor house, until she and her good
brother had taken him, and cared for hirn, as if he were their own. All this
was new to poor Raleigh, he had supposed Nancy was a kindred, and
humble as she was, he had been glad to think of her as such. His sensitive
soul not only felt the sting of her words, but he began to believe that it was
wrong for him to leave her where she was so unhappy, and that he ought
rather to support her now in her helpless age, as she had supported him in his
helpless infancy, even if she was encompassed by infirmities and imbecile, than
to gratify his own thirst for knowledge, and selfishly forsake his early bene¬
factress ; this was the question presented to his mind, and this the sacrifice he
was called upon to make. Many selfish considerations arose before him,
which almost overcame him ; but at last he struggled through, and arrived at
the supreme decision of right. Hester opposed it as a foolish notion, and a
ELEVEN VrOMÈN AND THÎRÎËÊN MEM
step that would end all his bright hopes; "how could he be encumbered
with such a burden?" Mrs. Ellenwood, after a little thought, believed the
burden to be heavy enough without another straw upon it, and said, approv¬
ingly, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least, ye have done it
unto me." Raleigh had not once thought of gaining the approval of God,
his sacrifice had been absolute a self-denial independent of reward. Yet as
God knew it was best to encourage us by promises, Raleigh felt the wonderful
truth, coming in as it did, after the sacrifice had been made, bringing sweet
joy to his soul; for is it not a most blessed thing to give our sympathy
to the Son of God ?
By the kind assistance of his friends, the old house was fixed up, and
made ready for Aunt Nancy. It was a bright, mild day when the poor old
woman was brought back to Elmville and into the home where the table was
spread ready for her and Raleigh. How much she appreciated the great
sacrifice the brave boy had made is not known ; she was as happy in herself as
she was capable of becoming, and she could not, at her age, be expected to
take much consideration of the happiness of Raleigh, as she had never done so
in her brightest days ; but it must be said, she seemed to understand that it
was his work in her behalf, as she often exclaimed, "Now poor, sick, old
Nancy, you see you are at last rewarded for taking the boy from the poor
house so long ago ; now your care for the ungrateful, bad boy is at last
rewarded !" In truth, it was a fitting thing which Raleigh had done.
Mrs. Ellenwood knew that Raleigh could scarcely earn enough to bear the
expenses of the helpless Nancy, but she believed that the step he had taken
was right, and to have done otherwise than make a faithful attempt, would
have been wrong ; and she had no doubt that the hand of God was able to
lead, and His bounty to supply, since it is in ways we know not, and through
darkness we cannot fathom. He goeth before us, and when we pass through
the waters, that He keepeth them from overwhelming us. So no one
else was as cheerful and labored with as much assurance to make Nancy
comfortable and happy as she, and no one else greeted her with so hearty
and loving a welcome.
The minister of Elmville, whose name was Barnabas Plumsock, was born
in the year, of grace, 1838, received a common school education, and at the
age of twenty-one was, as he believed, converted and called to the ministry.
He conferred not with the flesh, but immediately began his work ; lacking the
inspiration of love and self-sacrifice to beget in men a longing for the diviner
life, his influence rather despoiled the natural attributes of brotherhood and
benevolence ; and in all his years of service and prayer for the church, he was
AND OTHER WORKS.
159
a lamentable proof of the truth of the utterance, "Without Me ye can do
nothing." He was opposed to Raleigh transporting Aunt Nancy again to the
parish at Elmville, and aggrieved with Mrs. Ellenwood and Mrs. Montifort on
account of their friendship for the boy, who appeared to be of a vain, carnal
character. His peculiar, keen wit, his habits of original thought and fearless
expressions, in short, his positive character, chafed the bigoted man and preju¬
diced his mind against him. Sensitive of the repulse, Raleigh, as of old, kept
clear of the religious services. There was another thing also tended to sour
the mind of Mr. Plumsock against Raleigh's particular friends. Mrs. Ellen-
wood had consented at the solicitations of the Womans' Eoreign Missionary
Society, to make an attempt to carry on the work, and had organized a circle,
and childrens' mission band in the congregation in Elmville. This measure
the minister could not consistently and squarely oppose as unorthodox and
wicked, since the women passed all contribution of the society to the general
board of the missionary society which was under the control of men, and he
had always favored the Foreign Missionary cause. The ground of his preju¬
dice was not based on anything substantial, but the movement looked to him
like a step out of the proper sphere of the sisterhood, since some had under¬
taken to stand before the people as speakers and officers. It looked like the
assumption of authority which had been delegated to men alone by the
Creator. When Hester Montifort and Mrs. Ellenwood consented to attend,
and represent the "circle" in a convention of women, he was very doubtful of
the propriety of their doing such a thing, and was inly disgusted with an
experience which Mrs. Ellenwood could not refrain from relating in
class-meeting the following week, after their return from the convention.
She said that God had given her great assurance in "the cause" by
enlightening her mind; the simple earnestness and inspiration of her
words was very touching, she being so well known and beloved by
all. She had "been taught" that these faithful hand-maidens, who
were bearing the yoke, were trees of the Lord's own planting, even as
"Cedars in Lebanon," full of sap: how the Cedars in Lebanon grow upon
heights, and send their fibrous roots down to entwine around the immovable
rocks ; how the storms, that sweep and bend them to the earth, do not destroy,
but strengthen and invigorate their growth by causing their roots to cling with
a firmer hold. Surely, all believed it to be so with the humble, modest hand¬
maiden, Mrs. Ellenwood, whose life had been like such a growing tree, yield¬
ing and bending before the blast which it seemed must destroy it utterly, yet,
year by year, growing firmer and mors, beautiful in spirit ; surely, the tendrils
of her heart were clinging to the hidden, everlasting rock, but all such spirit-
i6o
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
ual revalations were looked upon by Mr. Plumsock without being seen, and as
foolish and inconvenient. Mrs. Ellenwood's experience, therefore, had but
little weight upon his opinions concerning the proper sphere of women, and
less upon his doubts about the bodily maintenance of Aunt Nancy in Elmville.
He apprehended no Providence in it, nor once hoped that she, by becoming a
burden, might be a blessing, for all donations of his people seemed money out
of his own pocket. He had even, secretly, felt that Nancy ought to be sup¬
ported by some private Catholic charity rather than be a burden upon the
county. The way in which the helpless old woman was actually so bountifully
provided for, during the short remnant of her days, was to him only a turn of
good luck, and as little appreciated and understood as the ways of God were
in general.
But it was while Raleigh sat so weary at the rivulet, on his return from thé
poorhouse, fanning himself with his broad-rimmed hat, that the most important
event of his life occurred. Nancy had by her intimations, in bitterness, left a
sense of something disgraceful and mysterious in regard to his parentage, which
sank heavy in his heart. He now knew of no earthly tie by which he was bound
to any human being. An awful loneliness, a secret foreboding—a horror of
mingled shame, rebellion and doubt, took possession of his soul, unknown
before in his experience—an unutterable feeling of helplessness, as of a lone,
lost traveler in a desert world. The clouds of despair swept his spirit and bore
his young and sensitive heart stricken and crushed beneath them. Heavily
the twilight seemed to brood and oppress the woodland and valley. The sly,
gurgling stream only seemed to make him feel more lonely. The spot was one
of his old and chosen places, and the birds were fleeting home to the trees
overhead and nestling amid the gathering shadows, but it brought no feeling
of rest and comfort to him, as it had done so many times before. He did not
feel the enlivening night breeze, or see any of the tokens of God's love and
goodness around him, because his spirit was exhausted by anxious buffetting
with temptation. He leaned backward against the tree with face upturned and
eyes closed. First there was a reverie, in which his ideas mingled as in a
dream. He had always been taught that he was a relative of Aunt Nancy, and
had believed himself Irish. He had felt for this reason that Judy and Jimmy
were kindred to him. Then he went over the scenes in Hons Vanderhomer's
cellar. Then glided to the hospital, and to Wilhelmina, from Wilhelmina to
Hubert's father, with a shudder. Again he remembered how Judy looked
upon her knees by the wall—dead—with the sunlight encircling her ; he seemed
to hear the sound of her voicç arise in song, as he heard it a few times when
she undertook to teach him some Irish melodies ; he thought her songs were
AND OTHER WORKS.
l6l
sweeter than anything he ever heard on earth, as in a subdued undertone, she
would let the rich notes swell, or again trill in the most touching pathos, bend¬
ing toward him that he might catch the correct accent of her words. Poor,
poor Judy! The tears were upon his lashes, and without knowing it, he was
singing Judy's Irish melody he so loved; and, tremulously, his voice breathed
the burden of his heart, in the weariest, wildest, saddest of those tender
strains, of Ireland's oppressed children. It was the same song that had so
touched the heart of Mandeville Lee as he and M. de Clare were once passing
a tenement house in New York, and the very same singer, and what seems
still stranger, Mandeville was listening to it now again in the woodland of
Elmville. Weston had urged him to visit Elmville; he had told him of the
beautiful spot, of his sister, of Raleigh, the bright lonely Irish boy. [Weston
had not failed to notice a something about Raleigh that was like Mr. Lee, it
would be no disadvantage at least if Mandeville should see Raleigh,] and upon
Weston's recital of the beauties of the rural place, Mr. Lee and M. de Clare
had decided to visit it. They had been in the wood during the afternoon while
the latter was hunting.
"There were footsteps beside Raleigh, but he did not hear them. "I
beg pardon for intruding upon your song," began M. de Clare (for it was he,)
"but we have been hunting in this woodland and my comrade is fatigued. I
came to the spring to procure some water for him. He sits yonder in that
exquisite little bower of vines and wild flowers. He laughed at me, but I saw
he was faint, and I put him there upon the soft moss. You see, my lad, I am
a physician as well as a hunter," then stooping down he scooped up some
water in his hands and ran as fast as he could to the little hiding place, where
Mandeville had now fainted. Seeing this to be the case, M. de Clare shouted
back to Raleigh to bring more water, and Raleigh dipping it up in his straw
hat carried it carefully to the nook. The stranger soon revived, and look¬
ing up languidly into the face of Raleigh as he was bathing his forehead,
he started, stared wildly, while a spasm of pain swept his countenance, and
again fainted. M. de Clare now became very much alarmed, and rushing
to the brow of the hill overlooking the village he shouted for assistance.
Among the first to hear M. de Clare and come was Mrs. Ellenwood and
Jerry, who insisted on having the sick stranger carried to their house until
he should be better, which proved to be but a short time, for he declared
it was hunger caused him to faint by the way. After he revived, regard¬
ing Raleigh, with apologetic tone he said, "When you was stooping over
me I had been sleeping and dreaming, and I thought at first you was a
woman; I was sure—"
102
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
"Monsieur! Monsieur! si vous le prenze sur se ton je me retire, ou sus
mettons nous ! " exclaimed M. de Clare, drawing Mandeville's arm into his
own. The sad, handsome face of the latter turned and looked hungrily upon
Raleigh, then obediently with a quiet smile he followed the Frenchman into the
open air. But afterward, while M. de Clare was absorbed in accounting to
Mrs. Ellenwood for the strange utterances of his comrade, saying that he had
great trouble to bear, Mandeville took the occasion to converse with Raleigh.
" How old are you, my boy? "
" I am sixteen."
"Were you ever in New York?"
".O, yes sir, that is my home."
" Then you are not the son of this kind woman ? "
"I am only visiting here. I have not a relative on earth that I know,"
said Raleigh in an abstracted manner, an echo of what he had been thinking
all day. Then starting with a deep blush, he looked wistfully into the eyes of
Mandeville Lee, and dropping his head, the tears stole down his bashful
cheeks.
"You must be! You must be her child! You are so like Annie!"
Mandeville spoke as if to himself. Then seizing the hands of the alarmed boy
with a nervous convulsive clasp, he kissed them frantically, and whispered:
"Do you remember your mother? Raleigh! Raleigh! do you remember
her ? Annie Lee—is she living ? No, you said you had no relative living, then
she must be dead. How came you to live in New York, and be well
dressed ? "
These questions were put so rapidly and sounded so strange to Raleigh,
that he immediately concluded that he was dealing with a madman, while the
actions of M de Clare tended to confirm his opinion. Gently he unclasped
Mandeville's hands, talking to him as one would to a madman, of immediate
surrounding objects, offering kindly to go with him to the beautiful graveyard
and to show him where the birds' nests were in the woods. Mandeville under¬
stood these evasions perfectly, but so charmed was he with the voice, the
manner, the face of the boy, he followed him from one scene to another,
amused and delighted with everything, still urging him onward that he might
be near to the one so like his lost Annie. M. de Clare also overcame his
anxiety, seeing Mandeville was composed, and entered into the enjoyment of
this moonlight ramble, for such it was. Raleigh forgot himself in his exulta¬
tion over the beauties of the place he had so long loved, and looked like a
lovely vision of youth to Mandeville, who never since his wanderings on the
beautiful borders of the Louth with Annie had been so charmed.
AND OTHER WORKS.
Raleigh would say, lifting up the trellised vines from the branches of an
elm that drooped above them, "Here is my red birds' nest; here they will
lay their eggs while yet the snow is on the vines. And here is another branch
where I have a nest of robins early in the spring. O. Mr. Lee, you should
visit Elmville in April, you should come with me to this woodland then." To
M. de Clare Raleigh was like Mandeville, the same lithe figure, the same
careless freedom of spirit which Mandeville possessed in his boyhood. He
could not help but mark it as the two would peep together into the birds' nests
or reach carefully and draw down the precious branches where the birds were
settled to roost. Both were enchanted, and they were walking hand-in-hand,
stealthily, in this alcove.
But the ramble came to an end ; M. de Clare suggested going to the little
tavern for the night, but Mandeville eagerly accepted Mrs. Ellenwood's
invitation to remain under her roof.
In spite of our desires to the contrary, and in spite of M. de Clare's
unwearied and tender care, Mandeville Lee has greatly changed in the few
weeks since we last saw him, his face is thinner, his eyes oftener languid, his
pale cheek is flushed with a feverish glow. The letters which Weston wrote
him are anxiously, even impatiently looked for before they can be expected.
He would write to-night, and tell Weston all about Raleigh, and what he
believes in regard to him. He waited till very late that M. de Clare might
not be disturbed ; then with singular boldness he softly opened the door
into the bed-room, where he knew Raleigh had been put. Like a thief he
stood over the sleeping boy, and eagerly drank his expression ; he was the
very image of the woman Mandeville so idolized ; it was the son of Mande¬
ville, and with the joy the angels wear beaming on his face he bent close until
his lips almost touched the lips of Raleigh—"not yet! almost, but not yet!"
he whispered, as he returned to his room, and retired to the dreams of one
who stands upon the border of a bliss which already thrills every fibre of his
being. The next morning he received a dispatch which hurried him away from
Elmville to consult with Weston.
The burden of Aunt Nancy, which would have fallen upon Raleigh much
heavier than he had calculated, was lightened according to the old maxim,
" Many hands make light work," by the good people in the neighborhood who
determined to assist in her support, and very generously donated what seemed
to him enough for her lifetime. We shall see. The time was fast approaching
when he must return to New York, and Emily was to accompany him ; she
had been absent from Elmville so far«ince he had been there, but she was to
visit her uncle, and perhaps enter the conservatory of music in the fall. He
104
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
remembered Emily as a girl about his own age who was away at school most
of the time. One day as he was passing along the road on his way to Mrs.
Moritifort's, just as he ascended the bluff where the way extended through a
strip of woodland, he heard a groaning, and going a little farther saw a man
lying upon the ground ; he was to all appearance a beggar, or tramp of the
most abjectly forlorn type. His face and clothes were bespattered with mire,
and in one hand he was clinching a stone. The small boys of Elmville had
been following him, and throwing mud upon his clothes, which had angered
him. With grinding teeth, and glassy eyes, he lifted himself upon one elbow
as Raleigh approached, ready to throw the stone, which he was grasping ; he
had bitten his lips in his rage until blood from them besmeared his face. On
seeing that Raleigh was well disposed toward him, he dropped his weapon and
cried out with a bitter cry, " Lad, lad, the praste ! "
"It is not the priest you need, poor man," replied Raleigh, brushing the
hair from his face, "not the priest."
"For mercy sake, the praste, lad, it's the loik of me goin to that strange
counthry alone—to that counthry of strangers where they'll be all aginst, all
aginst the loik of me ! "
It did not take Raleigh long to recognize in this miserable, famishing
creature, Yallow Jim, but from whence, and for what came he there?
"Jimmy O'Rork, don't you remember Raleigh that was with you in
the cellar with Judy and Eddie, that gave you the meat, you remember
the meat?"
Yallow Jim looked into the face of Raleigh in utter bewilderment a mo¬
ment, then his ghastly features were illumined, and he smiled a strange,
peaceful smile, and a heavy sigh moved his breast. "Jimmy, you must not
die, you must get up and go with me, but first I will bring you some food. I
will be quick, wait for me."
" I will wait," answered he with a hollow, feeble voice.
Raleigh was not long in procuring some food and nourishing drink for the
poor man, and while he ate Raleigh cheered him. "Jimmy, this is myoid
home, you heard me talk of Elmville ? The people are kind here, and I will
do all I can to help you." While Raleigh talked Yallow Jim revived, and
presently they walked together toward Hester's cottage. Raleigh got permis¬
sion for him to rest in the neat barn, and from thence he was not able to be
removed for several days, during which time he was faithfully cared for by the
kind hearted boy. One afternoon as Raleigh was filling his pipe, he watched
him narrowly, and his face wore a strangely, curious look. "Raleigh," said
he, "do you remember your mother ? "
AKD ÔTHËR WORKâ.
lös
"No, I do not," replied Raleigh, and a hot flush of shame covered his face.
" Do you know any of your relatives ? "
" No ; I thought old Aunt Nancy was a relative, but she is not."
"You mean old Nancy McNeilly; I used to know her and her brother
who was a praste, and did they raise you?"
"They took me from a poor house."
" Ha ! ha ! they did, the divil ! "
The expression of Jimmy's face changed and he began quietly to smoke.
"Raleigh, you have told me all you know of Hubert and Eddie, and good
will come of your kindness to Yallow Jim, good and blessing ye niver dreamed
of, and that niver could come if ye had not saved him from dying. Och, thin,
it is not for ye to know till the time. I was
running away from the same, sure." Jimmy
O'Rork had not arrived at this climax of self-
sacrifice without agony ; he had felt impelled to
quit the barn without the knowledge of Raleigh.
The previous midnight found him upon his knees,
for a strange consciousness of guilt, and emotions
of mercy, never felt before, came to him ; he
loved Raleigh, and his contact with him had gen¬
erated that which does not die, and which would
flow from a soul such as Jimmy O'Rork pos¬
sessed, in streams that would submerge the self
, , . , rr • T , 1 • JIMMY IN THE BARN.
he despised. He was quickened to a desire to
minister to Raleigh, and how could he better do that than use the knowledge
he had in regard to Hubert's parentage and Eddie's father's death ; Ráleigh's
own history was less known to him, but there was something he knew which
would relieve him at least of the sting of shame, which he now felt, this
knowledge involved Yallow Jim, himself, to a considerable extent. He looked
out the small, barred window of the barn into the free moonlit fields ; the bars
of the window suggested prison bars, and the terror of a cell seized him. His
imagination drew him a vivid picture of Jimmy O'Rork; he stooped down and
gathered up a twist of straw, and wringing it into a rope with his hands, with¬
out knowing what he did, laughed wildly—and when he saw what he had made,
he laughed again, exclaiming, "Sure its not long enough to hang me intirely ! "
He had reached the point of decision out of his agony of conflicting thoughts.
He would sacrifice himself for the good of Raleigh. For Raleigh's sake he
would give himself into Weston's haiTds. He stooped down again, and this
i66
ÈLEVEN women and THiRfÈEN MEM
time he fumbled into his bundle, into the identical green bag which was oncè,
you remember, numbered among Judy's belongings.
Hundreds of times Jimmy might have been seen going through this same
performance, and always with a feeling of solemnity and awe possessing his
soul. Well he knew that the time had come when he ought to pass over into
the hands of Raleigh the purse of gold which had been so long and so sacredly
kept by Judy, and since her death by himself through seas of affliction and
poverty and bitter want. Kept since the night they together rounded Garrón
Head, and Judy had promised the old man becrazed to find his poor lamb in
the land of strangers. Raleigh he knew was the rightful heir to that purse of
gold, and with a satisfaction he never before experienced in his life, he counted
each shining piece to be sure it was all there. Carefully he again placed it in his
bundle and no doubt remembering Judy and thinking of the time it had fallen
into his possession, he went back and back in thought till he saw her sitting at
the seaport loth to leave old Ireland. Saw her convulsed in sorrow for her leetle
un; poor Judy, never to return to her native land, never to find in the bright
country he had pictured anght but poverty and suffering and hardship, for
the tears were streaming from his eyes, when Raleigh entered, with his warm
breakfast and a cheery "Good morning!" Raleigh saw that something
agitated the poor man, and endeavored to comfort by kindness, even tenderer
kindness than he had hitherto manifested.
"Jimmy," he spoke very gently, " I will find you something nice to-day.
And, Jimmy, will you let me help you ? I will not leave you friendless, you
are alone now, but Judy was kind to me. Judy did not leave me to die in the
cellar, and I will never leave you to be sick alone." Jimmy's tears were fall¬
ing like rain now, and his softened spirit shone from his countenance in a
serene, happy light. " Emily is coming home to-day," he continued, "and I
shall be obliged to stay with her and Mrs. Ellenwood most of the time, but I'll
be here at noon. I'll come again at dark." Raleigh left Jimmy quietly
smoking and started for the depot on a run for fear he might be too late to
meet Emily.
Gay, happy, beautiful Emily, sû glad to see Raleigh, so full of laughter
and hope. As the passengers stepped upon the platform Raleigh saw an
object ; he thought he had seen it somewhere before, but could not clearly
tell where. It was an object once seen could never be forgotten—Nicholas
Scruggs ! and he scrambled from the train and proceeded rapidly up the village
street toward the hotel, without noticing anybody. He carried a peddler's
pack, and Emily could not help laughing at his ludicrous appearance. Raleigh
soon forgot this circumstance, for the happy day dispelled all else but its sun-
AND OTHER WORKS.
167
shine from the hearts of the occupants of Mrs. Ellenwood's home. But for
what purpose came Scruggs to Elmville ? The reader has not forgotten the
hideous criminal, not forgotten that such as he do not work without purpose.
He carried a medicine case, but Scruggs was no vender of medicines. Had
he been sent by Weston to find Jimmy O'Rork? or was there some other
business for him to attend to in Elmville ? He is the trusted servant of Louise
and is well known to Weston. He would not turn his face from the Menden¬
hall mansion now while Hubert is there unless compelled by his mistress to do
so. He has some fear of Hubert, some reason for keeping his eyes open to
any developments that might occur any hour in the chamber of the aged
woman, Mrs. Hoadly. It would be inconvenient to have his (Hubert's) grand¬
mother find out the truth in regard to Hubert—that he is Louise's son. But
notwithstanding, here was Scruggs in Elmville.
Mrs. Ellenwood had received word from her brother, Arthur Weston,
that he would himself visit Elmville and accompany his niece and Raleigh
in their journey to New York. This intelligence was a great relief to Mrs.
Ellenwood, who was reluctant to part with her daughter and anxious in regard
to her safety.
One thing caused Raleigh considerable anxiety, the care and support of
Nancy McNeilly, and now the added weight of Jimmy O'Rork. He felt it
would be impossible for him to continue his studies in New York unless some
unforseen hand should appear to lighten his burdens. He thought he would
now tell his fears to Mrs. Ellenwood, and before the arrival of Weston.
The first day of Emily's arrival in Elmville was so taken up by her that
Raleigh forgot Aunt Nancy and Jimmy O'Rork. It was dark before he
repaired to the barn of Mrs. Montifort to call upon the latter. All the long
afternoon Jimmy had waited his appearance, and he became very anxious as
the dark settled and he did not come. Jimmy was watching from the window,
and instead of Raleigh he saw a figure he had known in the dark for years,
making up the path toward the barn. It was Nicholas Scruggs. In a state of
the most fearful excitement Jimmy met him at the door. The two men faced
each other with mutual astonishment and terror. Jimmy was first to find his
wits. "For what came ye here in the shadows, ye wretched peggin-awl?
Are ye Louise's infernal spyin machine of Weston's brock brottle? Speak! "
And he sprang upon Scruggs, and grasping him by the throat brought him to
the fioor; but Jimmy's strength was expended and he lay prostrate and power¬
less in the hands of his mortal enemy. Scruggs had not spoken, but putting
his knees upon the breast of Jimmy, pinioned him down like a vice. The
wretched man groaned in agony, and believing he was surely dying, he invol-
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
untarily reached toward the precious bundle and gasped, "O, Almighty!
Judy's purse!" Upon hearing this, Scruggs inflicted a blow upon Jimmy
that rendered him senseless, and seizing the bundle, retreated from the barn.
It was but the work of a moment ; this struggle in the dark in which Scruggs
was victorious. As he emerged from the barn, Raleigh was wending his way
thitherward, filled with joyous remembrances and blissful reflections, concern¬
ing the moonlight ramble he had but a week previous with Mandeville Lee
and M. de Clare, over this self same path. The full moon had risen above the
trees and he could see the form of Scruggs at a distance ; he hurried along and
soon saw that he had Jimmy's bundle in his hand and discovered also that it
was the man he had seen get off the train in the morning. Scruggs did not
see Raleigh, neither was he aware that Mrs. Montifort's sinister watch-dog was
close in his rear, waiting only for a sign to lay hold on his retreating heels.
Raleigh walked boldly up to Scruggs and commanded him to drop the bundle ;
at the same moment the watch dog seized him and held him to the spot.
Scruggs had not known of Jimmy being in the barn, did not come to Elmville
to encounter Jimmy O'Rork, he had business to do for Louise, and it would
be inconvenient to be detained ; without a moment's delay he handed the
precious bundle to Raleigh, and being permitted to do so by the dog, pushed
ahead, and taking the first train disappeared from the neighborhood. When
Raleigh entered the barn he found Jimmy faint and bleeding from the wound
which had been inflicted by Scruggs, and wrought to frenzy that the bundle
was stolen. Raleigh knew nothing of the value of the bundle, but with great
delight told Jimmy of its recovery, and presented it to him with a thrilling
recital of his encounter with Scruggs.
After a few days Jimmy O'Rork walked out upon the street and through
the village of Elmville. Raleigh helped him to get a job of light work, that
he might not feel himself a pensioner, and it was not till he had done this, and
become independent of the boy's service that he presented the purse of gold
to the wondering eyes of Raleigh. All he saw fit to reveal to the lad was the
simple fact that his grandfather in Ireland had intrusted it to Judy for him if
he should ever be found by them, and that it was only lately he had discovered
the secret of his parentage, which would be made plain to him, "when the
time comes." "It's not for ye to know yit, lad."
"I cannot take the money unless you will let me share it with you,
Jimmy."
"In throuth ye shall not, lad!"
" O, Jimmy, you must use a part, for you are needy."
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169
' * Really, lad, that would be to the distraction of every thing dacent, if I
should now, after needing it so long, and ye need not now."
"Then, Jimmy, let me be your friend always, and never mind when
I help Aunt Nancy."
"Aunt Nancy is clean cussed, Raleigh, it is not ye should stoop to lift
the loik of her," said Jimmy."
" But it is yer own money, Raleigh, and every bit of it will be a blessing
to ye, and thanks to yersilf it is not now in the hond of Nicholas Scruggs."
"O, was it in the bundle, Jimmy, that night?"
"In throuth it was."
Mrs. Ellenwood was aggrieved with the manner of the minister of Elm-
ville toward Raleigh and Jimmy O'Rork. M. de Clare had also been in Elmville
some three weeks without becoming acquainted with Mr. Plumsock, save as he
remembered him on previous occasions, and especially at the jollification in
N . He did not incline to notice Jimmy O'Rork at all. These things had
slight effect upon M. de Clare, who had hoped the minister would not intrude
upon him while he was so pleasantly engaged with some investigation in his
own favorite science. But there was something in the manner of Mr. Plum-
sock that aggravated Jimmy beyond endurance, and meeting M. de Clare, who
was to him a stranger, he broke out upon him and shocked him greatly.
"Yer honor, if ye be not a pracher, can ye tell me if this be a hottus
cicus for us poor devils ; or, if not, what thin, since that man yonder scowls
hell-fire upon us already?"
"What!" answered M. de Clare, "how dare you use such profane
utterances ? "
" It's with riverince toward the Almighty, yer honor, [since the poor may
be buried for nothing any where,] but I spoke of that unsignified Pratistent
pup, that Presbyterian widower."
M. de Clare's curiosity became aroused (being a Catholic himself) ; he
now believed Jimmy might have some good cause for his outburst of rage
and profanity, so he asked, " How do you know him to be a widower, sir?"
"Ye can see for yerself that he is neither an abbey-lubber nor a married
mon, and what else then but a widower ? Sure he goes with dander upon his
shoulders, and he shet his eyes when he saw a coople of wimmen across
the street."
"Is that all you know against him, sir? "
"It is safe enough to say that every mon is agin him, but himself. The
world pf poor and needy like to know how the good and great appear, and
170
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
like as well that they appear good and great. It's not right, yer honor, for a
praste to be slattern wid souls."
After a little further conversation with Jimmy, M. de Clare concluded that
he was in a virulent condition of mind, or perhaps insane, or under the influ¬
ence of strong drink. M. de Clare's mind was also at the time pre-occupied
by a continuation of a train of ideas awakened by his conversation with the
village physician, he therefore, bowing politely, excused himself and passed
on. He had gone but a short distance, however, before he met Plum-
sock, and exchanged greetings.
" M. de Clare, I believe," said Plumsock bowing stiffly.
" That is my name, sir. I am the French physician, whom you met in
N , at the jollification."
"O, certainly, I remember you, my brother. We then had some argu¬
ment concerning the temperance crusade. I understand, my Christian friend,
there is to be an eminent preacher in N to preach to-morrow evening at
early candle-light. I expect to go over and attend the means of grace, hoping
it will be of profit to my soul, and I extend you an invitation to accom¬
pany me."
M. de Clare accepted the invitation with a warmer heart for Barnabas
Plumsock than he had ever felt before. He had resolved on leaving N the
day after the political jolification, that he would never visit the place again, but
as such resolutions are more frequently broken than otherwise, so was his
doomed to be.
There seemed to be considerable excitement again in N as M. de Clare
rode in the coach from the depot. The coachman assumed an air of importance
as he dashed along with his passengers, and Barnabas Plumsock looked solemn
and dignified, seeing the people paid so much attention to him. A Presbyte¬
rian elder accosted M. de Clare as he alighted: "We most heartily welcome
you to our wicked city. We stand in need of a merciful shower of Divine
grace, and we know, sir, you come filled with the Spirit into our midst."
This was a small man and quick in movements, and he seemed so busy
with engagements that M. de Clare did not attempt to explain that Plumsock
was the minister and he the physician. He hurried them along to a place of
entertainment. Mr. Plumsock appeared gratified to be so graciously and
sumptuously entertained by this prominent citizen of N . Then, as the
hour for the meeting approached, he suffered himself to be escorted to the
place of worship and duly led to the platform, where he and M. de Clare were
accorded prominent places. M, de Clare now learned that the gentleman who
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171
had so politely entertained them had made a mistake, taking them both in turn
for the great speaker who was to address the large audience in the hall.
The popular preacher, who was none other than the celebrated Sam Jones,
however, arrived in time to do the talking, and M. de Clare was much gratified
to hear so successful and great a divine speak forth such words as caused
Plumsock and many of the people to blush.
" Here," began he, standing very close to Barnabas Plumsock,
Here is a little preacher, when his church gets around him, and his ofRcial board
say, "You must not push that thing any farther," he answei-s, "No, brethren, I
won't." Grod have mercy on the man that has not got backbone to stand up against
the enemies of God's Bible. We have got preachers in America that would be consti¬
tutional, concentrated, eternal prohibitionists, if their crowd was prohibition.
Now listen; nine high license preachers in America out of ten are high license
because nine-tenths of their leading members are high license members. No
preacher can voluntarily, without constraint, be a high license pi-eacher until he can
reconcile Jesus Christ, his risen Lord, and whisky. I say, before aiiy man can put a
price on this liquid damnation, and say, "You may sell it for that," he has got to
reconcile Jesus Christ and this fearful traliic. That is the fact. Sometimes a man is
not afraid of his members, but sometimes a fellow gets where he is afraid he will
hurt his party. I used to be a Democrat. I was born one, and raised one, and I
stayed one as long as a Christian gentleman could. And then I pulled out, of course.
And you Eepublicans need not be laugbing. God bless yon, I thank God I never
was a Republican. Hear me. You will hear long-faced, pious Republicans in this
State saying that the Democratic party are the liquor party. You will hear that on
all corners. Who had control of this government twenty-four years successively?
The Republican party. And after twenty-four years of uninterrupted control of this
government, you leave this government drenched and doomed and damned with
whisky from Maine to California.
I belong to another party. The difference between me and the Democratic party,
between me and the Republican party, if you will call it so, is that I am a mugwump
and you are a jugwump.
I say this first, last, and forever : I owe my allegiance to Jesus Christ. I will be
true to Him if the inquisition shall run again, and I am tied at the stake to burn. I
would rather laugh in the flames, like Cranmer and Ridley, and go home to God a
true man, than to walk this earth lashed about by party interest, and made to vote
with an interest that debauches and damns this country, and breaks the heart of
every true wife and mother. One editor in Missouri, a Democratic editor, said that
he had rather see this entire country flowing ankle deep in whisky, from Maine to
California, and a dipper hanging on each limb, than to see the Democratic party die.
Yes, he would see this country di-enched, doomed and damned with whisky from
shore to shore, flowing through every home and every city, and every hamlet, and
this whole country drenched and dead, while the old Democratic buzzard perched on
the dome of the Capitol, saying, "I live and flourish, but America is drenched and
doomed and damned." What sort of a policy is that ?
Courage I I have )io war prejudice. I had my pin-feathers all over me when the
war was going on. I was not old enough. I will sa)^ no man north of Mason and
Dixon's line to-day is more loyal to the stars and stripes than the man talking to you
now. It is my loyalty to the grand old flag that makes me say with shame to-day
that it is time for the Church of God to ^-asp the flag, and hold it up from among
these breweries and distilleries. Courage ! God give every preacher in this country
172
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
the heroic voice and the brave courage that -will make him walk out as a true soldier
of Christ, and denounce this trafftc as God's worst enemy and the devil's best friend.
No, my brethren, I say to jmu these preachers of this country have got to handle
something else besides the dogmas of Christianity; there is no doubt about that.
Now, when Beecher is dead, all honor to his memory. He made mistakes, he may
have sinned, but, brethren, God made a grand man when he made Henry "Ward
Beecher. And many a man that has abused Beecher has forgotten when Henry
Ward Beecher stood among men and was a brother to every man white or black,
brown or yellow, on the face of this earth. And many a man in the North who
tramples Beecher's name under his feet to-day, has hidden and skulked. When
Beecher was preaching against slavery and tlie bar-rooms of this country, you were
preaching on the " Final Perseverance of the Saints." I did not come here to
eulogize Beecher. . No, sir. I understand in Toronto, Canada, Beecher came to lec¬
ture on evolution. Next Sunday Beecher was in Brooklyn, five hundred miles away,
nearly everj^ preacher in that town turned his gun on Beecher. Shot and shell flew
thick and fast. He was five hundred miles off, but all around their pulpits were
gambling hells, bar-rooms, and houses of prostitution. They never turned their
guns on them, but on Beecher fi/e hundred miles away. Turn your guns on the first
enemy you meet in the path of duty and the path of righteousness. It is going to
take grit. I will say another thing. Until you have counted up the cost, made up
your mind to be a Christian, don't you start in at all. You will get left.
"What did you think of the great Sam Jones?" asked M. de Clare of
Barnabas Plumsock, as the two returned on the midnight train to -Elmville.
" I consider him a bigot and a fanatic," answered Plumsock.
"But did you not notice that the people were much moved by his earn¬
estness and plain spoken truth ? "
"The people have itching ears."
"But, sir, did you not feel greater than ever before in your life, when
you sat there and the people thought you was Sam Jones?"
" It matters little to me what people think, they are never interested in the
great cardinal doctrines of the church. My best sermons are long discussion
of these so-called dogmas, and I present them with clearness and in detail."
"Did you notice there were a great number of reporters catching his
words, and the people were melted to tears? "
" I only saw a ie.vi women melted to tears. I think probably he favors
womens' work."
" I think I saw the editors were melted to tears also."
" One of the editors in N is at heart a prohibitionist."
" Many men are at heart, but it takes something next to a miracle to
"cook" them, do you think he is likely to come out clear?"
" I think not, sir."
"When Sam Jones beggn speaking as he did, I thought at first he meant
himself, and then I thought he meant you ! "
AND OTHER WORKS.
Î73
" I have reason to believe he meant to he personal, he was likely informed
of me and the deacons at Elmville, but what made him guess I voted for high
license? He must be in league with Beelzebub to know that."
M. de Clare was a philanthropist, and one that entered heartily into the
work of uplifting humanity, and his heart was even large enough fo hold Bar¬
nabas Plumsock, yet he felt that he was only a curse to Elmville, and believed
with Sam Jones, that "The greatest blessing God ever bestowed on a people
is a good gamy preacher that is neither afraid of man nor devil," and he felt
that Plumsock was afraid of both when he voted for high license. As for taxa¬
tion, he could see no difference between license and taxation. He feared to
have the State build up its treasury around the saloon, lest by and by the
people would think that the destruction of the saloon involved disaster to the
treasury. The two men were again in Elmville, and the report reached them
on the following day that the politicians of N had held a convention after
Sam Jones departed, and passed the following resolutions:
Resolved, Let come what will we will continue to stick to party.
Resolved, There is a wide difference between the two great parties, and we must
vote according to conscience for the party that embodies our principles.
Resolved, That from Newkirk's Corner to Fourth street, and from Patton's corner
to Church street, and from anywheie to everywhere, the dens of vice may thrive
unmolested, and we will not turn our guns upon them lest the party be injured.
Resolved, That the saloons may remain open on the Sabbath and all night rather
than injure our party cause.
Resolved, That neither the thunder of heaven nor the lightning of hell shall
cause us to loosen party grip, though the city and the whole nation shall perish from
the face of the earth ; we will see that owv party lives.
Resolved, That this city shall be ruled by the saloon, that the degradation of the
ballot box for the profit of the saloon will be tolerated.
Resolved, That no man having offended against the saloon in any way will he
encouraged by our votes, and that we, as Democrats, also, will do all in our power to
keep the reform out of politics and stand the piessure of fanaticism and radical
reformation. That we will never more encourage Sam Jones to visit us to stir up
feelings against party ties.
By the time all these resolutions had passed the very air was sticky, and
all the people of the convention were stuck, and stuck to the saloons, and
altogether clave to the, mire. Then the Republicans resolved they would stick
together too, and not vote for prohibition, lest it would be voting for the
Democrats, and they adopted the motto, "Let brotherly love continue," and
they stuck also in the mire. Then the Democrats spread iheir sails again and
voted to stem the tide of reform, suçh as Sam Jones labored for, and voted,
moreover, that whatever betide we will be tied as a party now and eternally—
Í74
ëléveu wómeñ and îhirîeêm men
tied together in love, tied to saloon interests, tied to all that is degrading and
murderous and cruel; and so all these politicians were and enough
before the day was over, and there was not a Democrat in N that had
courage to stand up in behalf of virtue and humanity and say the saloon
is a cmse, and the party is a cutse to the world, and party ties the ban of
our government.
Then the Republicans resolved that temperance work was helping the
Democratic party and could not be handled much on account of the beer
element, and that beer is not so bad as whisky, and beet it shall be, and that
every man who votes outside the Republican party is injuring it, and is beard¬
less and long-haired, and altogether a crank.
Then the saloon keepers all laughed, and said Sam Jones only did them
good, and the ten o'clock ordinance would soon be repealed again.
During the afternoon, as M. de Clare was thinking all this over, Jimmy
O'Rork was sitting forlorn and spiritless, and his mattock was lying beside him.
He had found himself too weak to dig, and Raleigh, drawing near, wondered if
it was not the loss of the money that disheartened him. But, no, it was the
loss of his strength, for Jimmy exclaimed, "Noo that I'm a lubber and a lout
lad, ye ought not to stan here wid the loik o' me, there is no prachet that
would do as you do."
"O," said Raleigh, "don't you remember the missionary in the cellar,
Jimmy? the kind missionary in the cellar?"
" In trouth I do lad, in trouth ! an' the last hour by the aingeal, with male
and mate and happiness, Raleigh, an' the last—"
"No, not the last, Jimmy, we will be happy as friends, and you shall
be a gentleman and go to the church where your own priest is, if you
like him best."
' ' There is no foiner mon in the world than the Presbyterian missionary,
an' I used to know thim in Ireland, lad, foin virtuous men were the Presbyte¬
rians there."
"And the people here are kind to us, too, Jimmy."
"There is no one in Elmville but Mrs. Ellenwood, lad, and she is hackled
clean and foin."
"O, Jimmy, she is a kind, noble woman, none better on earth."
"An' there is no foiner utterence for the blissid virgin herself, lad, an' the
sharper the hackle the cleaner the hank is threshed. But who is M. de Clare,
I hear ye mintion and who I spoke to a bit ago on the sthreet? "
He is a French physician who travels with Mr. Lee, who is an invalid and
who is now with Arthur Weston in New York."
AND OTHER WORKS.
"And do ye know anything about thim, Raleigh? "
" No, only that he was called by Weston to New York on business, and
M. de Clare has come back ahead of him to see after their baggage. I believe
Mr. Lee is too ill to proceed on his journey and will not be here again. I saw
him when he was here before you came, Jimmy."
"Did you, though, and is his name William?"
"M. de Clare called him Mandeville."
" Mandeville Lee, lad?"
"Yes, I am sure that is his name, I saw it marked thus on the baggage."
" In trouth, thin, he can not be a Frinchman too ? "
"O, no, he is from England and has been traveling in Ireland and many
other countries. He seems to be partially insane, Jimmy, though 1 "
" No, really ? "
And Raleigh was delighted with the beauty of Emily Ellenwood. The
peach bloom in the orchard was not so lovely in his eyes as the tint upon her
fair cheek, as he saw her reclining amid the fragrant blossoms in the dear old
woodland of Elmville beside the babbling stream, where the Flower de Luce
grew wild, and the little birds flitted above in the branches of the Elm.
Some way the charm of her presence gave soul to his delight as he peeped
through the bushes to see her when she thought herself alone.
"Raleigh, this is my wood," she said, "I own this hillock and these
flowers. " and he grew jealous and shy, for somehow he had held a sacred
ownership of this bewitching trysting spot, where he had so often been the
companion of the birds and the flowers. Emily laughed such a wild, happy
laugh, and frightened the birds away, and disturbed the wild flowers, plucking
them recklessly for herself, that Raleigh did not like it at all, but such
a charm lurked in her voice and in her blue eyes that other beauties once so
dear, seemed removed to a distance, seemed dull and listless. Then Emily
would lay her little hand upon his cheek, and whisper in his ear, how could he
tell what she said ? Oh ! the happy days, that May time, when they were fif¬
teen, when there was awakened a friendship, an attachment never to be dis¬
turbed or broken all the day of life to the late twilight rest.
CHAPTER XX.
CONCERNING NICHOLAS SCRUGGS.
Nicholas Scruggs stooped as he walked, and this habitual stooping had
terminated in a large hump upon his shoulders, which resembled a pack as he
stepped with a striding gait, which brought his coat tail nearly to the ground
at each successive lope. He was in appearance, as in soul, dwarfish and mean,
but he was keen, miserly and capable. As one long accustomed to service
will eventually become in a manner dominant in a household, so he possessed
a large amount of dominion over Mrs. Hoadly and Louise ; he was testy and
disagreeable in his manner of taking hold of any service which presented itself.
Louise cared not a straw for this, but as it was, it caused a great deal of discord.
Louise would say, "Nick, are you in need of money?" Nicholas would
reply, " No \ what in the devil do you want done now?" or, "What need
have I of money, an old, hunch-back slave to you?" "That is the truth, so
do as I bid you !" "I will do exactly as I please, madam." "Then you will
leave this place, so be gone!" "That pleases me. Pay me off." "How
does it come that Pm in debt to you?" "You know, d n you!" At
this juncture of the wrangle, Scruggs' head would protrude with his long neck,
as from out of a bake-oven, while his wrinkled face was as red with anger as if
it had been frizzled in its heat. This was about the usual introduction to any
little private scheme Louise might have to gain her ends in society. Nicholas
would stoop lower than she dared to, and would do anything for money ; as
we have said, he was in league with Richard Kruitz in defrauding Hubert, and
that was nothing, his crimes were numberless. There wa^ one man in New
York who had accidentally become acquainted with his affairs, whom he feared,
and had been obliged to hold by bribes ; this man, he had no doubt, was him¬
self a criminal, but he had never been able to get a grip on him by which he
might render him harmless. He once, a few years previous to this, had an
interview with this man, Jimmy O'Rork, which happened in this way, and
which put him on his guard .against him : He had been conferring with Rich¬
ard Kruitz in his saloon, and as they were settling up their accounts, a dispute
AND OTHER WORKS.
177
arose between them which ended in his being thrust, headlong, into the inner
cellar of the la mdry below the saloon, where, after some hours of suffering,
and he had concluded that he could not exist much longer, the door had been
opened and st me empty beer casks were tumbled in by a carter, who was
in the employ of the saloon ; the man did not notice him as he lay in the
shadow, and a er digging and covering the casks with a litter of hops which
lay in the celiahe broke forth in a soliloquy like this;
"Lay dov n, ye spalpeen, and be azy, and mind ye niver go spookin
about to pester Nicholas Scruggs, be that yer honor in the ditch yonder?"
Scruggs groaned and rose upon his feet, seeing he was known, and
answered, "It is me, but what was that you buried in the cask, sir?"
"The divil knows, if it be the Englishman ye murthered, or the Prates-
tant boy ye have in the academy, I'm not able to say. I saw they were
heavy, and tapped them yer honor."
"Merciful heavens!" exclaimed Scruggs, "had Vanderhomer no better
sense ?"
"Do ye consider yer bammin an idiot, ye vile daromedary? See these
same holes in my head, are they clean cust?"
The gangling form of Yallow Jim hung over Scruggs as he continued,
grasping him by the shoulders, "No, mon, while yer dacency has opened all
the sluices of my heart, I'm not blind wid the ravages of small-pox, nor deaf
wid a fla in the drum of my ear."
Nicholas Scruggs was a man that knew little of fear, but the unearthly
Yallow Jim, with his torrent of derisive abuse, made his hair stand erect, and
the certainty that he was suspected of the crime, and that Yallow Jim knew
concerning Hubert, caused his knees to give way, and he fell upon his face.
"Git up, ye mud turtle—ye porcupine," said Yallow Jim, kicking him
vigorously upon the hump of his shoulders, "since we're in the same
ditch entirely."
On hearing these words, Scruggs rose and glared upon Yallow Jim, then
presently the two agreed. There was, however, though neither of them knew
it, another eye witness to this besides the Almighty; it was Hubert, who had
followed the cart, and had secreted himself near the door of the cellar, where
he could see and hear these men. It was very dark when they emerged from
the cellar, and Hubert kept close behind them until they seated themselves in
the cart and drove away. From that time Scruggs had felt uneasy. To what
extent Jimmy f I'Rork might have been implicated in crime, or just how much
he knew of was a matter of conjecture. Jimmy O'Rork had never yet
divulged anything. Like Scruggs, he could be hired [both these men were
178
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
useful in times of political contest, for reasons a politician can readily under¬
stand, while others may not care to know, and I need not here explain in
detail the part they had taken in several campaigns]. Thus it is readily seen
how Hubert knew something of the character of Scruggs, and felt somewhat
suspicious of him, particularly as he could see that Scruggs knew him. Hu¬
bert was convalescing, but about in the measure he gained in strength, the old
lady became more feeble, and when he was able to leave the room, she was
not. In her attachment to him she was childish—and all looked upon her
fondness as a freak of her disordered mind. One day after she was no longer
able to rise, she requested Hubert to have Mr. Gary visit her, and when he
arrived she requested a private interview, in which she told him her surmisings
in regard to Hubert, for she had come very strangely to suspect him to be her
grandson. She was afraid to speak of this to Louise, and yet more afraid of
Scruggs. While she felt that the matter must still be kept secret from Hubert,
she wished to secure to him a portion of her estate. Charles Gary advised her
to confide in Arthur Weston, to arrange this business for her, which she did.
She made no mention, however, to Weston of Louise's child, or of her connec¬
tion with Hubert. Some property was, by Weston's advice, made over to
Hubert—not by will, but by deed. While these matters were proceeding,
Hubert's suspicions were aroused, and particularly as Nicholas Scruggs and
Louise were holding daily interviews ; he conceived the idea that something
was plotting against him, of which the aged woman was kept ignorant ; he
accordingly became very watchful—day and night he was on the alert ; the
feebleness of the aged woman, and her attachment for him, rendered it impos¬
sible for him to desert her. One afternoon the carriage conveyed Louise and
Nicholas Scruggs away, then presently returned again ; and about twilight he
saw Scruggs skulking along the street, keeping in the shadow of the houses,
and followed him. Scruggs halted in a miserable alley and entered a tenant's
room. Hubert could hear what was said from the outside ; these tenants were
informed that they must vacate the house immediately, a cart would be at the
door early in the morning to convey them away ; this family consisted ofi a
woman and several small ragged children, who crowded together against the
wall. The woman wailed and begged, and Scruggs, with fearful oaths, bade
her be still, and listen to him. He told her there was a house by the mill, a
very good one, she could occupy, on certain conditions ; she promised every¬
thing. Scruggs stood before the crouching hag with a finger lifted in her face
as she swore to serve him in anything he might direct ; Scruggs held absolute
control over this family, the children stood trembling with fear, for he seldom
left the house without administering severe chastisernent upon the little imps,
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but to-night this was omitted, for he was hurried with other business. Again
he emerged and skulked along the street ; at every step his great coat swept
the ground behind with its swallow tail ; it being one he had borrowed for the
purpose of disguise, and was somewhat large for him. After a long walk
during which the night had grown black, and a drizzling rain had set in, he
stopped at a ruin beside the great factory, near the river ; on the opposite side,
but not very far distant from Hubert's Ijiome with Mr. Gary. One wing of this
old building was but a leaning frame, with bare and broken rafters ; another
portion was somewhat newer, and consisted of several crumbling apartments.
Scruggs walked round about the old building, which was illuminated by the
light of the mill, with his protruding head turned upward toward the attic.
Hubert remained a little distance from him ; presently Scruggs buttoned up the
great coat, slouched his hat to form a roof over his shoulders, and sat down
upon a block of the underpinning which had fallen out, as if expecting some
one for whom he would be obliged to wait. Hubert decided to wait with him,
and drew himself as near to the wall of the factory as possible for secretion
and shelter. Thus began a long, weary night watch, in which Scruggs never
moved except once, when Hubert shifted his position better to avoid the
driving storm of rain, which had steadily increased in volume as the hours
dragged on. Hubert's hand was upon a weapon, but Scruggs seated himself
again as before. Hubert had gathered enough from Scruggs' conversation with
the woman to suspect that some person was imprisoned in the old building.
At the break of dawn he secreted himself in the abysses of the dingy, noisy
factory, and Scruggs arose and after carefully peering in the direction of the
bridge, disappeared in an opposite direction from which he had come on the
previous night. Hubert then hastened to reconnoitre the old building before
the cart should arrive which was to convey the family to the scene of interest.
With a blow he demolished the stair door, and ascended to the attic, going
from one room to another, all deserted. At last he found one miserable cell
locked securely, and a bit of bright ribbon laid on the floor outside ; he rapped
at this door, but received no answer ; it was rickety, and easily forced open,
and within was a young girl ; with clear, fearless blue eyes she met the
flashing, excited eyes of Hubert.
" Was you locked in here by some one? " asked he hurriedly.
"Yes, by Louise Mendenhall and a man with a crooked back."
" Were you put here for punishment? "
" For what else," sighed the girl, " I know nothing why I'm here."
" And you were here in this miserable place alone all night, poor girl ! "
" I am not afraid—but " —
i8o ELEVEN Women and thirteen men
And for the first time since her imprisonment, the girl gave way to sobs,
and seeing in the boy a friend, a deliverer, she sank, with her dainty pink
satin crushed upon the floor, and hid her face from his gaze.
Hubert stood beside the poor girl, urging, "Be quick, let us escape, if
possible, to the factory ! "
But she had fainted ; the very worst thing she could have done at that
moment, for Hubert had not strength to carry her, and time was very precious.
It was useless to call for help in the vicinity of the mill with its unceasing
hum, and Hubert's only chance was to rush out for assistance, and leave her
alone. He saw at a little distance a vegetable cart and a market woman, also
a man walking upon the bridge ; he ran to get the woman, if possible, to help
him rescue the girl, but a pistol shot struck him from somewhere, and he
staggered and fell, seriously wounded ; sometime after he was picked up by a
public officer and conveyed to the nearest hospital, where he remained several
days, during which time the aged woman died of grief, calling for Hubert,
blaming Louise for casting away her helpless babe, shuddering with horror
and grief she died as if without a ray of light. Hubert had been a great sun
of light and warmth during her last illness. We may not question why he
was withdrawn, and she left in darkness. In reality the death of the aged
woman was hastened by a foul and fiendish strategy. Scruggs knew of a
secret hoarding which the old lady in the whimsicalness of her mind had
made for the benefit of Hubert and which she kept constantly about her
person. He knew it was useless to think of securing this money to himself
while a spark of life remained in the aged body, and witnessing the violent
ravings of the sick woman, and the strength of her system, he began to fear
she would not die, and that Louise would be obliged to incarc :rate her in an
asylum, in which case he calculated he would miss the coveted L"easure.
Hannah had again been established in the household to r urse the aged
lady whose imaginations and frenzies had rendered her incont olable, except
by force. On the night after Hubert's disappearance, as she \'2ls calling for
him, Scruggs entered and stood partly concealed from her view, and when she
demanded to know if it were Hubert, he answered, "It is Hubert," imitating
the boy's voice.
She sprang joyfully to the foot of the bed, and clasped Scruggs in her
arms, sobbing and blessing her poor, lost grandson. Her long, heavy hair,
white as the snowy curtains where she kneeled, fell streaming ba.ck, completely
covering her small, emaciated form. Suddenly she dropped her head upon the
shoulders of Scruggs as if she were suffocating, for the strong, wiry arms of
Scruggs had pressed her close affid closer still to his bosom ; and one entwining
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I8l
her neck drew it tight, very tight, pressed to his hard collar bone. Gradually,
persistently he continued to press thus, till her soul was pressed out of its
tabernacle, and she was dead ; he held her a little longer, then loosening his
grip, said, "Here, take her, Hanner!" then excitedly whispered, "Is she
purple, is her neck red ? "
"No, Nicholas."
"Are you sure? I would not have her red or purple."
" No, honey, she is not purple, she is white as snow."
"Mercy, Hanner! she gasped, did she not gasp?"
"No, no! honey, you are excited, she is still as a stone."
"Oh! her everlasting soul, she ¿//i/move ! " with awful shuddering, "she
looked at me ! "
"Honey, honey!" cried Hannah, putting her lips to the face of the
fiend and kissing him, soothingly, "she did not look at you, her eyes are dead,
dull as ashes."
Scruggs thrust Hannah to the floor then raised her with a kick and most
horrible curses.
"Be quick, the purse, the purse ! "
" Hannah staggered to her feet and felt for the purse but could not find it.
" Is it gone f " he hissed.
Hannah fell, fainting with terror, exclaiming, "I can't find it. Oh!
have mercy."
Scruggs pushed the dead body from the bed, it fell heavily by the side of
Hannah ; the money was not about the bed ; he, however, found it in the
bosom of the white lace gown Mrs. Hoadly wore. After finding the money
Scruggs grew composed, lifted Hannah up and caressed her, "My good dear,
I did not mean to hurt you, here is a dime, my dear, I will ring the bell now,
be composed when Louise comes."
Scruggs entered the hall, rang the bell, and then went as quickly as possi¬
ble to his own room and secreted the purse until there should be an oppor¬
tunity to examine its contents.
CHAPTER XXI.
"Then why pause with, indecision,
When bright angels in thy vision
Beckon thee to lields Elysian."
—Longfellow.
We have called Emily a child, aud in the eyes of Arthur Weston she was
but a child. To her mother she was wondrously lovely as she smoothed her
bright hair, the locks that,—
" * * * * outshine the sun.
Golden tresses wreathed in one."
And in her hand, ladened with the flowers of childhood, bloomed the lily
of purity.
Is there another, on earth, beholds the unfolding of the flower of woman¬
hood as does a mother ?
Is there another would so fold, in stainless shrine, the trembling heart,
and hold it in its innocent and tender dreams ?
Is there another feels the shadows and hears the tumultuous billows of
life's river, as does she?
And such a mother as was Harriet Ellenwood, whose life had borne so much
of sorrow and wrong, was clinging with sacred awe to this love, woven in such
golden tissue. And there was never one who stepped with more ' ' reluctant
feet," from a joyous, buoyant, fleeting childhood, than did Emily.
"O! thou child of many prayers.
Life hath quicksaiid.s. life hath snares."
And, as she had not done before, Emily nestled to the heart of her mother
and understood its wealth. Mrs. Ellenwood had made many mistakes in her
desires for Emily—born of extravagant love—yet her tender hand had wrought
results in her character, which must prove immortal. She had accepted the
precepts, if she had not the experience of God's grace in her life.
Weston reasoned wrong, and made a wrong estimate of Emily. He rea¬
soned, that she must, while in New Yt^rk, board at his hotel and have superb
apartments, and servants, He must do well by her and to him that meant
184
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
display, and standing in society. Raleigh could not continue his acquaintance
with her. Wilhelmina and Eddie would hardly expect to associate with Emily
with any familiarity ; Louise, he thought, would be a suitable companion, he
would depend much on Louise to introduce her into the ranks of fashion and
coquetry. Weston saw in Emily, wit, tact, and ambition ; he knew she would
have her own way, but expected to be very proud of her. As for Emily, she
was beautiful and innocent. She would not be timidly awkward neither would
she be unnatural nor false ; she would not stoop to Louise, and Weston must be
proud of her as she was, if at all. She possessed a truthful nature, and with it
a will like his own. When the dispatch was received by Mrs. Ellenwood, that
Weston would come himself to accompany his niece to the city, she felt very
much relieved of her anxiety ; but Raleigh thought at once of Jimmy O'Rork,
whom he had persuaded to stay in Elmville, and take a job of light work ; he
believed the best way would be to tell him truthfully of Weston's coming ; he
expected Jimmy would disappear; but no, he did not; and on the morning
Weston was expected, he went quietly about his work, and almost the first
object that met the eye of Weston on his arrival in Elmville was the ungainly,
emaciated figure of the man he had been searching for in every corner of New
York. And now he was found, it did not occur to him, with much force,
what he wanted of him in Elmville. It was an awkward thing to capture such
a man there, without any evidence against him.
Jimmy, himself, helped Weston out of his dilemma, by saying. "Weston,
I've concluded to tell you all I know now about Childreth, Hubert,
Scruggs, and Louise."
This announcement, so unexpected and startling, threw Weston into con¬
sternation. What did he mean by mentioning Louise and her old servant; he
must have said this because he understood that Louise and he were friends,
but recovering himself, he replied :
"Well, Mr. O'Rork, if you will testify in the case, you shall not appear
implicated, I can clear you."
"Eaith, I would have cleared myself entirely, had it not been for the boy
Raleigh, who has twice now saved my miserable life ; and for the mather of
that, ye need bother none about Yallow Jim, for I do this dacently and outside
of him entirely."
Weston saw that Jimmy was in earnest, and half believing him to be
insane, left him to pursue his avocation unmolested; but when Emily, Weston
and Raleigh started for New York, Yallow Jim went on the same train.
Emily's appreciative mind was delighted with the elegance and luxury of
her uncle's life in New York. The days glided over her like dreams, while he
AND OTHER WORKS.
introduced her to the many beautiful and surprising scenes of that great, bril¬
liant city. Her letters to Elmville were vivid descriptions. Gradually
as she was introduced into society, the sentiments were of intoxication, of
passion for dress and jewels, and of the appreciation bestowed by new
friends. For a little time she was thus enchanted, and her existence was
filled with this fascination.
Then there was a pause, for the invisible Hand shivered the chain which
encircled her, and she was saved ; yet none of her friends, but her mother,
saw any significance or economy in the Love that snatched her out of the
delusive snare.
But Emily was missing, gone from her uncle's magnificent parlors, gone
as if translated, leaving no trace behind her ; her deserted room appeared as if
she had left hastily, and left all. The beautiful wardrobe and gifts Weston had
bestowed were lying carelessly about, and a half finished letter to her mother
upon the table.
There was consternation and blank mystery, but very little genuine sym¬
pathy displayed by the society in which she was figuring, when it was an¬
nounced that Emily Ellenwood had disappeared. Had she been abducted and
betrayed, or had she eloped with some obscure lover?
Weston, in his alarm and frenzy, appealed to every one; he distracted
Raleigh; he confided in Yallow Jim, and begged the service of his cunning;
he appealed to Charles Gary for his prayers ; he kneeled before Louise in his
agony for sympathy, and received her scorn ; he lost all self control, sent for
Watkins to take charge of his office, and for his sister to hasten to New York.
For the first time in his life he was sick and could not rise from his bed, when
of all times he should have been in possession of his full strength. The
broken-hearted mother arrived, and quietly administered care to her sick
brother. Her self-possession and steady trust was a marvel to Weston, while
her soul was cast in an importuning faith upon the heart of God. In
answer to her brother's wild fears, in regard t© Emily, she would say, "God
is a protector."
His mind depicted darkness and an awful fate for the poor girl, and Mrs.
Ellenwood's religious enthusiasm, as he believed it to be, offended him, and
yet it so strengthened her that she supported him, and through her faith he
arose from his bed and began to calculate as of old.
Nicholas Scruggs was the owner of some old tenement houses, too
shackelly to be occupied, in a gloomy, out of the way locality, near some
noisy factories ; he asked Louise, " What shall be done with Emily? "
"I don't care what becomes of her, so she is lost to Weston," replied she.
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
"Shall I put her in the old prison by the mill?"
"Don't bother me about it if you expect your pay; all I shall do, is to
take her in my carriage."
Nicholas Scruggs thought it would be best to lodge her for a time in the
old building, and contrive to make more money out of it than Louise was to
pay him. Emily was taken by Louise to the building on pretext to examine
an old ruin, and was there seized by Scruggs and locked within, where she was
left to her reflections until found by Hubert.
Her courage supported her, and schemes of expediency took possession
of her mind, and as we have already stated, she did not give way until the
words of sympathy, expressed by Hubert, and her hope of deliverance over¬
came her; but when she returned to consciousness, Hubert was gone, and she
had been placed in a cart by Scruggs and removed to a house across the river,
where, if she was not safer than in the desolate ruin, she was more comfort¬
able. Fortunately for her, when Hubert was forced to forego his watch of
Scruggs, Yallow Jim took it up. During the period of time Emily had been
missing, Jimmy O'Rork had not been idle ; his brain had been wrought to
frenzy by thoughts that would whirl and madden into remorse and despair, not
that he had, himself, been guilty of great crimes, but he had holden them for
others; he knew of the foul plots and deeds of Scruggs, and the atrocious
crimes of Louise Mendenhall, and he immediately suspicioned them to have
stolen Emily. He immediately suspicioned, also, the errand of Scruggs to
Elmville. To tell you why he had so much reason, to so suspicion, would
take me back sixteen years from the present date, to tell the sad fate of
another poor girl under the hand of Scruggs and Louise, too heart-rending to
be partially detailed here. It was this and kindred remembrances that swept
through the quickened mind of Jimmy O'Rork, that made him walk so rapidly
along the street, that he was like to have been arrested as one insane. He
would work to effect. He would watch the movements of Scruggs, and he
took up the office of a spy, the same day poor Hubert was obliged to lay it
down. He saw Scruggs go with a cart to the family where Hubert had wit¬
nessed the scene on the previous night. He followed the family to the tene¬
ment house by the mill, and saw no house there but only a heap of smoulder¬
ing ruins at one end, and lurid flame at the other. Noticed that Scruggs did
not seem much discomforted by the destruction of his property—saw him con¬
versing with a man who was driving an empty cart across the bridge. The
family had returned to its starting point, and Scruggs got into the empty cart
with the driver and rode rapidly along the main land across the river, where
Jimmy lost track of him. He remained some time beside the ruin, thinking,
ÄND OTHER WORKS.
187
perhaps, Scruggs would return by the same bridge, but Scruggs did not do
this. Jimmy next proceeded to the mansion of Louise Mendenhall, and there
watched all day, but saw nothing of Scruggs.
On the evening of the third day he discovered him working about the
premises, saw him tying crape, and concluded there was going to be a funeral
within the house. He had eaten nothing for two days, and felt hungry and
weary ; he perceived, however, in the evening, that he would not have time for
supper, for Scruggs had taken a coach, and it was standing outside the front
entrance. Jimmy O'Rork knew it would be impossible for him to follow a
coach, and decided to risk secreting himself within. A robe had been thrown
into the back seat, also a woman's cloak, and he therefore concluded that
Louise was expecting to go out, and he ingeniously worked himself beneath
the carriage bed, upon the coupling pole. Scruggs got into the coach alone
and drove, taking the road to the bridge below the factory, and thence across
the mainland, to a small cottage which he entered, and presently came forth
again, accompanied by a woman wearing the cloak which had been thrown into
the carriage. The woman was put in, Scruggs then changed his course,
returning into the city by another route ; he checked his coach in front of a
brilliant saloon belonging to a disreputable house on street. Jimmy now
dropped down upon the ground, crawled backward, and by the aid of the
flashing light of the saloon, caught sight of the face of the woman within. It
was Emily, pale and weepingly she peered forth to see where she was to stop.
As Scruggs advanced to open the coach, Jimmy made a lunge upon him,
choking him and flinging him half dead, beneath the feet of the horses, he
jumped to the seat of the carriage, drove the wheels over the miserable
wretch's body and away across the bridge again into the mainland, anywhere,
in his excitement, until he was full ten miles in the suburbs. At last, checking
the weary horses, he turned and addressed the trembling girl, who sat silently
awaiting her fate.
"Och, thin, miss, ye've been takin' a divil of a ride wid me, shure! ye've
been away from home these four days, and yer ould mither's here distracted
entirely."
Emily leaned forward and looked into the face of Jimmy, and whispered
in an ecstacy of surprise, " Jimmy O'Rork ! O, Jimmy O'Rork, is it you?"
"Faith if I know, but if it be me, afther all this gumflusion, and if ye
say it be Yallow Jim, in dacency, I'll drive ye to yer mither."
From Weston's hotel they were full twenty miles distant, anc^ it was day¬
light when they stopped in front of his office. On seeing the Mendenhall
carriage in front at such an early hour, Weston flew down, expecting there
i88
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
must be tidings concerning Emily. He was confounded on beholding Yallow
Jim seated as driver; then with a wild cry of joy, Emily flung herself into her
uncle's arms, and scarcely knowing what he did, he carried her to her mother.
Charles Gary had also just arrived, having visited Hubert at the hospital, he
called to relate his part of the tragedy, which was corroborated by Emily,
with tears of joy.
"Charles," said Weston, "Hubert must be rewarded."
"And Jimmy O'Rork," added Mrs. Ellenwood, softly.
" O, certainly," replied Weston, starting for the carriage, but Jimmy had
hitched the jaded horses and crawled away, no one knew where.
And now Weston resolved in his heart to avenge Emily's wrong without
mercy. The following day Jimmy called to hold a private interview with
Weston; he detailed to him a full history of Nicholas Scruggs' crimes as far as
he knew them, giving all the necessary information concerning the death of
Clarendon Childreth, and the names of a number of witnesses besides himself.
He also told him of Hubert's true parentage and the enormous fraud against
him and the aged woman, his grandmother, which had been carried on between
Richard Kruitz and Nicholas Scruggs.
CHAPTER XXII.
in which some interesting doings of jimmy o'rork are recorded.
While Hubert was in the hospital suffering from the wound of the pistol
shot which he had received while attempting to rescue Emily, he was very
anxious in regard to the aged woman, fearing she would think he had deserted
her, and as soon as he was able to do so he wrote to her, telling her his where¬
abouts, and the letter fell into the hands of Louise, after the funeral of her
mother. Louise informed Charles Cary immediately of Hubert's affairs, also
that he was no longer needed in her family.
The troublesome canes were thrown aside, the beautiful plants in the
green house left to droop and die, as the aged woman had also been left to
wither and decay uncared for by Louise. After her death no more thought
was bestowed upon her than had been during her life. Plubert was the sin-
cerest mourner. His wound had not proved as serious as was feared, and
when Charles Cary visited him it was thought he would be able by the next
day to quit the hospital and return to his old hom,e.
After Louise had notified Mr. Cary of the whereabouts of Hubert she
retired to her room and reflected. Scruggs had not been seen since he drove
away on the previous night, and she owned to herself that it was a singular
thing. Yet she quieted her anxiety by remembering that Emily might have
made him some trouble, and as to the final success of Scruggs, she had not the
least doubt ; she knew nothing of the plans he had formed and should not be
anxious about the time it might take him to accomplish them ; jealousy against
Emily and hatred of Weston had taken complete control of her mind. The
advent of a note from Scruggs served to direct her thoughts into another
channel It read :
"I am in trouble! If you know where Hubert is, or can by any means And
him, have him put under arrest. I will try to get home under cover of the night.
" Scruggs."
Louise knew where Hubert was, and she understood also that Scruggs
must be obeyed, and, without a moment's hesitation, she took measures for
his arrest. The poor boy was about to be removed to his dear old home with
Charles Cary, when he was arrested and taken to the watch-house to await his
trial, for what! he knew not.
This, to Weston, was an unforseen turn of events; he perceived that some
one was working against him and he exclaimed, " Why have I been so stupid !
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THÍRtEEN MEN
What has become of Jimmy O'Rork ! Can Scruggs be found!" Why had
he lost a moment ; it was very unlike him to lose a moment in times when he
was detecting crimes. The truth was, his mind had been on such an unwonted
strain, for days, in regard to the fate of his loved niece, that the reaction which
took place on her restoration to him, made him unlike himself, he felt a sense
of passiveness and rest and a disposition to yield to a childish enjoyment of
her society ; he was happy. And Emily was so happy with her mother, so
grateful to all, so innocent ; she asked to see Hubert ; she laughed about the
hideous Scruggs; she loved Yallow Jim, in fact, Emily was not like herself
either, nor yet was Mrs. Ellenwood. Weston could not be blamed for not
retaining Yallow Jim and arresting Scruggs and Louise immediately, as he now
felt that he should have done. Emily, in her sensitiveness, had waywardly
detained him ; nothing could have been more fascinating than the tears of
the tender-hearted girl, as her tall, graceful figure darted to intercept him if he
attempted to enter his office ; then she would caress him and her mother and
rest wearily in their arms. She felt a nervous fear, a terror of being left alone,
which she would endeavor to conceal by artful ways, but which he compre¬
hended, perfectly.
"Uncle Arthur," asked she, the first evening, as she sat between him
and her mother, while the silver stars broke through the purple twilight, her
head resting upon his shoulder, as they gazed upon the wondrous beauty of
the sky, "is Hubert an orphan boy?"
"Yes, Emily."
"There was a long silence; no language attends the sweet, strange»
tremulous flight of the new-born thoughts of love. The white folds of a cloud,
that glided below the moon to veil its soft beaming, did most sacredly protect
Emily's face, while heaven's first vision of love shone in her heart. Where
was Hubert at that moment? He was convulsed in the agony, dismay and
horror, of a first night in prison among vile criminals ; what was all the past,
or all the future that night to him, with nothing to check his distorted imagi¬
nation? No ray of star or sun could penetrate with hope, the gloom and utter
darkness of his mind. He had never had hope enough to believe that any¬
thing so celestial as the love of woman, could ever live for him.
There was a tap at the door of Weston's parlor and Raleigh entered,
bearing a message from Elmville. Mary Sanford wished to see Walter Wat-
kins, she could live but a few days more ; she also longed to see Mrs. Ellen-
wood and Raleigh. Hester had enclosed money to bring Raleigh back to
Elmville. " Walter started yesterday for San Erancisco, on business forme.
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191
I will dispatch for him at once " (there was no such thing possible, as that
Watkins would go to Elmville on such an occasion, he was not capable of doing
such a thing as that) "the rest of you had better go immediately;" but at
the same hour, before Raleigh had quitted the room, a letter was received
from M. de Clare, written in great haste ; M. de Clare was alarmed for Man-
deyille, who was no longer able to rise.
Mandeville, as you remember, had been summonsed by Weston while in
Elmville, where he found his son, to hasten to New York where Weston
imagined a clue of Annie Lee had been found. Mandeville had found little to
encourage him in following this supposed clue, and during the week in which
Weston had been in such suspense in regard to Emily, he had heard nothing
from him, and his impatience, anxiety and disappointment, had completely
overcome his strength. M. de Clare suggested that Raleigh be sent to him, as
he believed him to be his son, and it might be the means of saving him from
speedy death. Mrs. Ellenwood was the óne to tell Raleigh the story of
Mandeville Lee, and inform him of the probability of him being his father, as
old Nancy had been the one to crush him by telling him his mother was
only a vagrant.
The charm of the hours spent in the company of that father in Elmville
had lingered with Raleigh and upborne him, as love alone can upbear the
heart, and the wonderful possibility of being the son of such a man, now
enraptured him ; he would go, he would fly, and, indeed, within a few hours
Raleigh was beside his suffering father, unrecognized now, but hovering,
blessing, praying, he waited and hoped for his recovery.
After Raleigh had departed to his father, Weston had a private talk with
his sister concerning Emily, and in regard to her future ; he could not
think of parting from her for any length of time, now that he had decided
to make her his heir.
The nearest approach to true affection Weston ever made, was toward his
darling niece, who had so loved him from her infancy.
He inquired, too, of Aunt Nancy, and his sister informed him of
Raleigh's sacrifice in undertaking her support, and how he had walked over to
the poor house, fifteen miles, to see her.
" Walked," exclaimed Weston, "is there no easier way to reach her
from Elmville?"
"There was no easier way for Raleigh," replied she, sadly.
" She probably knows more about Raleigh's infancy than any one we can
discover," said Weston, thoughtfully.
"Is she capable of bearing testinapny?"
"She rçmembers all the past perfectly, is, especially, good in names and
192
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
dates, and now that Raleigh has done so much for her, and she is happy, she
will do all she can for him, I believe."
Even in the life of Arthur Weston, this had been an eventful day, and yet
it was not ended. At that very hour a tragedy was being enacted in the room
of Louise Mendenhall. Jimmy O'Rork had succeeded in capturing Scruggs
before he reached home, and he was securely locked in prison. He then
pressed through the streets of the city to the residence of Louise, and sud¬
denly appeared before her as , an apparition of Lucifer might have appeared.
With awful curses, such as Jimmy O'Rork knew how to utter, he denounced
the wicked woman. Bending forward with uplifted finger, his hair straggling
adown his long shrunken temples, and his dangling beard upon his bosom, he
recounted to her in the most revolting detail, the awful crimes of which she
had been guilty. He told her of Hubert, her son, and of the cruelty he
received at the hands of Kruitz and Scruggs, of the poor, innocent Irish girl,
and her death at the riverside, of her attempted destruction of Emily, and her
rescue, and the arrest of Scruggs at the hands of Weston.
All this time Louise stood with her hands uplifted as if to shield herself,
and stricken with speechless horror. She believed Jimmy O'Rork to be a
messenger from the infernal regions, come to accuse her ; she believed him
endued with a superhuman knowledge of her crimes and a herald of retribu¬
tion ; she believed him sent to avenge his countrywoman that had been
so inhumanly betrayed by her. She believed the end of her days had
come upon her.
With a solemn, awful denunciation, Yallow Jim left her as suddenly and
mysteriously as he had appeared. What was there for her to do ? The cer¬
tainty of her disgrace and ruin fell upon her ambitious mind, and remorse
seized her. The sound of the Irishman's curse remained in her ears, and his
uplifted finger, blasting her soul, remained in her sight. A few moments she
stood transfixed, with fire burning her brain, then reeling forward, she fell
upon her bed. An hour elapsed in which she did not move, but with eyes
fixed upon the ceiling of her room, and hands clenched upon her bosom, she
existed in that state in which a soul is capable of only one thought—that
thought in Louise's soul was, "Accursed! Accursed! Accursed!" Clasping
her brow with one hand, with the other she drew the deadly weapon from its
place beneath her pillow. There was a hopeless moment's pause, then with
compressed and prayerless lips, she thrust her soul into the unknown.
It was not until late the following day she was found by her servants, and
no one appearing against Hubert, he was set at liberty. Scruggs on the
contrary was committed to prison to await his trial.
CHAPTER XXIII.
"The freeman like a growing tree,
Thrives rooted in its place;
The hondman like a withered leaf,
Flits on and leaves no trace."
There had never been a time in Walter Watkins life when he cared less for
his early love than on the day he received the dispatch that Miss Sanford was
nearing death. His mind was not only absorbed in his scheme, but his con¬
science was writhing under guilt, and his soul was embittered by the proba¬
bility which now appeared that his undertaking would not only prove futile,
but would involve him in great difficulty and disgrace. He had not acted pre¬
cisely as Weston thought best, although in the main he had acted under his
direction, he had taken his own way sufficiently to secure failure by doing
exactly what he should not have done in important details. Besides, Walter
had been gradually yielding to the insidious habit of intemperance, which had
finally entangled and overcome him to such an extent as to render him very
often incapable of accurate and unclouded reasoning.
He was now discouraged, not only on account of the almost certain
failure of his business transaction, but with himself; he loathed the ruinous
habit which so often called forth the anxious commiseration of friends who
would gladly have lifted him into a life of sobriety and respect, and this was
no longer a secret in society, and there was no longer for him there the flattery
which co.uld alone produce pleasure, but rather contempt and scorn. All
these discouragements came upon him to overwhelm his mind with wild,
hopeless foreboding; and the real darkness of his situation was not over¬
drawn on his imagination ; he was in a depth of perplexity and despair,
into which abyss he had heedlessly walked, from which it was now impos¬
sible to extricate himself.
There had never before been a time when he stopped to think, that he
could see no hope upon which to hang, an assurance to proceed a little further ;
never a time he did not believe that deliverance would be found a few steps
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ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
ahead ; he had always acted in expectation of doing by some happy turn
to-morrow what he could not exactly reach to-day. At times his appetite for
strong drink goaded him to madness, while he knew that he must reform or be
engulfed in ruin. While this was clearly realized he battled against the evil in
moral weakness and blindness—but the disease rendered him frequently
dull to every consideration apart from the cravings of his physical system,
and he would yield to the appetite which grew stronger, as he grew
weaker day by day.
The information that Mary Sanford was dying, only served to arouse him
to bitter memories of better days that mocked him. He, indeed, felt some¬
thing like grief, but his grief was not of the kind that love for her would have
produced. It partook more of the nature of self pity ; he had lost one to
whom he had turned for support and comfort, not one to whom he had ever
extended protection, or sympathy ; he had felt no tender love, and no tendrils
of his heart were bleeding, no yearning went out for the pure, lovely spirit
that so trusted him. He had lost what he did not truly prize or appreciate,
and his grief passed in a day ; in a day was she gone ; and as he had no faith
in the living, loving spirit world above, no influence or tie from that could
reach his miserable life below.
His political associates, and the citizens of the community where he had
been elected to an office of trust, gave him little sympathy in his embarrass¬
ment, when it appeared that he had embezzled a large sum of the public funds.
He trusted to Weston, who had promised to stand by him should their
speculation fail, but such a trust was groundless, and he had yet to learn the
fact that Arthur Weston was a man who made money but did not lose it.
When this last hope faded, he was left in utter darkness and despondency, and
in this state of mind he fled from his home and friends, and drifted beyond our
sight upon the false, downward tide of his life.
Miss Sanford died as she had lived, peacefully and lovingly, remembering
to the last, others above herself. With faith in her early love, she bequeathed
to Walter her most cherished treasures, and the tenderest words of parting
love, not knowing that this sowing of her affections, during all the years of
her pure maidenhood, had fallen by the wayside, and would be forever fruitless.
CHAPTER XXIV.
AUNT NANCY MUST GO TO NEW YORK TO ATTEND A TRIAL.
On the return of Mrs. Ellenwood and Emily to Elmville, they found
Aunt Nancy much improved in health and spirit, and very anxiously awaiting
the return of her benefactor, Raleigh, betraying at last a fondness for him, and
an anxiety for his comfort and pleasure, which had, under her clumsy fingers,
taken shape in some articles of knitted work. Now this was quite unnec¬
essary, and even her affection was no longer needed by him, yet it was none
the less important to her happiness, for it was the beginning of unselfish
thoughts and impulses in her soul. No doubt many never feel the dawning of
the true element of life (which is love,) during their probation here upon earth.
Poor Aunt Nancy McNeilly, who had never wavered in her profession of
piety, was not far below the Protestant minister of Elmville, whom I have
before mentioned in connection with her, who had certainly been as faithful in
his profession as she, and had displayed about as little genuine love for
humanity in his irnmediate relation thereto. It is certain he had imbibed no
more of the spirit of Christ than was necessary to establish in his own mind
"an inheritance in heaven," for which he toiled, forgetful that, "He that
loseth his life shall save it." I speak particularly of this minister here because
the contrast between him and James Montifort is forever in my mind, when I
walk in that quiet village, and look into the faces of the old people of Elmville
who were members of Mr. Montifort's congregation ; when the children gather
in the Sunday school ; or the mourners carry their dead to burial ; when I visit
the grave of aged David, or little Helena.
It became the duty of Mrs. EUenwood to prepare Aunt Nancy for a
journey to New York, to attend the trial of Nicholas Scruggs, which was no
196
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
small task ; but Weston had seen the importance of summoning her, after an
interview with Jimmy O'Rork.
The destiny of Raleigh, as well as Hubert, the hope of Mandeville
equally with that of Wilhelmina, seemed circling above the head of Nicholas
Scruggs, while Yallow Jim held the key to all mysteries. Now if Raleigh had
not considered Aunt Nancy's distress, and relieved her mind by establishing
her once more in Elmville, she would probably not have lived to furnish the
information concerning him, which linked the disconnected history of his
childhood, -and proved him the son of Mandeville Lee.
CHAPTER XXV.
A DARK PICTURE OF SCRUGGS' BOYHOOD ; ALSO JIMMY O'RORK BRINGS IN AN
IMPORTANT WITNESS.
It was at nightfall, and on a muddy roadside, where three forlorn men
stood looking at a wagon that was sticking in the mire. I saw a dumb figure,
with shadowy face, standing where it had been stood on being lifted frcm the
seat of the wagon. Above the road to the north stretched a slope with
barren, stony surface, and not a tree or shrub could I discover from where I
stood. At the summit of this slope, nearly a quarter of a mile distant,
loomed up three ghostly looking houses with countless staring windows in
tiers one above another, marking four stories. I was a stranger in the place,
but I instantly concluded that the desolate looking building upon the top of
the brown slope was a poor house, and that the dumb, dark figure was a boy
about to become an inmate, and there came over my mind something like a
prophecy concerning the future of that child.
I have never, waking or dreaming, seen anything so hopeless and forlorn
as the dull, dark picture of that boy, and the dreary aspect of his future home.
There may have been something in the fact that it was a dismal evening,
chilly, drizzling and dusky, with a relentless sky above, and a swollen creek
rushing its turbid waters wildly along at the foot of the slope, with a disconso¬
late roar. But there stood the boy peering out toward the desolate poor
house, with small, vacant eyes. His nose was rather long for a boy's, arid
knobbed at the end. He did not stir from where he had been stood until he
was bidden, then I noticed he walked with a quick and striding gait, and sure
enough, along the footpath, up the slope, and into the poor house, accom¬
panied by the forlorn looking paupers who were standing at the roadside when
the wagon drove up.
"We will have to get the wagon out of this quag somehow," said the
man who had lifted the boy from the seat; he was a township trustee, and
was addressing the superintendent o( the poor house. "I am afraid it will
turn cold and freeze up before morning."
198
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
"I think it will, the wind is shifting into the north."
"The water is high."
"Yes, the water is very high for a freeze up. I fear it will warp
the bridges above."
As the men thus conversed, they contrived by means of a fence rail to
pry the wagon from the mud, and assist the horses in extricating it.
" Who did you bring to-day?" asked the superintendent of the trustee.
"Nicholas Scruggs, a boy who has no parents; he lived with me this
summer, but I can't afford to keep him over winter, he's a terrible bad boy,
needs tanning every day."
" Hark ! yonder is a flock of wild geese, hear um ? "
" I wonder which way they are flying ! "
" I can't tell, it's too dark ; they say when they fly in the night time it's a
sign of a sudden change in the weather."
" I think it is a flock of snow geese."
" O no ! they are not snow geese, but they are flying south by the sound."
The hoarse, melancholy cry of the geese in their flight overhead added
yet to the dreariness of the time, place and conversation, but with no further
exchange of words, except a "good night," the two men separated and dis¬
appeared in the darkness.
This event may seem of very little importance as here recorded, but it was
one of considerable importance in the life of Nicholas Scruggs, as henceforth
all its voyage was "bound in shallows and in miseries," and it was of consider¬
able importance to society, inasmuch as during a length of years he was an
active member. Drifting in all his tender days, from wrong and cruelty and
hatred, till at the age of ten, he is initiated as you have seen, among the
imbeciles, licentious, and vicious inmates of a public infirmary, where, with no
outlet for his affections, and no egress for a single ennobling thought, he is to
remain until his habits form him.
This, then, was an event of importance in the life of Scruggs, as was
proved in its end, when, after years of retaliation and crime, he was imprisoned
by Jimmy O'Rork, he was without God, without hope, without a single true
idea, or merciful impulse toward humanity. The cruelty inflicted upon him in
his childhood, he had doubly repaid upon the helpless and innocent during
multiplied years of activity and viciousness.
I do not know but that Nicholas Scruggs would here become a vicious
man under more propitious circumstances, but under the circumstances by
which he was surrounded he could become nothing else.
AND OTHER WORKS.
199
And as he rode along that cheerless day beside the hard-hearted trustee,
who had cheated and abused, deceived and tortured him, during a long
summer of toil and deprivation, they passed many prosperous farms, and
beautiful homes of happiness, where children were made comfortable, school
houses, where they were instructed, and even churches, where, on the Sabbath,
they were to be seen, gathered to learn the ways of God and goodness, of
pardon and mercy. But from all these influences Nicholas was debarred, and
his hard knocks, added to his hard lot, made him the sullen, treacherous, hard¬
hearted boy that he was, and the soulless, bloody man that he became.
He now sits in his prison cell awaiting his trial as a murderer, as well as
for numerous other crimes.
If this man ever "hungered and thirsted," if he had any moral instincts
or intuitions, they had proved less cogent in their dominion, than the evil by
which he had been forever environed, and if the marvelous Sun Divine, which
stoops to tinge with life giving beams, the darkest corners of the darkest soul,
had not yet, with all its glory, melted the icy bolts that fettered the streams of
his heart, or penetrated the midnight of its selfish gloom, it was not because he
had striven to wrap himself in the philosophy of the "fool," which sa)^h,
"There is no God." As I once saw him in his boyhood, a dumb figure, I
now behold him a dumb negative baffling no philosophy, and testing neither
the condescension nor the comprehensivenesss of redemption, but wrought by
adversity, having been forever proffered stones for bread, and turned by his
fellow-creatures to empty cistern, for living water. There is economy in God's
patience, and infinite ages in his purposes, else the burden of such sinking
souls would- crush my faith ; for there are millions to whom the light of our
meagre Christian charities never-reach, who fall into His hands in naked shame,
"Who moves to His great ends unthwarted by the ill."
It can but be with feelings of sadness and strange commiseration, I write of
the crimes of the one I saw in the dreary vista of his dawning years warped,
crushed and beaten into the downward grade of his existence, for there was a
mute protest in his dumb figure as he stood before the poor house in helpless¬
ness that I could never forget.
Weston also wanted the testimony of Hannah in the trial of Nicholas
Scruggs. She had been a servant in the Mendenhall mansion for years
previous to the installment of Scruggs therein. The influence which Scruggs
held over her was so remarkable tjiat Weston feared no conclusive evi¬
dence goijld be gained frorn her testiniony. Moreover, she had fled on the
200
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
death of Mrs. Hoadly, and it was left to Jimmy O'Rork to discover her where¬
abouts. Jimmy believeçd that Hannah knew more in regard to Louise's crimes,
which had been carried out by Scruggs, than any one else, and he was deter¬
mined, if possible, to prove by her the death of Childreth at their hands, as
well as a crime more remote, but if possible of more interest, of which she
alone could testify with himself.
With Scruggs a prisoner, Louise gone, and the Mendenhall mansion
deserted, it was not so plain to Jimmy where Hannah might be expected to be.
He had promised Arthur Weston to find her and gain her testimony, and
therefore started in search of her, making a round of the dilapidated houses
owned by Scruggs in various parts of the city. In this search Hubert joined.
"I do not think she is living at all," said Hubert, "since the death of
Mrs. Hoadly ; there is a mystery connected with her death I would like to
unravel, Jimmy."
" Barrin her worth to Scruggs, a divil of a scruple I'd have if it were the
ind of her thin, but faix, the unsignified baste expected to brathe on a
leetle yit, Hubert."
And after Hubert and Weston had given up the hope of finding Hannah,
Jimmy was, according to his faith, successful. The next question to present
itself to Jimmy was, how could she be induced to testify against Scruggs? It
was by working upon the superstitious fears of Judy he had generally suc¬
ceeded in bringing her to do as he desired, and he made up his mind to
frighten Hannah to accomplish his ends now with her. Walking to the door
of the hovel, where he caught sight of her, he began, "Arrah, Hanner! "
" Go 'long now, Jimmy, I've no time to talk no how to-day."
"Won't ye now, Hanner? Hut, hut!"
"Jimmy, darbe trouble risin' up agin me; lor', I'se sick an' forebodin'l"
"Where, thin, is Nicholas?"
"He's gone a week or mo', an' when he comes he'll kill me; he was
plannin' fore he went away; he walk de flo', an' when Nicholas walk de fio' it
means somethin', lor', it do, he walk de flo', back an' foth, an' de Lo'd tell'd
me die away from dat man."
" Hanner, I'v a bit of luck to make known to ye."
" O, honey 1 how can dat be fo' me? "
"Be jabers, if I know ye gorsoon, since the divil ye serve is empty as a
lanthern of any good, but God, he is merciful. Ould Scruggs is under
boult an' bar."
" O, my Lo'd, my Lo'd ! how d'e know dat?"
"I know, and, Hanner, if I'd tell ye all I could mintion, yer hair'd stand
AND OTHER WORKS.
201
like stalks of barley! " Jimmy had lowered his voice to a whisper, and he
looked cautiously around as if he feared something.
"Man alive I Wot is it?" gasped Hannah, clasping her head with both
hands, to press the wool tighter.
"Be riverint, Hanner. Louise saw God, a ghost, and to-night she is dead
bekase she continued to contrive with Nicholas Scruggs, aisey, Hanner,
God save us, but what is that yonder to the left like the shadow of a man,
only taller?"
And JJmmy began to pray aloud as fast as he could find utterance. By
this time Hannah was greatly alarmed, and her superstitious mind caught up
apparitions on every side.
" O, God be above us ! " continued Jimmy, "but what is that white thing
moving about, left of the ditch?"
Hannah groaned, and took hold of Jimmy for protection. "Whist,
Hanner! Let me go, the Lord will not spare yôu ! " pulling away.
" O, blessed honey, stay," cried Hannah, clinging frantically to Jimmy,
" what will He hab me to do ? "
"I can't say for a sartinty," whispered Jimmy, "ye yoursilf, ought to
know. Let me go, Hanner."
" I am »dyin' now. Jimmy, an' He wants me to pour out my soul agin dat
man. He tole me so hisself in de pantry dis mornin' by a sign."
"Then do it, Hanner, for by what I see here to-night. He alone stands
betwixt ye and yer pinched breath, and yit He may forgive ye." Jimmy
was peering keenly again on each side of him, and also endeavoring to pull
himself loose from Hannah, as he continued, "If ye phray, and the Lord is
dacent wid ye. He may spare ye for confessin', but Louise died at His hand
bekase she provoked Him wid lies, and He knows all anyhow. Yonder is
now somethin' like a man comin', only it is darker than a man ! "
" O, Lo'd ! Lo'd!" began Hannah, praying, "dis is Friday, dis is my
dyin' day, but if ye fo'gib me, and gib me breaf, I'll tell all, but I dare not
enter dat house agin."
"No! God, no!" whispered Jimmy, with a sharp, awful glance toward
the open door of the hut. "It's a hut full of divils there now. I see
their flat, red faces as if they were near the fire. Sacred heavens ! O,
look, Hanner!"
"O lor', no! I will not look back; jes now I herd a voice saying over¬
head, 'member Lot's wife!"
"God is aqual to His word, thin. He has heard yer entraty, and if ye
remember yer vow and niver turn back. He will spare ye, Hanner."
202
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
As he talked they were flying, arm in arm, down the dark, narrow alley
across the street, and up the main avenue to the office of Arthur Weston, who
was prepared to take Hannah into custody. Weston relieved her somewhat of
her terror by giving her assurance that he would shield her if she would bear
truthful testimony against Scruggs. Hannah, true to the nature of her race,
yielding and afiectionate, had been controlled by Scruggs, and nothing but the
.species of terror into which she had now been thrown by Jimmy O'Rork,
would have served to overcome and wrench from her such testimony as she
actually gave against the wretched prisoner.
The reader who has never seen the type of negro to which Hannah
belonged, under the excitement of contending emotions of fear, can have no
adequate idea of tlft aspect of Hannah passing through the ordeal of the trial.
Terror of Scruggs, himself, rising like a volcano, hissing and flashing through
her visage, only to be beaten back by the ghastly vision of the attenuated
figure and sphinx-like stane of Yallow Jim, more terrible still, rendered
Hannah incapable of prevarication ; and such positive testimony, corroborated
by the circumstantial evidence of many other witnesses, proved, beyond doubt,
the awful guilt of the murderer, the defrauder, the abductor, and the thief.
After the ordeal was passed, a strange solemnity took possession of Han¬
nah's soul, and a composure resembling peace. The fetters which had bound
her to Scruggs were broken, and she believed the wrath of the Lord against
her to be appeased.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE REUNION.
Mandeville Lee sank rapidly, and there seemed little hope for his re¬
covery. The fever had, indeed, left him, and he recognized his friend,
M. de Clare. He now believed it was not best for Raleigh to see him, lest too
sudden a joy might snap the delicate thread that held his spirit. But one
evening it was thought he was dying; just as the sun was sinking beneath the
golden billows of cloud, he called so wildly, so pitifully for his son that Ral¬
eigh, losing all self-control, flew to his bedside, reached forth his hands, and
held his cheeks caressingly, then stooped and kissed him, calling him father.
A satisfied smile illuminated the face of Mandeville, then with his eyes fixed
lovingly upon Raleigh, he fell asleep and remained for many hours in a peace¬
ful, refreshing rest. As he thus slept, no pain, no care, no trouble marked
his expression, nothing but the most delightful dreams engaged his soul.
Again he wandered in the woodlands of Elmville, amidst the flowers, with
the birds overhead and beside the cool, refreshing brooklet, .with Raleigh
and M. de Clare.
Raleigh feared he would die, but M. de Clare assured him that every
symptom was good, and he was better. Raleigh could scarcely await his
awakening ; he walked amid the plants culling the rarest blossoms, twined
them together and laid them upon his father's heart that lay trembling on the
border between this and the spirit world. Sweet hopes were bursting into
bloom in Raleigh's life, and the uplifting of his spirit in agony of suspense,
brought him again very near the soul-of little Plelena. He waited, he walkep
beneath the canopy of midnight, and every star swung nearer, while the
shadowy spaces beyond seemed a spirit land of living light.
Oh ! the glory of that night of prayer, when love began to overshadow
his life, and the new stars of hope arose before him [held by faith alone].
204
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
for he knew one adverse breath might darken all forever. The suspense of
M. de Clare was fully as great, as he noted each respiration of his beloved
Mandeville, fearing, hoping, alternately, until at last he awoke with the
morning and began to live.
To Mandeville, as well as to Raleigh, the future breathed a dewy fresh¬
ness, and a new born hope; which invigorated his soul and his physical system.
He was soon able to talk quietly and rationally with his son of the past, and to
lay plans for the future, in all of which M. de Clare entered as an essential
factor. M. de Clare, overjoyed, jubilant, did not attempt to restrain himself,
but absolutely outdid Raleigh in his boyishness and elertness, and in his exer¬
tions to add to the comfort and pleasure of father and son. His plans were
extravagant and impracticable, but Mandeville only smiled, and loved him
for his kindness all the more.
Raleigh's ambition for knowledge should be gratified, and in its pursuit
they would combine the most delight-ful pleasures of travel and adventure.
During the days of dreamy convalescence, Mandeville roamed in fancy
again to all the beautiful places of the earth which he and M. de Clare
had visited. From wild mountain passes, and darkling fountains of the
north, to peaceful, blooming retreats of the southern clime. From the tab¬
ernacles of sacred knowledge in the east, to the temples of the forests in
the west, in communion with the voiceless skies and the solemn stars, and
the Power which of old stretched forth the heavens, and laid the founda¬
tions of the earth.
It seemed that Raleigh lingered in spirit in the small village of Elmville,
whither they had resorted as soon as his father was able to endure the journey.
Day after day, Mandeville yielded to Raleigh's excuses for delay, while the
latter was busy climbing every hill, and exploring every nook, it seemed, for
miles around.
M. de Clare, finding hfmself again so near N , with so little to do,
determined, one fair morning, to walk over and see what had become of the
people there. He was desirous to know if the preacher's ten o'clock ordinance
had been repealed, and if the Democratic party still stuck together. He
found that the ordinance had been revoked, and that the party was threatened
with a rupture that would disable it. M, de Clare thought he saw a remedy
for the thing; he reasoned that the conscientious Democrats could vote the
Prohibition ticket, since it was claimed by the Republican party that was
exactly equivalent to voting the Democratic ticket.
He saw some men go into a saloon after personal liberty (the saloonist
held it behind bungs and corks and sold it to them at ten cents a glass). They
AND OTHER WORKS.
205
went in and came out with it, and M. de Clare noticed four ears and two noses
were missing from the crowd when they came out, then he followed one
of them home and saw it was not for the welfare of his family or the gen¬
eral public, that he had got his per¬
sonal liberty burning inside of him.
M. de Clare made inquiry about
the Republican party to see if it was
sticking together, he found there was
a class called anti-saloon Republicans*
and that meant there was another
class of saloon Republicans ; he also
saw the old man Gray get on his mule
in Elmville and overtake Local Op¬
tion, and get past it, and fill him¬
self and his jug and return into Local Option again. He saw a good many
men and boys do the same thing, under various circumstances; he saw, also,
a difference between Local Option and State Prohibition, the difference between
a lot of Local Option corporations, with personal liberty corporations coming
next, and extended Local Option. The State Prohibition was better because
it was a fusion of forces, while Local Option, at its best, was but an aggre¬
gation of forces, ready at any time to crumble down like grains of pop-corn
loosely waxed together with molasses. He saw that in Ohio the Dow tax law
was and is a miserable failure, since it taxed old Joe Pop and legalized his
business and took the two hundred dollars, rather than prevent him doing
a thousand, aye, perhaps ten thousand dollars damage to the State by selling,
in violation of law, on Gingerbread Row and making the very region noto¬
rious for crime. Again, he saw the same miserable old saloon-keeper come
out of his place in a great rage, and draw his fist in the face of the State, cry¬
ing out vehemently, "Not py a tam site! Not py a tam site!" (Some wo¬
men had, it seems, petitioned the State, and prayed to have temperance
instruction introduced into the public schools of Ohio, that the boys might be
warned against the saloon and grow up better citizens and understand the dan¬
ger of alcoholic drinks), the State saw it a plain duty to grant this petition,
but looked scared and trembled before the angry wretch of saloon-keeper.
"Iv'e been thinking the matter over," continued the saloon keeper to the
*An address to aiiti-saloon Republicans of Massachusetts, calling' attention to tlie
necessity of nominating and electing members of Legislature who can be relied upon
to promote temperance, has been issued, 'Signed by Henry Dawes, George Hoar, John
Long, Edward Everett Hale and sixteen others.— Union Signal.
206
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
State of Ohio, "and I will not yield, I will not vote in the party that seeks to
curtail my rights, or disgrace me in the eyes of the rising generations."
The State looked scared, and responded, "I won't!"
"I have no objection to your teaching algebra in the public school, or
the Connecticut rule of interest, or the allegation of parts, but don't make it
your business to warn children against my business, or my saloon, and the
beverage I keep. I dare you to undertake it! "
More scared, the State again responded, " I won't."
"And hear, ye party leaders and candidates, it's high time to shut your
mouths closer, and make no allusion to my traffic in your campaign speeches.
Touch lightly, or your cake is dough. You can't begin to crawl and infringe
on my rights, not py a tam site !"
It was against M. de Clare's principles to lodge in a public house where
strong drink was sold, and after making a round of the hotels of N , he
found no place suitable for a Christian gentleman to refresh himself. He being
tired and hungry, took the train, and making a right-angle, returned to
Elmville by rail.
Elmville was a quiet spot; the autumn lingered, and the late flowers were
still blooming; the days were bright and mild as summer, but the last for
them in that lovely spot, where they had first found each other, arrived ; the
early morning light found Raleigh ready for a ramble.
" Father," said he, " I am going to make my last call," and with a melan¬
choly air he walked slowly over the slope and along the row of cedars that
fringed the graveyard. The morning sun cast aslant and far to the westward
the thin shadows of the leafless trees, while the wind was rising and moaning
in their dry tops. It would be the last day of the autumn sunshine. Soon
the level snow would be white and deep upon the little grave by which he sits.
AND OTHER WORKS.
207
Then with the saddest emotions, and prayerful soul, he kneeled where the
drooping flowers and moaning wind seemed in sympathy. The thought that
Helena was blind came to him with a sense of what it meant; with her soul so
awake, yet the bloom, and verdure, and gleam of all her summers shrouded in
blank darkness. He remembered her in all the phases of her beauty ; so
pure, so gentle and loving, with her baby hands holding the gate ajar, that he
might enter her father's home. Then her care had extended beyond her
earthly life, bespeaking from her grave a home for him. He remembered
more clearly, perhaps, than anything else, the visit of her immortal spirit,
when she became a minister of love, in the cellar of Jimmy and Judy, to
banish his despair. He knew, by some influence, that she was still near him,
longing to minister to his soul and show him the true and beautiful life of God.
There could be no love like her love, except that of heaven.
In his father he found the love of a life long hunger feasting upon his
every word and act, and he felt it was enough. Yet the eyes of little Helena,
no longer blind, seemed forever beholding him,
''Now bathed witliin the fadeless green
And holy peace of Paradise."
CHAPTER XXVII.
WESTON AGAIN OUTWITTED.
The next evening after Jimmy O'Rork had his conversation with Hannah,
the accomplice of Nicholas Scruggs, and succeeded in bringing her before
Weston, he entered the office of the latter, and evidently for some purpose,
but his cunning daunted even that experienced man. To-night Weston
thought it most proper to keep on with his writing and let the Irishman him¬
self introduce what he might have upon his mind, unaided by him. Jimmy
was, in fact, thinking of Mandeville Lee and the large reward he had offered
for information concerning his lost wife. And one accustomed to Jimmy's
ways would know that when he smoked sitting bolt upright, as he did to-night,
he was thinking seriously. Finally he began, as if to himself, "Poor Judy!
in that heavenly counthry may ye be safe from the loik of Louise Mendenhall ;
but if Judy were here on this miserable arth wid ye, Weston, she could
tell ye of a swate, innocent Irish child Louise served as she meant to serve
Emily Ellenwood."
Weston turned slowly toward Jimmy O'Rork, dropped his pen and pre¬
pared to give attention without uttering a word.
"Judy could tell ye how, one heavenly mornin', she took her washin' to
the river where water is handy, and there found the poor lamb, where she'd
wandered to hide, and how she laid in Judy's strong arms with her mite of a
new born babe wrapped in the basket away from the wind. She could have
been but a thrifle oulder than Emily herself, the swate, tender lamb." And
Jimmy continued to tell how Louise betrayed the poor child, and how he had
himself heard Scruggs tell of it in the saloon of Hons Vanderhomer with
jokes and jibs that chilled his blood to ice.
"And what became of the child?" asked Weston, when he had ceased
to talk.
"I never cared to know," replied Jimmy.
" Was it taken away with the mother?"
"In throuth it was,"
AND OTHER WORKS.
209
"Was you at the river, Jimmy, and did you see the woman die?"
" Sure, I went with Judy to carry the basket."
" Did she say anything before she died? "
" If Judy was here, she could tell ye she talked wid stiff lips a leetle."
" Do you remember what she said?"
" In throuth I do not."
"Jimmy," after a long silence, "I was thinking the girl might possibly be
the lost bride of Mandeville Lee; you know I am continually watching fora
clue to her destiny."
" Bedad! "
"Yes, and if you should be so fortunate as to find out her fate, you
would be entitled to a handsome reward which is offered by the wealthy
Englishman."
" Thin if she be in the heavenly counthry, he'd be louth to pay anything
for that."
" Never fear about that, but tell what you know (if that is anything) to
the poor man himself, only be as easy as possible in making known the terrible
facts ; you will understand when once you see him ; it would be much better
for you to tell him, than for him to witness the trial of Scruggs. Also,
I am going to tell you something, and confide in you, to see how much
you can make putting two and two together. Mandeville thinks he has
found his child."
" Be jabers ! "
"He happened to come across Raleigh, and believes him to be his son.
It would be hard to make him think otherwise now, his delight over him is
unbounded. Poor man, I fear he is bordering on insanity, yet this may be the
means of restoring him to health."
Weston spoke in an unconcerned, business way, but Jimmy had sprung to
his feet as by magic, and stood, bending forward, his face betraying wild
excitement; then laying a long, bony finger on Weston's shoulder, tapping it
lightly, he said, almost in a whisper, " I thought the same while he lit the pipe
in the barn at Elmville, the lad is the image of that swate lamb, sir."
"I am glad if it be true; it will be a good thing for Mandeville Lee, for
Raleigh, and for yourself; but be very easy in telling him of the woman who
died so long ago, so sad, so terrible a death."
" Och, thin! I can be asy wid the gintlemon, and tell him the throuth
entirely."
"Jimmy!" exclaimed Weston, burning sharply upon him, "did the
woman die by the river, as you stated."
2IO
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
" That, thin, is exactly as I tould it to Louise, but what if it should prove
a leetle thtifle different when tould to the gintlemon himself."
"Jimmy, I must" ^—
"Whin I attimpt to take the matther into my own hands, ye have no
need to condim yerself, that is throuth, anyway."
"Jimmy, I must"
" It wint agin the grain to tell a lie to a dacent mon whin I was a child,
and I'v always since contrived to invint a bit of throuth whin I talk wid the
loik of yerself."
"Jimmy," said Weston, sternly, "reply to the question I asked."
" It has slipped my unsignified mind to be sure, since you uttered it, and
sure ye'd not want me to go beyant the throuth to answer it, but I was ailing
wid my back at the time, and Judy took the poor girl in her arms and carried
her to the house, and she lived a thrifle."
"Then you may have learned her name, Jimmy?"
" Her name ! sure thin, I could have tould ye that to begin wid, it was
Annie Lee, and she tould of her mon in England, and his name, it was the
same, Mandeville Lee."
"Jimmy, this is strange and unexpected testimony, which I am overjoyed
to hear, but if you should be suspected of being an impostor, can you pro¬
duce any positive evidence to confirm your testimony ? "
"Thank God, sir! O, thanks be to the Almighty! I expect to be
able to do that I "
"Jimmy, have you considered that"
"I'm only a nager upon arth, but there is the praste and swate sisters,
glory be to God ! "
"Jimmy, you surely misunderstand me, I meant no offense."
"No matther thin about that, ye're a mighty dacent gintlemon by
Fin McCoul."
Weston feared that Jimmy was offended, a thing which, if true, would
prove inconvenient just now, but Weston was only outwitted, for Jimmy was
simply parrying the main question, and really felt no offense at all, but silently
refilling his pipe and lighting it, he left the office without another look at
Weston. So far, Jimmy O'Rork had, at every turn, gained the respect of this
man of strength, and at the same time succeeded in baffling him and gaining
his own ends unsuspected,
CHAPTER. XXVin.
Not born to hope ? Ah ! why then born at all,
Since love is bope, and bope doth love enthrall ?
The results of the trial of Nicholas Scruggs were but the full unfolding of
what has already developed before your mind. The parentage of Hubert, as
well as the murder of Wilhelmina's husband, was proved beyond a doubt.
The abduction of Emily was perfectly clear ; the remote case concerning the
betrayal of Annie Lee was not so clearly proven as to establish the fact of her
death, but the history of Raleigh's infancy left no doubt in the mind of
Mandeville nor Weston, that he was the son of Annie and Mandeville Lee.
Jimmy O'Rork and Aunt Nancy gave the most important testimony, and it
appeared, as far as Jimmy knew, that Annie had died shortly after the birth of
Raleigh. The priest, whom Jimmy had mentioned, was none other than the
brother of Aunt Nancy, who was long since dead. Nancy remembered to
have heard the same sad story told by him that was told by Jimmy O'Rork
during the trial. Scruggs also believed the woman had died in giving birth
to the child.
During the trial, Scruggs sat perfectly quiet and dumb, yet he was in a
state of strange, nervous excitement, which alone manifested itself through his
small, keen eyes, and a sudden shooting forth of his tongue, as if in denial of
the testimony borne against him. At times the excitement of the spectators
arose to a pitch of madness. When the history of Hubert's wrongs was dis¬
closed, the sympathy of the people was manifested by tears and outcries.
Hubert had been spared the pain of hearing this part of the trial, and the
reader will remember he still believes Richard Kruitz to be his father. Emily
had arrived in New York and had been left in the care of Charles Gary, the
trusted friend of her uncle, and it was thus again on the day of Hubert's dark¬
est forebodings that the light of her artless, beautiful smile was lifted full upon
212
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
his heart; he could not help feeling its influence, and as she gaily chatted,
they walking together in the bright morning, he almost forgot his disgrace.
And when at last the hour arrived, and they walked arm in arm into the court
room, accompanied by Charles Gary, the excitement of the people was unre¬
strained. The trepidation and timid appearance of the young girl heightened
her beauty as she entered, with eyes upon the floor, blushingly, leaning upon
Hubert, who was pale and anxious, but perfectly calm and determined. It
would be difficult to estimate which enlisted the most interest. The case con¬
cerning Hubert had already been tried, and the result was known to the
people, while the story of the abduction of the niece of Arthur Weston was
understood. As they proceeded into the room, the guard closed around the
prisoners ; there was something in the expression of the people that made it
dangerous for him.
Hubert had now twice acted as the support and protector of Emily, and
he felt conscious of this, while Emily acknowledged to herself that she had
never seen anybody half so handsome and noble.
Yet, when the result of the trial was made known to them, and Hubert
suddenly became a hero and an idol, he still felt too hopeless to advance him¬
self upon the esteem, much less to dream of .the affection of one so perfectly
lovely. Emily's heart longed to remain with him, yet they parted, she believ¬
ing he had no especial regard for her ; and he, without a single fancy that any
woman could ever love him. Raleigh would be the one that Emily would be
sure to love, he remembered the letters he had received from Raleigh in which
he had written of Emily. The words stood out before him, every letter burn¬
ing and torturing him, and a new feeling took hold on his soul, a hatred of
Raleigh, the one of all the earth, except Charles Gary, in whom he confided.
This truest, dearest friend arose before him, in dread and hated aspect, as the
lover of Emily. These were the sorrows of Hubert, which he made for him¬
self ; that drove . him away from the tender love of Emily, madly and
rashly to absent himself and put the ocean between him and hope, between
him and the heart of the self-sacrificing Raleigh, between him and the care and
counsel of Mr. Gary.
With aimless spirit, that sank lower at the very thought of Emily, he put
his new found fortune and all his business interests into the hands of Arthur
Weston, and taking his advice accompanied Wilhelmina and Eddie to Europe,
without even bidding Raleigh good-bye, where it became his task to forget the
old, and cherish the new acquaintances and friendships of a life new and
different in all its environments. The fickle light of love's dream that had
AND OTHER WORKS.
213
illumined his heart to kindle but a torturing flame of jealousy would soon fade
and die forever, and Raleigh would be happy without him.
Now, after he had sundered the tie that had so long bound him to that
noble friend, he felt a loss he was sure nothing could ever make up, a yearn¬
ing nothing could ever satisfy, a wound nothing could heal. He came to him¬
self, he saw the cause and the fruit of his error, but without any effort toward
reconciliation, he began with a sad heart a systematic course of study and
culture, determining to make himself worthy the associations which his wealth
had made for him, worthy the flattering friendships by which Wilhelmina and
Eddie were surrounded.
CHAPTER XXIX.
It will be as well to leave the succeeding five or six years in oblivion, as
little occurred, save the natural routine of study, in the lives of Raleigh, Hu¬
bert and Emily. After Hubert had been absent two years, the gentle, con¬
stant love of Raleigh again found him, again shone in upon his darkened seclu¬
sion ; for Raleigh, never suspecting the true cause of his estrangement, after
so long waiting, wrote to him from a full and yearning heart, wrote freely con¬
cerning his plans, his new found father, his ambitions and his anxious desire to
renew the olden friendship which had been so mysteriously blighted. Hubert,
with equal warmth and passionate kindness, generously acknowledged his
faults and poured out his feelings of utter despair, and his letter, which
breathed so much of Emily, brought a revelation that startled Raleigh and sad¬
dened his spirit ; for he suspected the truth, and in the fullness of his sympa¬
thy for Hubert, he felt a fear that Emily had no love with which to meet such
a heart as his, no nature capable of appreciating such a passionate love, that
had grown from so small a beginning, to engulf him in such hopelessness and
misery.
"O," said Raleigh, to himself, "what can be done with Hubert, what
word can I say to him truly to give him one ray of encouragement. Emily is
so free, so thoughtless, of such things." Then with a little shadow saddening
his brow, he continued, "Emily is so full of kindness toward all, so bright and
happy, O, I wish I could encourage Hubert, but I cannot." Raleigh bowed
his head upon his folded arms, the half-finished letter before him, and I
cannot tell you his silent thoughts, I cannot tell what it was when once again
he lifted himself with a firm look of resolution upon his face that made him
so deadly pale. He folded the letter and placed it in his pocket-book, then
walked forth into the cool morning air. There was no more revealed than
might have been accounted for, by his overburdened anxiety for Hubert, and
presently he sought the side of Emily, his best confidential friends, Emily and
her mother, for he was visiting Elmville, and it was vacation.
"Ah," laughed Emily, running to meet him, "here he is, and mother
AND OTHER WORKS.
215
says you have heard from Hubert! Raleigh, have you heard from Hubert,
have you "
"Yes, I came here where you are on purpose to show you his letter," and
Raleigh noticed an eager flush on Emily's cheek, and a confusion he never saw
betrayed by her before, as she took Hubert's letter from his hand. "I am
going to M. de Clare, to-day, Emily and I'll leave the letter in your care till
to-morrow morning." And he turned away from the blushing girl, who for¬
got to answer him, forgot to express any regret that he was leaving her for a
day, forgot to say, as she so often did, playfully putting her hand upon his
cheek, "Do go, Raleigh, do leave me all alone, and dive into those horrid
books, I am tired of you anyhow," when he knew she wished his company,
and the delightful sound of her prattle would charm him into needful rest.
To-day she let him go, to-day she showed no desire for anything but Hu¬
bert's letter. Raleigh walked away firmly and when out of sight of Emily
and her mother he turned into a by-path, bending his steps again toward the
graveyard, over the grassy hillocks where the wild, blue violets grew so thick
he could not help crushing and trampling them under his feet. After a time,
he sought his father and M. de Clare, who had arrived at the little hotel but an
hour before. Mandeville looked surprised when he saw Raleigh, but on hear¬
ing M. de Clare say he just came up from the graveyard he knew that he had
been once more beside the precious resting place of Helena, and was sorrow¬
ing for her.
Mandeville had centered all his affections, all his ambitions upon his son,
upon the success of his future career. Raleigh had grown to be a slight, deli¬
cate young man of nineteen ; he evinced an intense enthusiasm in the pursuit
of knowledge ; when in sacred hours of seclusion he was absorbed, he some¬
times reached an unnatural point of abstraction, which bordered on obstinacy
against his father, and a few times when Mandeville had attempted to elucidate
before his inexperienced mind, some intricate mystery of science he had dis¬
played impatience. Yet the love of this father, and the certainty of his son's
rectitude, and his conscientious obedient regard at all other times excused him
in his sight, and cloaked this blemish of his character.
M. de Clare was anxious on account of Raleigh's delicate constitution,
and manœuvred to separate him from his books as often as possible. Indeed,
it soon became a serious question between him and Mandeville whether Ral¬
eigh should remain any longer in his class in the university, or travel as his
father had at first planned, pursuing his education under his own private
instruction. One very small thing deci4ed their minds upon the latter course.
M- de Clare observed Raleigh shielding hi§ weak eyes from the sunlight by
2i6
eleven women and thirteen men
drawing his class cap close forward over them ; he afterward noticed, but did
not mention it to Mandeville, that he had adopted spectacles by lamp light.
It was in vain just then that Mandeville attempted to arouse Raleigh's
enthusiasm by eloquently appealing to his poetic love of nature, his passionate
ambition to excel in his class, made all else dull before his imagination. It
was, therefore, with the most intense regret and reluctance he consented to
give up his regular class and pursue a different plan of study. It was with the
same self-sacrificing strength he yielded his will to what seemed to him the
unnecessary fears of his father, that he had before yielded to the duty of sup¬
porting Aunt Nancy and brooked a check in the career of his life. He had
passed victoriously the examination of the Sophomore year, and vacation was
before him, and he had hoped and believed that rest would restore him to
strength. Hubert had returned from his long absence, and it was planned
that they should visit Elmville together. The two years that have elapsed
since we last had a glimpse of Emily have added much to hèr development,
she has assumed the beauty and dignity of a woman; the jewels of her
mother's life have dropped into her heart to be forever there. There existed
an intimate friendship between her and Raleigh which had constantly grown
more precious during all the years of their acquaintance. Thus were they
found by Hubert, and Hubert also found Emily the idol of her Uncle Arthur
Weston, who had formed so intimate an acquaintance with Raleigh and
esteemed him so highly, that he was planning to keep him and Emily as near
each other as possible. Emily understood her uncle better and swayed him
more than any one else had ever done; yet Hubert beheld him at the age of
forty-five, Arthur Weston within himself and sensibly receding further and
further from a life of rectitude.
Emily had not, as might have been expected, entirely forgotten Hubert,
although her acquaintance with him had been so slight and so unsatisfactory ;
she had formed her opinion ol him, and it had never chaqged. She loved him
when he enlisted her gratitude and sympathy in the days of his adversity and
suffering, and she did not know of any reason why she should not love him
still. Indeed it seemed a thing in her nature over which she had no control.
As the months and years of his absence lengthened, her thoughts and affec¬
tions clung to him as to an ideal, rather than a real being ; and this ideal filled
her heart to the exclusion of all nearer and tangible objects. Hubert was the
crowned in the empire of her soul, and it would require much to shake him
from his imperial white throne.
The years had also changed Hubert; he was no longer a shrinking, hope¬
less boy, but an earnest and intellectual man. Unlike Raleigh, who was slight
AND OTHER WORKS.
217
and delicate, he was strong and exceedingly prepossessing in personal appear¬
ance. If he had inherited few of the characteristics of his mother, he had a
large share of her beauty and symmetry of form and features. Graceful and
engaging, you would trace scarcely a remnant of Hubert of old ; this was
because an artificial gloss dazzled and obscured the real nature of the man.
Raleigh found in him the same old loving friend, and the same conscientious
struggle for the excellence he was always despairing of. He found the same
longing for respectful appreciation, yet a doubt concerning his title thereto.
The same suspicions looking into the face of the world as though it were his
enemy ; the same scrupulous questioning of God concerning himself. Emily
held her own secret. It would have seemed to others a hopeless treasure.
But there is a philosophy, I remember to have read somewhere, which I
believe, "That a soul beloved is cognizant of the fact, although it may never
discover the one who loves." There seemed to be a subtle revealing between
these two souls of an existing, intense, external love, overshadowing and
entrancing them more and more, as they drew nearer together. Hubert was
sensible of a power which attracted him from the remotest part of the earth,
and Emily was also conscious of the influence which bound her to her beloved.
It seems scarcely necessary for me to make a love nook in my narrative at all.
Love is, love always has been the charm that binds the soul to life. A soul,
to live, must love, and love not God alone, but the being God created to be
loved by it ; so the soul that finds its love finds the truest bliss of earth ; not
but that the union of a heart, with the heart of God, is better, higher and
happier since it is altogether divine.
It proved the most abundant joy of Hubert's life on earth, the most
ecstatic hour of his existence here, when he declared his passionate love to
Emily, and found it was fully reciprocated by her. Then came the golden
dreams of heaven ; the bewildering bliss and holy peace of the communion of
raptured souls. After Hubert's visit to Elmville, there were heights and
flights of his spirit that almost equaled the life of the glorified above. It was
so new, so strange a rapture to be within the immediate touch of such a soul
as Emily's. In two more years he would complete the course of study he
was pursuing, and then they would be wed. And there, in all their calm days
would be walked (as by snowy footed angels) the waveless sea of sunlight and
song. O, Hubert Mendenhall 1 shall not these days of bliss, and all the joys
so heaped upon thy manhood heart, at last heal the bruises and obliterate the
scars of thy earlier cruel years ? Shall not thy hope that then with wounded
wing ceased to attempt her flight, oncç again plume her gleaming pinions, roll
thy burden upon the wind, and mount the snowy peak ? Shall not the beauty,
2i8
eleven women and thirteen men
the perfume, the freshness of new blooming love, wed thee to a new inheri¬
tance ? Childhood should now pass forgotten as a babbling rivulet lost in this
ocean of delight upon which thy strong current of manhood breaks ! Lost all
the memories, the bitterness of shame and sorrow in the past with its thou¬
sand, thousand stings !
Raleigh slipped to the solitude of nature's charms, and dreamed amid the
twilight shadows of joys more pure and celestial whispering forever in his soul.
"Safe ill thy irninortality.
What change can reach the wealth I hold ?
What change can mar the pearl and gold?"
CHAPTER XXX.
A REVELATION.
A few months of relaxation from study had the effect to remove the fears
of M. de Clare relative to the declining health of Raleigh ; yet preparations
were being made to sail for England in a few weeks, when a letter written by
Hubert to Raleigh containing very important and confidential information, was
misdirected and fell into the hands of Arthur Weston, to whom Hubert was in
the habit of writing business letters. It was easy for Weston to account for
such a mistake. He was glad it had so happened, since he saw it concerned
the future of Emily to an alarming extent. Weston scarcely knew what
course to pursue to save his niece from a calamity which seemed to hover
above her. Since the trial of Scruggs and the bestowment of a considerable
sum of money upon Jimmy O'Rork by Mandeville Lee, Weston had known
little of him, except that he had visited Ireland and returned, but after a night
of anxious thought he had determined to hold a conversation with Jimmy in
regard to the contents of Hubert's letter, and to make certain propositions to
him. He remailed the letter to Raleigh, hinted nothing to his nièce, whom he
knew was even then busy with preparations for her marriage with Hubert,
which he was satisfied now would not take place soon, if ever. Weston's
interview with Jimmy resulted in the latter applying for, and obtaining a posi¬
tion as servant in the university where Hubert was studying.
The president of the university was informed of the purpose of Jimmy
O'Rork by Weston. The kind man had himself noticed that at times Hubert
was exceedingly nervous and morbid in mood, and would quit his class for a
week or more at a time, refusing to give any excuse for such behavior. Under
these circumstances he knew that the young man was sometimes locked in his
own room ; at other times he was quite certain he left the village.
In Hubert's letters to Emily, there grew an uncertainty of utterance, a hesi¬
tation in mentioning their love and marriage, which she could not understand,
and determined not to notice, there being a pride in her faith; and she secretly
believed he was only proving her confidence. She knew that he loved her as
220
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
of old. No words can describe the pain of Hubert in regard to Emily, he
adored her as he had ever done, yet he felt that his love, and her vow of
marriage to him was polluting her. In his seasons of remorse and despair,
that destroyed all his hope and courage, he was haunted by demoniac spirits.
He would grasp his books, fling'them suddenly upon the floor, and falling
upon his face, cry out in bitter tones of anguish.
"Why do you look coldly down upon me with withering accusation,
Louise, since you are my mother ? Why do you come near me now, since
you thrust me out and covenanted me to the devil in my innocence?" Oftener
he saw Richard Kruitz lowering from glassy eyes, and cursing him with
fiendish clutch, as he used to clutch him in the saloon to administer punish¬
ment, or he would go through the scene of the death agony of the little babe
in the arms of her brutal father. It seemed very strange that the joy and
blessings of his life would be banished entirely from his memory by such
phantoms of misery and mockery. There occurrçd days at a time when he
was not capable of a single clear or rational thought.
He had given Raleigh some account of these things and their causes,
which ended as we have seen in Jimmy O'Rork being secretly sent as a per¬
sonal friend and attendant upon him, without his knowledge.
In this morbid state it was not thought best to dismiss him from his class,
but to try by every possible means to save him from such a source of dis¬
couragement. By means of a key furnished him, Jimmy could enter Hubert's
room. The first time he did this during a recitation, he emerged with sundry
articles which he had found secreted in the room, among other things a
deadly weapon and various decoctions of poison, after which time not a
moment was Hubert left unwatched by the faithful Jimmy O'Rork.
The next day after the aforementioned articles were taken from the room,
it was observed that he was making preparations to go away, and he went
secretly pursued by Jimmy.
It was Hubert's intention then to seek out Emily, tell her why she could
not be his bride, after which he would escape his torment, which he felt was
too great to be longer endured, but before he had proceeded many miles his
strength gave way, and he was kindly cared for by Jimmy during a severe
and prolonged illness.
CHAPTER XXXI.
"Two possible lives flashed upon his thought, as when, through the darkness
a train sweeps hy with glowing lamps. The life of worldly expediency, the life
of eternal rectitude ; the little life of three-score years and that life immortal in
which the event of death is but au incident."
Another, a third life flashed before the mind of our hero, Raleigh Lee ; a
life, neither of eternal rectitude nor yet of worldly expediency, which must
extend beyond three-score and ten, and yet can no more look into the face of
immortality than the physical eye can dwell upon the undimmed eye of noon¬
day. A life that could answer no demands of expediency, yet must answer
the demands of an insatiable, eternal devourer.
Something had darkened the brow of the brave and habitually cheerful
Raleigh, which he secretly withheld, even from the knowledge of his father.
This knowledge, so sacredly concealed from his dearest friends and kin¬
dred, was eating into his health and spirit, until Mandeville and M. de Clare
were alarmed and perplexed.
It was this, the brilliant-minded Hubert, the heir of the vast Mendenhall
estate, the betrothed of Emily Ellenwood, the kind-hearted, affectionate friend,
the conscientious, struggling Hubert, was enchained by the monster. Intemperance.
Slowly, secretly, scarcely known to himself, the habit bad been stealing upon
him, and now, when he knew the awful fangs of the serpent were tearing him
in pieces, he had again, as in his agonized boyhood, hopelessly poured out his
soul of anguish to Raleigh. Charles Cary had been laid in his grave, and
Hubert, in his days of prosperity, had not found another such friend and no
one else seemed so near as Raleigh now in his misery. There are oftentimes,
and oftener than ever before, when, with remorse and shame biting his soul,
he remembers the old saloon of Richard Kruitz and the cruelty of that
wretched man, and he feels that the cruelty of the one who was his mother,
was bitterer, the real sting of his disgrace sorer now, than when he believed
himself the son of the murderer of Clarendon Childreth. He often, in strange
frenzy, beholds the bottles of wine and glasses of ale, and the vicious sights in
the ale-house of Hons Vanderhomer, and hears the sound, and sees the glare
of the blood-shot eyes of his tormentor, Richard Kruitz, while there is but a
dizzy whirl in his brain of all the events of his better days.
We have thought we recognized salvation, in the life of the poor boy.
222
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
through the Christ-like love and sympathy of Charles Cary ; but we begin to
realize now, that on the fateful night when he clung to the finger of his grand¬
mother and lost his hold, he lost all. How the habit of intemperance had
grown upon him he did not know. He knew two things, however, it had its
beginning in the saloon of Richard Kruitz, and would have its ending in the
grave. Thus was Hubert bound, and Raleigh suffered as though bound with
him ; hence his feelings that no plan was speedy enough to save his friend.
" O, I must!" repeated Raleigh, again and again, clasping his hands and
dropping into a seat on the cool, moonlit veranda. With astonishment M. de
Clare listened as Raleigh continued: "He seems, with all his keen sense of
honor and remorse, sluggish and indifferent in regard to his associations and
yields to despair, rather than pushes with all his power against his dangerous
habit ; and I know not what I can do to save him ; he is wounded, writhing,
dying, yet he hides away in the dark without longer attempting to stand against
destruction. I have been thinking and planning, yet I fear, vainly, how I may
awaken his mind and arouse his energy, tbat he may mount to the point where
the beginning of reform is possible. When we were boys, he was agonized
with the feeling that he could not escape the sins of his father; and he is still
of the same desponding nature. Will there be no end to his suffering? Must
he yet be overwhelmed? He was created for a hero, he is the most generous
and affectionate of men ; I fear he never overcame the feeling that the life of
his mother has entailed upon him a curse ; and the ruin which his own sin has
now begun will be hard to avert, he has no hope for himself, yet he may rise
for the sake of others, for Emily's sake, M. de Clare. In hope of this, I shall
use all means to excite in him such a hatred of evil and such a longing for vir¬
tue as he manifested on that awful night in the saloon of Richard Kruitz."
M. de Clare was overcome by this revelation which Raleigh made con¬
cerning Hubert, by the passionate outburst of yearning interest and desperate
emotion. Striving to hide his excitement, he paced the pavement beside the
vine-covered veranda where Raleigh was seated. Long the silence remained
unbroken; the peace of the serene heavens, the flickering shadows of the
leafy vine, interspersed with white moonlight, the whisper of the night wind,
all breathed of hope, yet the hearts of the young and the old man, now so
sacredly knit by cords of affection, shared in a conscious sense of foreboding
and despair in regard to Hubert Mendenhall. "Oh ! " at last said M. de Clare
in low sympathetic tones, "if he could only be reached by the God-like strong
grasp of Father Matthew, who saved thousands in the church, good men, who
else would have gone down from her very altars." M. de Clare was shiv¬
ering with a great horror as he spoke, and his white beard tremulously
AND OTHER WORKS.
223
swept the shoulders of Raleigh. * ' Once / was lost as I believed ; it was
he that saved me."
"But, my kind M. de Clare, it is different with Hubert; think of what he
bore in his boyhood, being bound to such a foster-father—unutterable agony to
one so sensitive. Think of the desolate emptiness of his heart, and how at
last hë found all the love and tender kindness in the exalted God-given friend,
Charles Cary, which his soul could crave. Such an experience has taught him
how to hate and shun evil, and prize virtue ; but there seems to be a power
over him which is not only resistless, but which benumbs his sense of honor ;
this is what I most dread, the killing of the soul, the death of all that is divine
in his heart, while yet his body breathes. No ! little by little he will die to us
and live alone to wretchedness. Sometimes I am in doubt, terrible doubt; it
is not the lack of noble men and women who would save Hubert, it is the lack
oí anything being left in his nature worth saving, I fear."
"Unless God create him anew," responded M. de Clare, in agitated
accents. "But it is not so bad yet, Raleigh, there is still much hope; one as
young and strong as Hubert does not give way suddenly ; his system and his
mind will not decay as rapidly as you imagine. Let us take renewed courage
and put forth our efforts for his reformation."
M. de Clare had taken the feverish brow of Raleigh to his bosom, holding
it tenderly, soothing his nerves, and imparting strength to his fainting spirit
as he contemplated his hopeless grief and anxiety. He turned to God with
questionings ; he saw arise before him a vision of hope, and yet it was a vision
of awful solemnity. Then came the majestic words of Jehovah breaking from
his lips as the streams of a river: "God is our refuge and strength, a present
help in time of trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be
removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea,
though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake
with the swelling thereof."
As for Raleigh, no word of temperance reformer could half express his
anguish. No thrilling utterance of reformed man could picture the agony of
Hubert in the fancies of a drunkard's delirium.
In the midst of these trials, and perchance hastened by them, another
cloud was arising and overshadowing him, for he realized that the wildest
apprehensions of his father and M. de Clare, concerning his impaired eye¬
sight, were not imaginative, and a celebrated oculist, with whom he had
secretly advised, had informed him that he would gradually, but cettainly,
become entirely blind,
CHAPTER XXXII.
During the period of the extreme suffering of Hubert, while sick in an
obscure country inn, attended solely by Jimmy O'Rork and a physician, such
as the place afforded, Emily was enduring all the anxiety and wounded affec¬
tion, which a desertion by her lover would have caused.
Knowing only that his letters had gradually grown strangely incoherent,
then ceased to be received at all. Her strength of mind rendered her calm
and saved her from the cold criticism which the world is ever ready to bestow
upon the unhappy and unfortunate. No explanation could be offered by Ral¬
eigh, the only friend in whom she had confided and was Hubert's most inti¬
mate associate. In the bosom of her mother she found a consolation, and a
partial solution of the problem, for Mrs. Ellenwood, after a confidential inter¬
view with Raleigh, had said, "My daughter, do not lose your trust in the
genuineness of Hubert's love. In that he is true; but sorrows and calamities
have come upon him, which have made him feel unworthy of your respect, and
until these are overcome he would set you free. He is suffering more than you
are, yet I believe he will overcome. He has, for a time, been absent from the
University and is now lying very sick. He was on his way to see you and tell
you the things, I have no right to tell, when he gave way to a terrible fever
from which he is now slowly recovering. Raleigh, is expecting to go to him
soon." The impulsive, yet gentle nature of Emily impelled her to fiy to him
at once and learn from his own lips the source of his afflictions. She knew
enough of his noble heart to believe the trouble, whatever it might be, arose
from an over-sensitiveness peculiar to his hopeless mind and a self-accusation
unjustly inflicted. She was not prepared for the real revelation of truth as her
mother understood it ; that Hubert was basely weak and in vile disgrace from
his own misconduct, and wholly unworthy of the love which could not now be
changed, by any circumstance, to turn from its object. This, did Mrs. Ellen-
wood know, and she would not, therefore, allude to any fault she might see in
that object. It would have been utterly useless and unwise to advise Emily,
whose very being was enwrapped in the being of Hubert, to forego that love,
and other works.
225
and to cast aside as unworthy the one who had fallen through strong drink.
That which might have seemed to many a wise escape from future misery, she
knew was not for Emily. A heart so exalted must live or die with the object
of its pure and sacred devotion, and she recognized in the salvation of Hubert
the only possible earthly happiness for her daughter. She saw the sacrifice
before her to be (in fidelity to her love) the immaculate virtue of a sorrowful
denial of her hand, while his life was writhing in its struggle with intemperance.
Emily believed that upon every point of Hubert's character she could
depend. She knew nothing of this one error, which had brought him from
temptation to temptation, still yielding, still repenting, and would at last
destroy all beside ; this one ungoverned passion would at last sacrifice every¬
thing, even his honor. Self-destruction had already become one of the inevit¬
able temptations of his fate ; and goaded by the desperation which a sense of
his weakness brought, the point of the renunciation of the hand of Emily had
been reached. The gold of his heart would be made dross, even worse than
dross, under the relentless grasp of the "arch fiend" of souls. The hold of
that giant of destruction is not a slender hold, and his mandate startles from
the precincts of his empire all that is pure and gentle and banishes all tender
sensibilities. True, there were times when Hubert was still alive to duty, and
realized his situation so clearly, making earnest endeavors to recover his
strength, there was still some hope and encouragement for his friends.
It was as he was recovering from the fearful delirium ebriosum that Emily
found him ; pale, helpless, desperate. With a burst of agonizing emotion she
kneeled beside his bed and clasped his hands in hers. The transport of the
meeting was felt also by Hubert, who, with a tremulous hope dawning for the
time upon his soul, wept, confessed, and promised reform. Yet who that
knows the sway of the demon wand, that waves back every ray of hopeful
promise, and with midnight wings beats the spirit back upon its own despair,
could not tell that Hubert would never, unassisted, rise to a true life. He
lacked (and Charles Gary had mourned because of it) hope in God, and a dis¬
position to appeal to Him effectually. So often led and guarded by the divine
Friend, he had habitually turned to question His agency in the dispensations
of his lot. It is true that in this he was like most men, yet here he lost the
aid he now needed, for no human arm can grapple with the foe whose heel was
now upon him. And in the proportion he now failed to lay hold on the
Strong for strength, he must fail forever.
The vigilant watch-care of Jimmy O'Rork, the tender friendship of Ral¬
eigh—aye, even the heavenly love of Emily, would not be sufficient to
save him.
226
eleven women and thirteen men
There seemed to be many excuses for Hubert. The debasing habit being
thrust upon him in his ignorant and helpless boyhood ; every circumstance of
the sufferings of his earliest years, coupled with the training under the hand of
Richard Kruitz, went to ameliorate his actual guilt, while the added probability
of a tendency inherited from his mother must qualify our judgment of his
crime. Yet it is certain there had not been a day since his acquaintance with
the precepts of Charles Gary, that he had not wronged his conscience, and in
the sight of a pure God, felt accused. All his manhood years were years of
contest, with many defeats, and few victories. Yet he was noble in aspiration,
and earnest in spirit, and there was not so hopeless a period in all his life,
when he could not, by truly recognizing God, have taken His arm and
walked uprightly. But he had walked alone against a legion, against high
places with unequal weapons ; he was being engulfed like a moat, where he
might have walked upon the con¬
quered and calmed billows of life.
One fated night, while Emily
yet lingered in the obscure little
village from whence Hubert was
not able to be removed, and
Jimmy O'Rork was in the most
self-sacrificing kindness attend¬
ing to his every want, the de¬
lirium, from which he seemed
to be recovering, returned, and
overcome by his agonizing thirst
he watched his opportunity to
escape from his attendants. As
she sat sorrowfully beside him, witnessing his sufferings, while Jimmy had fallen
asleep for a moment, not suspecting the awful state of his frenzy, Hubert sprang
upon him like a fiend, dealt him a blow with some weapon, and leaving him
unconscious, broke from the house in wild ravings, followed by the resolute
Emily. He entered the accursed village saloon, his disordered brain imagined
it the old haunt of his boyhood days ; with pitiful accents he uttered the
words he once uttered to Raleigh through the keyhole, — "Raleigh, I wish
I had a different life, I tell you I am desperate. I will not stay here till day¬
light ! O God, O God ! but there is my father, I cannot escape Richard
Kruitz ! Where is my mother to-night ? My mother, who is a viper coiling
qboqt my heart ; I ccinnot escape her fangs—h vifer ! a vifer !
and other works.
227
Then he tried to rally the old gang, the gang of boys that was called
"The Hell Gang," to which he had belonged in those bitter days when Caro¬
line was in the saloon, "Come, boys, rally to the old flag, the old black
saloon flag. Run it up, boys, run it up ! It floats defiant of the starry ban¬
ner, but it is the flag we are born to bear, run it up and beat it on 1 See, see 1 it
is ghastly with the death's head and the cross bones, but it is the emblem of
the firey serpent of hell ! Rally 'round boys ! you will come to it, every one of
you, at last—but stand aside, it has come upon me again, a viper! a viper!''
And with a shriek of terror, that blanched the face of the stricken saloonist,
he seized and drained the last draught of his life. He had touched the ex¬
treme point of suffering and of existence. He turned toward Emily with
outstretched hands, and in pleading tones he cried, "Caroline, Caroline, take
my head on your breast, as you use to do! You are not dead, you are my
kind, good Caroline. Where have you been so long, away from little Hubert?
O, I have suffered, suffered, with no one to know it, or care for me. Then,
you did not die Caroline ? Come, and let us sit by this stone wall and .talk
while he is gone, and hold my head, for it is burning with fever—but no, no 1
look beneath our feet, we are treading in a nest of reptiles, and O, your arms
are only serpents ; loosen, loosen that hand, that hand—grasping and choking
my breath 1 Take it away, take it away, for I am dying."
Then staggering he sank into a chair and leaned forward upon the beer
counter. With no audible sound his breath and his pulsation seemed to fail.
Suddenly a hand was laid upon his head. With a faint moan of agony he
turned and looked into the face of Raleigh Lee. "Oh!" he gasped, "I
thought I was in the greenhouse, I thought it was the hand of Charles Cary\ "
The pale face of Raleigh bent near him, and with an expression almost
seraphic, he whispered, "Hubert, behold my hands! They are clasped by
the Father of our spirits."
"Oh! too late, Raleigh, too late!" answered Hubert, attempting to
stand. " I am a murderer ! I am lost ! "
"No, no!" Heaven forbid," cried Emily, catching his other hand and
pressing it to her lips, looking with imploring eyes to Raleigh.
"Jimmy is not seriously hunt," spake Raleigh, cheerfully. "Let us go
back, let us go out beneath the starlit dome, I have a heavenly message for
you," helping Hubert to rise and walk, and between him and Emily, who was
now weeping for joy, he was assisted back to his bed.
There was the same serene glory on the countenance of Raleigh that
night, which had awed Hubert, once of old, on the morning after he had been
visited by the spirit of little Helena Montefort. Mysteriously softened and
228
ËLEVËN WOMËN AND THÎRTËËN ÂtËN
quickened, the soul of Hubert quaked before his peril, as it had never done
with benumbed senses and blinded vision. Tremblingly he grasped the
hand of Raleigh.
"There is nothing, nothing left, Raleigh, nothing of me to build upon.
I am stranded, stranded; we will have to give it up at last, and forever."
"If you will give it up, the Creator needeth not, to build upon you ; the
old wreck, I mean."
Then there was a sinking of Hubert's soul, and a deadly pallor overspread
AMb OTHER WORKS.
22p
his features; he withdrew his hand from Raleigh with a spasm of decisive
energy, looked compassionately upon the kneeling form of Emily, and said,
" The curse of God is visited upon me, it is useless for me to try to escape it! The
CURSE OF MY MOTHER."
"Oh! Hubert, Hubert!" cried Raleigh in agony'of sympathetic in¬
terest, "deeper than all sin, beyond any curse, His heart reaches; living
or dying, Hubert, you can have peace there ! Oh ! you trusted the love
of Charles Gary ! "
Hubert lay, gazing for a moment like one striving to understand a mys¬
tery, like one with a clear, unwavering eye, looking into eternity, then turned
toward Raleigh with an expression of intense earnestness and radiant assur¬
ance, that beams only with the light of the face of Christ.
"Do you believe it? O, do you believe it?" asked Raleigh in
rapturous suspense.
"I see it! I know it!" answered Hubert faintly. "I was lost, and
am found!"
There was a hush in which the hearts of Raleigh and Emily were borne
in triumphant praise to heaven, and Hubert, pale and exhausted, with clasped
hands and illuminated features, was gazing rapturously upward. "It is,"
whispered he, "as Charles Cary said, simple and plain. Oh! his sweet
words are coming back to me, flooding my thoughts with a new and hallowed
meaning. I did think it was his hand upon my head, Raleigh, and it was, for
it was the hand of God, and it was a tenderer love than even the love of
Charles Cary, that found me to-night, that gave to me such peace, and such a
heavenly message of hope eternal."
And now Hubert began building upon a rock, and Emily was again happy
in the certainty of his worthiness. He entered his college class a new, a
living man. Arthur Weston was long in forgiving, long in learning to trust
him, for he understood not the mystery of salvation, and knew that the
reformation of a man is one of the most marvelous exceptions.
Mrs. Ellenwood did not falter in her faith concerning Hubert before nor
after his conversion. She looked upward and saw the sunlight of heaven even
as she saw it in promise for Raleigh when he had wandered beyond her sight
in Elmville, to the friendship of Judy and Jimmy, and the fatherly care of the
aged missionary in New York. Some way she had a very simple faith in the
certainty of God's care for his own everywhere, and his absolute sway over the
circumstances that go to make up the life of His children.
" O, it seems wonderful," said R^eigh to Mrs. Ellenwood, "the spiritual
230
ëleven Women and thirteen men
light and truth I have so longed for, and that has come to me so gradually, he
seems to have caught in a moment as from the very courts of heaven."
"God, who in the beginning commanded the light to shine out of dark¬
ness hath shined into his heart, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory
of God in the face of Jesus Christ," answered Mrs. Ellenwood.
"O, Mrs. Ellenwood, it is Hubert, but he transformed, his power and
grace is wonderful."
And Hubert began to preach and to be a missionary upon the street, and
to give the cup of salvatian to the fallen. He delighted in ministering to the
lowest and most wretched among men, in heralding the glorious tidings of
liberty to souls bound as he had been in bondage of poverty and fetters of
intemperance. No matter how Arthur Weston, or any other worldly man
may have looked upon it, the Spirit of God had entered Hubert's heart, and
he was undaunted in his faith and zeal; he brought men by thousands to Jesus
and to life from the dead.
You have heard of this young evangelist, whose history I have traced
almost literally, as I have unfolded before you the story of Hubert Menden¬
hall. Having known the bitterness of sin, and having been brought to a real¬
ization of the beauty of holiness, he blazed forth a great light that attracted
the benighted among men. You have heard how this God-commissioned
evangelist drew men to him, how halls were crowded, and tabernacles built for
him, how he walked into the cellars and attics of New York, and men, who
never saw such sights of poverty and shame, walked with him, and prayed
there because he prayed. How he went into the huts of the sailors, and
hoisted the sails of salvation, and lifted the voice of song above the curses of
the crew, and brought sailors to God. How he went into the barracks of the
soldier and fired the lightning of the word into the ranks of men, rough
soldiers fell upon their knees and prayed because he prayed, and they found
salvation. It is a difficult, impossible thing for man to see such a divine
creation as the birth of a soul. God in the heart can only be perceived by
individual experience. Weston believed that some undefinable fanaticism had
taken hold of Hubert and wrought such a change in him ; his enthusiasm
would soon wear off, and he would, perhaps, soon return to his cups; but Hu¬
bert preached, and there was no vague uncertain doctrine in his message ; he
saw men perishing around him for a living breath of God, and with arm made
bare he labored and ceased not. No matter what the learned in the lower and
tangible realm of science may be able to demonstrate to the limited powers of
man's intellect, to Hubert had been imparted, by the Creator of all, knowl¬
edge above the capacity of the natural mind and beyond the region of investi-
AND OTHER WORKS.
231
gation, a conception of the things the angels desire to look into. A light of
heaven had shined and driven out of his soul the dark shadows of horror and
of doom, making his once shattered mind a throne of sound judgment, and
his soul a palace of beauty.
Mrs. Ellenwood knew there was no more danger in the cup for Hubert ;
no longer power in that temptation ; his was not like the reformation of they
who take a pledge and stand in human strength without the salvation God
gives—a healing of soul and body, a filling of the whole being with the Holy
Spirit, which casts out the evil and makes clean the temple, ând giveth grace
for every hour. The surety under which Hubert now lived, was neither the
surety of the law nor the surety of the human will, but the surety of God.
Arthur Weston was disappointed, that he did not fail and relapse again into
weakness and debauchery. Hubert's Christ-like sympathy won for him a wel¬
come to the abodes of destitution and darkness, which he touched with warmth
and the sunshine of hope. Absorbed in the one idea of saving men, he gave
freely of his strength and his fortune ; since God had written His law upon his
heart, and put His word into his mind, he saw that the conversiou of man is
the true groundwork of all reform, and that if all Christians would push the
gospel and bring Christ nearer, walk with Him upon the street, take Him into
every work and every enterprise of life, recognize Him and show Him forth
everywhere, the earth would soon be filled with . His knowledge and His
righteousness.
As Raleigh once went with Hubert to sing for the gang of street boys
called "The Hell Gang," he now went with him to sing for the most vicious
and depraved, the beautiful songs of the gospel, the hymns of peace and glory
that find a true vibration somewhere in every human soul. But Raleigh's deli¬
cate constitution seemed giving way, and his fragile frame seemed daily grow¬
ing more feeble, while his spirit, like the transparent beauty of light was
brightening, and his thoughts and affections dwelling in the realm of glory
above. The two friends loved to commune together of heavenly things. "I
feel," said Raleigh, "that my life is running parallel with God's life, and every
day as I live on, it is growing more wonderful in thought, in knowledge, in
bliss and in glory. I am just beginning the flight which is never to end, and I
am to be more perfect, and more alive to joy, more glorious in strength, and
more precious in His love, as I still rise, upborne by Him. "And," said
Hubert, "I cannot express what I have realized since I am saved; the eternal
treasures of God that have been given unto my soul. He hath opened the
windows of heaven, and my mind is flooded, enraptured with the revelations.
How can I show forth guçb sacred truth, and make plain to others the hidden
232
eleven women and thirteen men
things of Christ? I would that all men might have such an experience. I
would that the light of God's spirit world might break upon the darkened
hearts of the lost. O, the lost, the lost ! Let me bring them to the safety
and the rest of my God. Once I was in darkness and in doubt concerning
these things, and an apathy overspread my being in regard to my salvation
from sin. Oh! it was an awful delusion, it was an infidelity that would have
plunged me into everlasting death. How little impression the counsel of
Charles Cary had on my hopeless mind in my boyhood, when he prayed and
labored for me. Yet it was not fruitless, I remember now whole chapters I once
heard him explain, whole prayers he lifted for me, with that Christ-like hand
upon my head, and that love burning for my salvation. I seem to see and
hear him again as I preach and pray in the desolate dwellings of this city of
the lost—oftentimes his voice comes stealing upon my ear as I lay me down to
rest at the close of day, or rise to go forth in the morning. And Raleigh, not
Charles Cary alone, but another friend, has stood near me since the day Caro¬
line left me alone in the saloon ; another friend, my boy friend, my confidential,
true, loving boy friend, for years my dearest, my one friend of earth is ever in
spirit by my side. You cannot know how much your love has been to me,
but it has brought me, brought me at last to my blessed Saviour's heart.
CHAPTER XXXIIl.
TO HIM THAT OVERCOMETH.
" My mother, in thy prayers to-night
There come new words and warmer teai's,
On long, long darkness breaks the light.
Comes home the loved, the lost for years.
The wind-tossed spider needs no token.
How stands the tree when lightning's blaze
And by a thread from heaven unbroken ?
I know my mother lives and prays."
—iV. P. Willis.
And so it must be chronicled, and Mandeville Lee must bear the pain and
disappointment of seeing his cherished son, his only beloved, suffer the loss of
his sight. To Mandeville it meant more loss, more sacrifice, more bitter burial
of hopes, than to Raleigh himself. After all, he could never behold the gran¬
deur and the beauty of the earth as he had hoped he might. His love of
nature, his aspirations to excel in art, his thirst for knowledge, his ambition for
success, must be blighted as the tender bud of spring is blighted by an adverse
wind. His life would be eclipsed with his sight. His years, as a wintry night,
must be passed without the companionship of light, of which the blind alone
can estimate the value. But in giving vision to our souls, God did not make it
to depend upon our eyes, since it is immortal and spiritual. And Raleigh, now
so nearly deprived of his sight, began more fully to understand the things of
which He speaketh, which " Eye hath not seen, and ear hath not heard."
Mandeville could not speak to Raleigh of this great calamity. His soul
was too full of pity to be uttered in words, but his overflowing love and kind¬
ness was more manifest, more precious than ever before. The arm that once
leaned nervously upon Raleigh for support, instantly became strong to bear,
and steady to guide.
"My dear father," said Raleigh the next day after his sight was totally
gone, "I can never see again with these eyes, but I ought to be very glad that
it does not cause me pain, and I ant enraptured with vision."
"Oh! what can you mean, my dear Raleigh," cried his father, "I have
even longed to place you beyond this cold and unfeeling world in this
your sorrow; dear as you are to «ne, I have prayed that the angels might
soon unseal your eyes in the realm of eternal day. I have not dared to talk
234
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
with you of this, which is breaking my heart. O, my son, thrice dearer
than ever before ! "
"Father, I feel this sweet, endearing union between us, and it alone
would make up my loss, but I have seen and enjoyed more in a few bright
hours in which the veil of a spiritual kingdom of light has been uplifted, and I
have beholden wonderful visions of God. Last night my ears were filled with
the melody, and my soul with the calm glory of heaven. And I saw still
crystal seas upon which I may walk and not stumble."
There was a long silence in which tears of joy crept from the blinded eyes
of Raleigh and dropped upon his father's hands.
"It is true I shall never see the strange, beautiful lands of which you
have so often told me, and I can never again look into your eyes. I cannot
continue my paintings or my charming researches of nature, but I have seen
mountains, and plains, and fountains of a more beautiful world than this. I
have seen the faces of celestial beings that cluster near me, and, best of all, I
saw, last night, sweet, little Helena again. I saw her at first, standing as she
used to stand, a blind, little girl at her father's gate, holding it open for me to
enter, as she used to do when there was not another open door in the whole
world for me, and the world seemed in my dream, cold and dark where I
blindly stood alone, with that one little, pale, uplifted face, turning toward me
with its own peculiar, loving smile ; and as she turned she was transfigured and
became a dazzling cherub, with an expression that entranced me, as with magic
power, she held the everlasting doors ajar, which revealed to me the sights and
sounds of that hidden, eternal world."
There was a strange chasm in the voice and in the expression of Raleigh
which awed his father.
"And there came to me One and placed in my hand a "white stone"
broken in two, to remind me of the broken body of our Lord, the broken
bread of life."
"And the broken, suffering life of His pilgrimage below," continued
his father.
"To-day," said Raleigh, "I think of a promise, 'To him that over-
cometh I will give to eat of the hidden manna, and I will give him a white
stone, and in it a new name written which no man knoweth saving he that
receiveth it.' You cannot see these things as I see them, my dear father, this
charm, this rapture is above anything I can have lost."
"And, my son, I remember to have read in some classic legend it was a
custom among ancient kings to give a white stone in token of especial favor,
and when the stone was broken and a half remained in the hand of thê king.
and other works.
235
it was a seal of adoption into the royal household, and for all generations to
come, the descendants of one holding the Tesse.® Hospitales, could find
there a shelter and a refuge from calamity and sorrow.
And I have read of a prodigal wanderer, roaming in midnight darkness to
the gate of the king's palace, where, although forlorn and wretched, he was
joyfully received because he carried in his hand a broken stone, a Tesse^
Hospitales which his father had given him, and which exactly matched the
part in the possession of the king. The door of the glittering palace was
thrown wide open, the hoary headed king himself arose and stretched
forth his hands, exclaiming, ' O, welcome to my courts, son of a king.
Come in, come in ! '"
"And, O, father, this great glory in mine?"
"And the king sent forth a trumpeter to sound abroad great joy from the
gates of his palace," continued his father.
"And, O, father, there is in my heart to-day, blending with these peace¬
ful, heavenly delights, a new longing for .' Where is she? Shall I not
236
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
one day see her yet on earth ? There is in my soul a sense of her existence,
an expectation concerning her I cannot explain."
"O, my child, the veil is so thin between you and the spirit world,
she has come very near you with her living love, you feel the touch of
her angelic spirit."
" No, father, I have always believed since Jimmy O'Rork gave me the purse
of gold, that he knew of her, and would not reveal it. Some superstitious
feeling has caused him to hide from us what he knows, and he will over¬
come himself and yet bring us the blessed boon of finding for us that
long lost friend."
Even while thus the father and son communed, a messenger arrived, con¬
veying the tidings that Jimmy O'Rork was very ill and desired to see Raleigh.
And he had decided at last to reveal what, for the sake of his church, he had
vowed never to reveal, the existence^, of Annie, the wife of Mandeville, and
mother of Raleigh Lee. It was the only comfort he felt it in his power to
bestow upon the afflicted Raleigh, whom in his great heart he loved more than
all beside, and he chose to break his vow to the church, he chose the present
and positive, rather than a future and doubtful good. He had all the time
known that the lovely Annie did not die, as all believed. He knew she was
taken under the merciful protection of the church, and in a convent had
mourned her son and husband as dead ; he knew she had been returned to her
father in Ireland, while the child was kept in school in this country until
adopted by the brother of Aunt Nancy, a priest.
He had not known Annie's exact dwelling place until his recent visit to his
native Isle, when, very strangely, he was seen by her. After so many years
of longing for his native land, he had been permitted to return, when he was
immediately arrested by a magistrate who knew him, and for some old and
trivial offence lodged in a prison, where he was left to languish until his wit
formed a strategy whereby to escape. With his money he bribed the turnkey
and was furnished with a rope, with which he expected to descend from the
prison window by night.
And it happened one evening as Annie Lee was walking in the convent
yard, the light of her lantern reflected from the river to the dark prison wall
near by, revealed an object dangling between heaven and earth, and it was
Jimmy trying to effect his escape from the prison window by means of the
rope the treacherous turnkey had furnished him. The light of her lantern
revealed to him the fact that the rope had been cut nearly asunder by the
turnkey and just below where he was grasping it. The nun stood still and
held the light steady upon him, while he slowly ascended the rope again and
disappeared through the window into the prison.
AND OTHER WORKS.
237
Annie Lee had recognized Jimmy O'Rork, whose figure had remained
clearly stamped upon her memory since in the days of her misfortune and
anguish he had shed tears in her behalf. And she did not lose sight of him
who was once her kind benefactor; she made an effort to secure his release
from prison and succeeded. Now, when Raleigh stood by his bedside,
he exclaimed :
"There is no fairer woman in Ireland than yer mother. She held in her
white hand the pardon, and remembered mej speaking gentle words of grati¬
tude. Her face is bright and heavenly, and wid tears upon her lashes, she
asked eagerly about you, saying, 'Be my child on earth or in heaven I know
not, but every hour I phray for him 1 "
Jimmy had spoken forgetful of the presence of Mandeville Lee, but he
now saw that the poor man had fallen, fainting, into the arms of M. de Clare.
At that very hour unknown to any of them, the fluttering heart of Annie
Lee was not afar. She had accompanied Wilhelmina to the United States,
and she suspected, from information she had received since her return, that
she was to have the great joy of finding her husband and son. She had most
providentially fallen into the company of Wilhelmina in the convent, where
Eddie had been placed in school under her protection.
And now, at last, the most lovely and perfect creature appears. The
brightness of whose mind diffused something so dazzling, and so pure over
her exterior, that she seemed hardly less than angelic. A woman, slight
and girlish in form, with singularly clear and soft voice, and wondrously
beautiful eyes, gleaming like sunlight from the deep azure of heaven, yet
not her beauty, but her spirit, entrances you.
It is the mother of Raleigh come at last to claim her long lost be¬
loved child.
The native purity of her nature is chastened, heightened by a holy life of
perfect self-forgetfulness. Now she is brought again to face the world ; with
the timidity of maidenhood, and the exuberance which new impulses and
fresh hopes inspire, she seeks the presence of her protector, and the yearning
heart of her son.
She came to the union of two spirits to form a perfect triune. No one
could so penetrate the thoughts, and so compass with true sympathy the whole
nature of the afflicted Raleigh, as could that seraphic mother. Gently she
glided at every turn between him and his darkened earthly hopes that his
sensitive nature felt no sting of regret, and saw no indistinct prophesy in his
suffering. Each separate trial dropped like a jewel from the guardian hand of
love, and the solitude of his earthly midnight was made to him a crowned, a
conquering, an eternal day.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE CONCLUDING CHAPTER.
As for Mrs. Ellenwood and Hester Montifort, no event can be recorded
that broke the obscure and quiet tenor of their lives in Elmville for many years.
It would be a delight to dwell upon the character of Mrs. Ellenwood, as
she walked the autumn days of life, so gorgeous with the glory of the Spirit's
brightening vision, ripe with immortal promise. To behold her in the life of
Emily, mounting the golden steps toward noonday and with beckoning hand
alluring others to the ecstasies of a spiritual life of light and bliss. I would
stand with them and mark their transfiguration, in raiment white as snow, but
even could I, the years would be fieet until Emily wept above a mother's grave.
Emily remained, during her life, the cherished idol of her uncle, Arthur
Weston. Wedded to Hubert, the love of her qarliest dreams, she helped him
to endure and overcome, by a never failing confidence in him and in God.
Aunt Nancy never returned to the poorhouse and Barnabas Plum.sock
died, as he lived, literally without God and without hope in the world.
A clear sunset illumines the hour with the last splendor of a long, bright
day. The evening star is white against the crimson sky, and I am ready to
drop my pen, yet linger, unsatisfied, for it seems more fitting I should have
traced a brief sketch of the touching history of the "auld mon becrazed, " with
whom my story opens. When I was told that he stood for three long years
at the Causeway, scarce giving himself time to eat or sleep, looking for his
daughter ; that he had, after the departure of the vessel in which she was ban¬
ished, wandered about Ireland, from coast to coast, until he came to believe
that he would see her appear on that spot, the most awful and desolate of all
the earth—that he stood always in about the same attitude, shielding his eyes
with his hand, peering afar o'er the hoary sea and through the shattered rocks
that skirt the shore, conjuring up out of the mists and shadows a forever near-
ing ship which he would hail with gestures of joy—every morning waking
elated with the idea that she was coming, it seemed to me a most pathetic tale
of devotion and love. That he should lose his hearing, from listening so
AND OTHER WORKS.
239
intently to the roaring of the sea, and the caverns that penetrate the rocks
and form a bed for innumerable leaping streams that fall from the cliffs above,
did not seem so strange, but I was touched with inexpressible pity to learn that
he was stone blind, from continued and intent looking upon the same objects—
foam, mist and desolate black rocks. Yet he imagined he could see, and
watched the same as if he did. When at last the innocent and lost daughter
did return to seek her father, she sought him as all of earth left for her, and
found him bereft of hearing, sight and reason. Yet he knew her and with a
satisfied happy heart, he rested in her tender care during the remainder of
We do not deem that it was altogether by accident that Judy's strong
arms shielded the lovely lamb in the hour of her peril and suffering in the
"counthry of sthrangers," that she gave her life to save Raleigh on that
fateful night in the cellar of Hons Vanderhomer, or that there was no token of
heaven's mercy in the faith of Raleigh, as he remembered the golden sunlight
that encircled her kneeling figure, illuminating her clay a^id casting a cruciform
shadow upon the floor, as he awoke and beheld her dead.
Even we do not deem there was not a secret sense of retribution in the
minds of Mandeville and Annie Lee, that probed with keen anguish, that their
innocent, beloved Raleigh was blind!
All their realized hopes and present joys, they again and again acknowl¬
edged, pointed as the poised compass to the star, to the untold love and
fidelity of Jimmy O'Rork and M. de Clare.
his life.
FINIS.
7^
LETTERS OF OPINION
on the subject of
H
mperance Legislation
kindly contributed by some of the leading citizens of our county,
at the request of the author.
Newark, Ohio, September, 1887,
Mrs. Wintermute :
In answer to your request I send the following extract from a lecture
delivered before the State Medical Society, at Columbus, as embodying my
opinions on the subject:
Is not a strong, healthy, self made man better than a highly cultured
weakling? Let the State, as educator, attend to this point, earnestly and
thoroughly, and the results would be that, besides gaining for itself a better
soldiery in times of peril, there would also be an increased immuniry from
crimes against the State, a diminution of the conditions which produce disease
and pauperism, and the rendering of the life of each more joyful and serene.
By the exercise of such preventable measures, among the results would be, a
decreasing necessity for supporting immense buildings, an ever increasing
number of brain blighted and nerve wrecked human beings. I ask of those
who may think such discourse as this to have a Utopian sound, to reserve
their judgment until they consider attentively, with me, some of the obvious
influences of the physiological and sanitary mode of training the young, so
that they may have timely warning of the rocks ahead, on which so many are
wrecked through carelessness and ignorance. I speak now of the physiolog¬
ical method of grappling with the gigantic evil of our day—alcoholic drinking.
All know something of the evils of this habit, but none more thoroughly
than the physician. He realizes that besides the crime and pauperism induced,
242
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
alcohol causes directly or indirectly a very large number of the diseases with
which he has to deal, especially those of a neurotic nature. In fact, alcohol
stands at the head of the causes which complete the ruin of a not perfectly
healthy nervous system. Dr. Ray, the able alienist, says : that the prime
factor of insanity is brain impairment, inherited or acquired. And, when the
nervous system is so impaired a whole family of nervous diseases become
ingrained in the blood, of which I may mention chorea, migraine, epilepsy,
hysteria, deaf muteism and imbecility. Well, alcohol is a very active nerve
impairer, it shrinks and hardens the nervous cells and causes them to degener¬
ate. But I need not describe the changed brain structure as all are aware that
the deranged functions, such as tremulous nerves, sleeplessness, and a rapidly
developing moral and' mental fatuity, clearly indicate an unhealthy brain.
From whatever cause weak and unbalanced nerves arise, the desire to
soothe the disturbed equilibrium by stimulants and narcotics, such as
tobacco, alcohol and opium is a very striking characteristic, and one ex¬
ceedingly difficult to overcome.
I need scarcely say—what is so true—that an evil like intemperance, so
destructive to health, to civil peace and so prolific of burdensome taxation
deserves our most anxious consideration. All are aware how ineffectual have
been the methods hitherto devised to abate the evil. Let us see how the
physiologist and- sanitarian would attack it. They would not wait like the
political philanthropist until a taste for the seductive liquid had been acquired,
and then try by moral suasion or legal force to win its victims away from it,
but they would begin the work of prevention in childhood and in the school
room. No where can this be so well carried out, so systematically, universally
and effectually as at school and under the auspices of the State. And why by
the State? Simply because it, as a political organization, is the most deeply
interested ; it is the power that has to build jails, penitentiaries, hospitals and
asylums—the ordinary goals of the drunkard.
I cannot better introduce the proposed method to your attention than by
calling up the sagacious policy of the most resplendent of all existing organ¬
izations—the Roman Catholic Church. It, of all organizations, has shown
greater wisdom in discerning and greater tact in systematically acting upon the
transcendent influence of youthful impressions, of youthful instruction, thor¬
oughly and deeply made. Well does tjiis church know the ineffectiveness for
such a purpose of occasional monitions, and the effectiveness of diligent and
prolonged striving. With unequaled zeal and untiring assiduity does she plant
her seeds into the deepest furrows of the youthful mind, and then cultivate
thern well, until they grow with the growth and strengthen y^jth the strength.
AND OTHER WORKS.
243
Her success must command our unstinted admiration. It is to profit by her
example that I cite it here, illustrating as it does the physiological mode of
dealing with the great evil of our day—alcoholic drinking.
The turning point of the question, the use or non-use of alcoholic drinks
is all included in that of health. Even in its purely moral and intellectual
aspects—a changed or perverted behavior implies a changed or perverted
molecular brain structure, just as the perversion dyspepsia implies a perverted
change in the structure of the stomach. Hence, the roots and branches of the
whole question are included in that of sanitation, and as such it should be
taught, and taught only by those competent to do it well. An occasional
admonition on the subject would be barren of results, the subject should be
handled thoroughly, with clearness, force and truth, and above all with per¬
sistent iteration. The details of the picture of injuries done to the body by
spirit drinking are sufficiently real, varied and terrifying to awaken the deepest
interest in the youthful mind,—no need here to draw upon the imagination—
only to present things as they really are. Even in rough outline they are
singularly well adapted to interest, to alarm and to appal. lectures and
object teaching the dreadful realities might be indelibly stamped upon the
rrtinds of the young. Show them under the microscope how alcohol shrivels
the blood corpuscles ; show them a bit of reddened and thickened stomach—
such as drunkards have, and compare it with the healthy one ; place before
a scrap of that horrible looking structure, hob nail liver, along side of a piece
of the nice normal structure in health ; exhibit the hard shrunken kidney of
the drinker with its natural soft smoothness, in health; place before them
under the microscope, the fatty degeneration of blood vessels and of brain
structure in old drinkers, and the same parts in a physiological condition, and
then follow all this up with a truthful and graphic description of the suffering,
disease and terrible modes of dying which thereby ensue, and an impression
would be made which, if followed up by fresh and iterating instruction, would
endure for life. If this mode were carried out systematically and persistingly,
stamping all the dreadful realities deeply and clearly on the minds of the
young, do you imagine it would ever be erased, or that it would not be for¬
ever rising before their minds in manhood, and make them hesitate—nay,
restrain their hand from carrying the poisonous glass to their lips. If you do,
then you are prepared to deny that the careful training of the young by the
Catholic Church has anything to do with their striking fidelity to it all
through life.
Such a mode of dealing with this, great evil has the disadvantage in this
era—impatient with all but quick coming results—of lack of immediateness.
244
ËLEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
It is the rising—not the risen generation that will profit by it. But surely, the
utter hopelessness of enforcing abstinence now, with the parent's love and
solicitude for his own, ought not to be left out of account. It has advantages
no less—yes, much greater than the disadvantages. Such sanitary instruction
in reference to spirit drinking would arouse no bitter hostility ; it would
trample on none of the vested rights of manufacturers and dealers, nor excite
the opposition of consumers. Where is the father engaged in either of these
pursuits who could make any serious objections to a method which would be
likely to hinder his sons from becoming drunkards? Even if only a moderate
drinker himself, far oftener than otherwise is he anxious that his sons shall not
follow his example. The political demagogue would be puzzled how to tum such
a method of promoting temperance to the behests of party. The very remoteness
of the reformation would here operate in its favor, not alarming the heavy
liquor interests, and the cry of sumptuary législation would fall to the
ground, as the measure adopted does not propose to compel men to eat
or drink only this or that, it only inculcates what is best to do, and
leaves the issue to voluntary choice.
I have endeavored to present some aspects of the subject as physician see
it, and to lay before you how utterly powerless individual effort is to avoid
preventable diseases, without the aid of appropriate legislation. And now,
the question arises, when will Ohio, with a citizenship notable in many re¬
spects, rise to the level of modern requirements on this important matter by
utilizing for the public good the many stride? which sanitary advancement has
made in this century. Will she much longer linger in the back ground or pass
to the front in this line of beneficent progress? Much, very much, depends
upon a continuance of self-sacrificing and gratuitous work on the part of
physicians, but more on their executive ability to bring such influences to bear
on the press and legislators so that a tidal wave may be created in its favor.
J. R. BLACK, M. D.
Newark, Ohio, September, 1887.
Mrs. Wintetmute :
One of the greatest—if not the greatest—contests of the age is now in
progress. I refer to the warfare between the liquor traffic and the temperance
forces. This contest is daily attracting more attention. The battle waxes
hotter and we have had many fearful and blood-curdling descriptions of the
evils of the liquor traffic, but horrible as these have been, none can picture the
dread reality. Its evils are Isimply indescribable. Men by the hundreds of
AND OtHÉk WOktcS.
thousands, of all classes, are being ruined for time and eternity by it, so that it
had been better if they had never been born. It seems strange that such an
evil has been suffered to exist so long in our midst; it seems as if the people
of our land had suffered themselves to sleep until the enemy came on
like a flood, and left scarcely a way to escape. All temperance organizations
have failed to meet the evil, they do not seem broad or deep enough to wres¬
tle with it. This may be, in part, at least, owing to the fact that the evil
itself is not understood. As seen now, it is lawless, conscienceless, withont
human sympathy, and murderous. On the side of this evil there is power and
unity; its interest and aim is simply to make money. Avarice is its motive
power, with billions of money invested and hundreds of thousands of men
employed in manufacturing and selling all kind of liquors, and the business
carried on in every nook and corner of our land. Its influence and its power
is used without regard to honor, law, integrity, or justice, wielding the rod of
dominion over the great political parties, buying up legislators, perverting
courts of justice, refusing to obey law, desecrating the Sabbath, and to crown
the dark catalogue, murdering citizens who lawfully oppose its infamous sway.
He that rules in the affairs of men has surely directed in the choice of means
and the establishment of plans by which this long continued curse shall be
destroyed. The Prohibition party was not formed without due deliberation
and earnest thought, on the part of loyal, philanthropic and Christian citizens.
This party, by its policy, strikés at the very root of the evil. It proposes to
elect to office, in all departments of the government, both State and National,
men who will enact such laws as will forever prohibit the importation, manufac¬
ture and sale of all liquors as a beverage. The clear prophesy and final suc¬
cess now appear. No wonder uneasiness and doubt are manifest in the other
great parties, signaled by their abuse of Prohibitionists. They seem already
to read defeat in the signs of the times. The women of our land should strike
telling blows at this giant evil, for having so cruelly wronged them in crush¬
ing so many homes. Hail to the Women's Christian Temperance Union, the
most extensive and effective organization of temperance workers on the earth—
outgrowth of the Crusade—all hail! Very respectfully,
J. BARRICK.
Newark, Ohio, September, 1887.
Mrs. Wintermute :
What in your opinion should true temperance men advocate and sustain
by their influence and votes ?
Believing as I do that the ballot carries with it immense responsibility, and
morally, as well as religiously, all men will be held responsible for any failure
to grasp attainable good in an effort to reach some Utopian good.
246
ÈLEVEN VVOMEN ANb THÍRTEEÑ MEÑ
If the above statement is correct, then it follows that the duty of the
present hour (and all other hours) is to keep abreast of the times, watch
closely the public pulse, and if the tendency is in the wrong direction to meet
and combat it with all the moral force at command, at the same time, to
encourage by voice and vote all movements, that in practical life, give fair prom¬
ise of even partial success in the right direction. In diagnosing the case all
human minds are liable to err, but when all the God given power at one's
command, backed by a sense of moral and religious responsibility shall
have been exercised in the discharge of the most sacred duty of American
citizenship, the verdict is final, and neither the lash of the press or. the
anathemas of the pulpit has any terror for me.
Believing that taxation, with the Local Option extended, is the best
remedy in sight, I shall so vote, believing that neither priests cowl nor the
threats of party leaders will shield me in the day of account if I fail to
do the present duty. Very respectfully,
C. B. GIFFIN.
Newark, Ohio, September, 1887.
Mrs. Wintermute :
You have requested my views on temperance legislation. I give them
as follows :
1. I believe that all legislation should be for the general welfare of
society. The legislation that benefits the few to the detriment of the many,
is not what we need.
2. I believe that the manufacture and sale of intoxicating liquors, as
a beverage, is an unmitigated evil,—a crime against society,—producing
more degradation and sorrow than all the murders and robberies committed
upon earth.
3. I believe that this crime against society should be prohibited by
law. The State has no right either by license, or by taxation, to become
a partner in this iniquity. The probable enforcement of a prohibitory law
is another question, which should have nothing to do with the declaration
of the law against this great crime.
Eight of the ten commandments, given on Sinai, are prohibitory. The
infinite, wise Law Giver knew, before he gave them, that they would not
be obeyed by a majority of the human race, for many ages, but, notwith¬
standing this, they were given and will not be repealed.
Yours truly.
REV. E. I. JONES.
and other works.
247
Newark, Ohio, September, 1887.
Mt s. Wintermute :
Go to the homes which have been blighted by the curse of Rum and
ask if there is need of temperance legislation, instead of going to the saloons.
Ask the mothers and children who have become the innocent victims, instead
of the manufacturer, employe or saloonist. Answer the despairing cry and
agonizing prayer, uttered in the homes made desolate by intoxicating drink, if
thou hast one spark of humanity or the slightest appearance of Christian grace,
instead of feeling the pulse of those engaged in the liquor traffic, under the
delusion that thou art ascertaining the state of the "public pulse." What
claim has one to manhood who will quietly submit to the daily process going
on before his eyes—that of helpless women, innocent children and unsuspect¬
ing youths, being robbed of husbands, or fathers, homes, reputation and re¬
spect? What claims can one lay to patriotism or statesmanship, who will thus
allow the home to be invaded by a foreign foe, more relentless and cruel than
any organized body of armed men which can go no farther than the rules of
civilized warfare will permit? I answer, in both instances, none, whatever.
The aggregate of homes is our Nation. The home is the vital spot and it
must be protected and nourished at all hazzards or we sink in the scale
of existence.
Not a few believe this in this State. The vote of over 320,000 in favor of
the Second Amendment reveals the fact that Ohio is in favor of Prohibition
rather than free whisky, taxation, or license. Later events prove that a small
minority, known as the " whisky vote, " dictates, in a great measure, the policy
oí the two old parties and thus the sacred ballot of honest citizens and upright
Christians—voters—is practically placed in the hands of this corrupt and cor¬
rupting element, which is now clamoring for the legal protection which license
or tax will afford it. If not from the sacred scriptures, perchance it is an echo
from the agonizing prayer of some mother whose home is being destroyed by
the cruel monster. Rum, or from one whose son is being enticed into the gilded
saloon, comes to me the startling commaad, "Come ye out from among them "—
this corrupting element—and join a party which demands legislation wholly in
the interest of the home as against the saloon, and that legislation to be
Prohibition of the liquor traffic, and the party to be one whose existence
depends upon the enforcement of such a measure. I believe that legislation
is needful, and that Prohibition is the only ground upon which a righteous
solution of the liquor question can rest, and, I further believe that whenever
Prohibition is obtained, the dividing line which separates the opposing parties,
248
Eleven women and thirteen men
will be the line which separates those who favor the continuation of the curse
of intemperance from those who believe in the total annihilation of the liquor
traffic, root and branch. Friends, hasten the day by at once taking up your
position on the right side of this line.
Most respectfully,
D. W. WINTER, M. D.
Newark, Ohio, October, 1887.
Mrs. Wintermute :
You solicit my views on the present aspect of the temperance question,
and invite suggestions as to thé best method of dealing, by legislation and
otherwise, with the great evil of intemperance.
For a full generation after the adoption of the "No-License" feature of
our State Constitution, in 1852, we had "free trade" in alcoholic liquors in
Ohio, restricted for brief periods only, while the "Scott law," and the
"Pond law" were in force, and the " Dow law" latterly for a year or two.
We have prided ourselves upon the fact that our State has had no guilty
pafticipation, as a partner, with the "liquor traffic," except during the two or
three years, while the above named laws were in force, but that fact, consoling
though it be, does not seem to have essentially aided the-cause of temperance,
or to any material extent diminished the quantity of intoxicating drinks con¬
sumed. Intemperance has run riot during all the years of our State's history,
especially in the cities and larger towns, and at no time more than when the
no-license and free-trade arrangement was in full force, and not hampered by
restrictive tax laws.
That intemperance is the giant evil of our day admits of no doubt. The
excessive use of anything that intoxicates is the evil of evils. Indulgence to
excess in intoxicants, of whatever nature, tends to financial, physical, mental,
moral ruin, now and always ! The tendency—the infallible tendency of the
habit is to ruination—ruination of every kind, present and prospective, here,
everywhere, now and ever.
The remedies I have in mind are principally the enactment of as rigid
temperance laws every where as the public sentiment of every locality will
enforce. I favor extended Local Option, either as an independent measure or
as an amendment to the " Dow law," which I would not think of repealing or
amending, except to make it better, and the nearer it comes to Prohibition the
better it will be for all localities where it can be executed. The constant aim
should be to educate the publît mind as fast as possible in the upward direction
AND OTHER WORKS.
249
towards the point of Prohibition as to the making, selling, and using, as a
beverage, everything that intoxicates.
Laws forbidding the sale of intoxicants to drunkards—to minors, and on
election days; on Sundays; after reasonable hours at night; at'or near fairs;
at camp meetings ; on our legal holidays ; and at all places where a majority of
the adult population remonstrate against it, should be most rigidly enforced.
And that could be done in most of the townships of Ohio, and I think in
many of our county seats.
Temperance should be taught in our text books on physiology—it should
be made a study in our schools, colleges and universities—the importance and
incalculable benefits of temperance, both in its physical and moral aspects,
should be presented to the rising generation, as often as may be prudent, as a
duty obligatory upon the school teachers of our State, and all others charged
with the high functions of instructors of youth.
And temperance should not' be reckoned of secondary importance in
family training and instruction ; nor should it be a neglected or an ignored
theme in the American pulpit.
I have expressed myself favorable to the "Dow law" chiefly for the
reasons that under its operation Ohio's non-whisky selling tax-payers are
annually relieved of about two millions of dollars of taxes by it; and because
that law has had the effect to diminish the number of grog-shops in Ohio
by four thousand.
In conclusion I remark that some friends of temperance are just now
combining with the "free-traders" in whisky, in their efforts to secure the
repeal of the whisky tax feature of the internal revenue law. I do not sympa¬
thize with that movement. The higher the tax that is levied on whisky, the
higher the price will be, and the higher the price the less will be consumed,
and the less that is consumed, the better is it for us.
Most respectfully,
Isaac Smucker.
Newark, Ohio, September, 1887.
Mrs. Winter7niite :
If I had the right of suffrage, how would I deal with the giant evil? I
would do as David of old when he came to face Goliath. I would refuse to
encumber myself with a coat of mail unsuitable for the occasion—though it
had been a glorious armour, and had served a good purpose in a past age. I
would hear the giant cursing, and challenging, and thundering with his aimy
in array, and see the people fleeing and sore afraid, and I would ask, who is
250
eleven women and thirteen men
this uncircumcised Philistine, that he should defy the army of the living God ?
And I would not grope and grabble for mud, or sand, or chalk stones in the
miry "cess-pool" of politicians to put into my sling. I would not choose a
personal liberty stone, or a judicious system of license, or tax stone—they are
but sand, and chalk, and mud ; but I would go as David did, to a clear brook¬
let where I could see bottom, and I would choose a clean, smooth flint—a
deadly Prohibition stone, for my ballot, and I would sling it full in the face of
the giant. He is in the field against Prohibition, mind that ; I would cast my
individual ballot fot Prohibition if I had to go alone to do it. I would not
aim below the vital point, I would never gauge my vote by other men's opin¬
ions, and try to keep on a level with popular sentiment. Did such an indi¬
vidual ever advance reform, or elevate and educate the race ? I would vote up
to mj'' own enlightenment and thereby advance public sentiment. It is ea^ to
keep abreast with the public sentiment of men, who barter their votes for money
and defeat the will of the honest christian citizens. I would not be afraid to
stand in the name of the Lord of hosts before the terrible foe that threatens
our national existence—the Goliath of the army of the Philistines—for there
can be but one outcome, if God is God, Goliath will be slain. So I would not
dodge back and come up at last in the rear. I would flght and use the best
and deadliest weapon I could find. I would increase by one the vote of the
party that makes the temperance reform an issue, and does not fear the roaring
Goliath. I would strike with those who aim a square telling blow, who come
out with clear, certain colors, who are at unmistakable outs with the liquor
traffic, and on God's side in the terrible contest.
BY A LADY.
Newark, Ohio, September, 1887.
De at Mts. Wintermute :
I am not accustomed to expressing my thoughts on the subject of tem¬
perance for publication—at your request, I will try. I have expected that the
influence of temperance workers in departments outside of politics would
educate the public sufficiently, so that the ballot in the hands of the adult
male citizen would be wielded in the interests of society, and I have had little
thought in that direction, until lately. I have helped to circulate many peti¬
tions among voters to be presented to law-makers; the work is laborious, and
seems to effect nothing as yet in our State. I believe in educating public
sentiment in every possible way, but I also begin to see that the law is a
school-master, and the ballot, after all, the great lever of education. The
State, controlled by ballot, has undertaken the education of the children ; it
and other works.
has denied society the privilege of having temperance instruction introduced
into the public schools. Our petitions are disregarded, and" the public pulse is
measured by our failure, not by the efforts and wishes of the population. Law
should be righteous and in advance of society and of sentiment, while the
actual fact is, our temperance laws are far below the voice of the adult male
citizens of our State, as shown by the vote for the prohibitory amendment four
years ago. The ballot is corrupted, and the wheels of civilization clogged
by the rum power.
BY A LADY.
ütica, Ohio, September, 1887.
Mrs. Wintermute :
Your letter came during my absence; am obliged for the compliment, but
surely no argument is needed now for statutary enactments with the view of
expelling intoxicants from society. I believe there is not a State without a
statute of some kind, and the pressure for more and more complete legislation
is strong and increasing, and will not be put aside.
There is no argument to be made in opposition, and the only utterance
the defenders of the traffic now offer, is the impotency of laws that are not
sustained by powerful public sentiment, which is, in fact, the chief hindrance
to the extinction of the liquor traffic and justifies their attitude.
The effort ought to be to direct and concentrate the attention of the
people to the liquor business. When all men see it, and desire to remove it,
it will remove.
To this end it is well to enact such statutes as are possible of execution.
Law is an educator. Put a law in force and the public are agitated, and thus
instructed more or less swiftly, as its friends are more or less active, as for
instance, the result of Local Option in this and other States. That phase of
legislation has proven to be a school-master wherever introduced and en¬
forced for a time. It gains public favor, and diminishes the traffic.
Very much the same with the principle of taxation, especially if high, it
excites opposition, the greater the opposition, the greater the education. To
a less degree is the taxation of a drunkard for his drunkenness, for a certain
commiseration toward his helplessness and folly is developed in most minds—
wrong, but prevalent, if the penalty of intoxication were increased and rigor¬
ously enforced ; the value of such legislation as an educator and elevator of
public sentiment, would be instant and permanent. Other instances present,
and possibly occur, but need not record here.
The broad distinction between a crime and an evil should not be forgotten
252
eleven women and thirteen men
in all our labors in this cause. And an evil may be the result of an excess of
the legitimate. It is proper to legislate for either abolition or correction.
But as the subjects of legislation differ, so the method of legislation must
differ. For instance, the sale of alcohol and its diluents is legitimate and
necessary, but the sale of intoxicants is an evil. The substance sold may be
identical. A statute framed to correct it must differ very radically from a
statute against murder, but the assumption that the sale of spirits is murder,
being an exaggeration, may be an inflamer, it is not an educator.
Plain, unvarnished, uninflated facts are the tools the reformer works with,
and in this case they are mournfully abundant and sufficient ; inexact statements
by temperance advocates, beget distrust in the cause. It is a matter of doubt,
if Ohio sentiment is in advance of Ohio law. An active enforcement of these
laws will, I believe, create an active sentiment in favor of an advancing step.
If such means of suppression of the beverage traffic in spirits, as are now in
reach of every municipality, be adopted, the doubt will dissipate and more
effective legislation become easy. One thing is certain, progress in senti¬
ment must precede progress in legislation, and one other thing is manifest,
the evil is great, is rooted, must be grubbed out, and grubbing is labor.
Yours truly,
LEVI KNOWLTON.
Knoxville, Tenn., September; 1887.
Mrs. Wintenniite :
The cry against sumptuary legislation and against introducing the tem¬
perance question into politics, is simply absurd ; it has been a question in
legislation for years. I endorse the principles set forth by Dr. Leonard in
his speech at the Old Fort, on the 25th of May last. It was the best po¬
litical speech to which I have ever listened. I also think the Voice, the
national Prohibition organ, the best edited paper I have ever read, I make
no exception, it is the best edited paper in the world. I believe the most
effectual way of promoting temperance in Newark would be to circulate the
Voice. Let the people read it, and it will do its work ; they can but be
influenced in the direction of Prohibition. In my opinion, a prohibitory
law is best for Ohio, for every State, and for the Nation ; how to most
speedily secure such law in Ohio I am not prepared to answer, how to
enforce it is an after question. I am now in the midst of a contest for
Prohibition in Tennessee. I earnestly endorse the proposed amendment.
The head of the movement against Prohibition here is an out and out
AND OTHER WORKS.
2S3
liquor man, and the headquarters of the State in his liquor store. The
fight is a square one with none of the disguises usually thrown around such
liquor fights by politicians. If I were still a resident of Newark I would
write at greater length for your book.
Most respectfully,
R. R. SUTHERLAND.
Newark, Ohio, October, 1887.
Mrs. Wintetmiite :
I hand you herewith copy of an article, just prepared for the press, that
embodies my views on the question of how to deal with the Rum Power:
Yours truly,
A. B. CLARK.
How to Drive Out the Dram Shops.
How "far the Rum Power can be controlled by legislation depends, now
and always, upon the measure of intelligence and virtue in the sovereign
power. Laws cannot be successfully written in our statute books until they
have first been written in the hearts of the people. If the statute is any
other than a memorandum of what the people think to-day, it will be dis¬
regarded ; and it were better that no such statute be written, for disregard
of that which has been promulgated as law tends to irreverence of all law,
and thereby serves to weaken if not destroy the power of the government.
The, important fact, too often disregarded, but which ought never to
be lost sight of, in the discussion of this question, is the fact that the peo¬
ple rule—-that the government derives its just powers from the consent of
the governed. Hence in carrying forward any measure of reform, education
must precede legislation. The entire prohibition of the sale of intoxicating
beverages is undoubtedly the ideal measure for the overthrow of the Liquor
Power ; but unless a majority of the people are educated up to the point
of belief in the practicability of such a measure, writing it in our statute
books would only invite popular contempt. A hundred of our wisest and
best men could undoubtedly write our statutes better than they have ever
been written, but that is not our compact. The people rule. The statutes
must be written with their consent. Now, whether these shall be wise or
otherwise depends upon the virtue and intelligence represented by the
masses—the character of the living men behind them. Emerson was right
in saying that, ' ' the history of the State sketches in coarse outline the
progress of thought, and follows at a distance the delicacy of culture and
2S4
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
aspiration." A statute, therefore, which shall give to the people of each
voting precinct the right of forbidding, if they so desire, all traffic in
intoxicating beverages, would be in entire harmony with the genius of our
institutions, and would promptly reflect the will of the people. If under
the operation of such a statute the people refuse or fail to prohibit the
traffic, and the saloon goes on with its deadly work, it must then be evi¬
dent to the dullest comprehension that, if a higher standard of excellence
is desired, it must be attained through educational processes. So much
life as the statute has it draws from the thought of the people behind it.
I might very well stop here, and would gladly do so, only that a great
many very good people are strangely mistaken, as it seems to me, in sup¬
posing that taxation of the liquor traffic is a reformatory measure. It is
far otherwise. The Constitution of the State of Ohio provides that all
property shall be taxed at a uniform rate. The tax laid upon the liquor
traffic is in violation of this provision. But the courts decide that under
the police power of the State such taxation is admissible. What is this
police power? A power given for the prevention of crime, or, failing in
that, for the punishment of the criminal. But taxation of the liquor traffic
does not prevent the crime—does not seek to prevent it. It is a compro¬
mise, in advance, with the man who proposes to commit a crime. The
State practically says to the liquor seller,—Your business is not legal—
not right ; but you can go on with it by paying us a bonus of two hun¬
dred dollars. What is the result? According to the Cleveland Leader the
liquor sellers of Ohio have paid, in the way of tax under the Dow law,
the sum of ;^2,144,139.71. That means one saloon for every sixty-five vo¬
ters in the Buckeye State. A measure that works out such a result in the
last quarter, of the nineteenth century can scarcely be satisfactory to a peo¬
ple who have been rightly denominated the advance guard of the human
race.
The first and last thought, always, for all those who want to lift the
people up to higher modes of thought and life, is, that the work to that
end is mainly an educational one. When the people shall be made to fairly
comprehend the beauty and utility of the great commandment. Thou shalt
love thy neighbor as thyself, there will be little difficulty in writing our
statutes on as high a moral plane as may be desired. To reach that eleva¬
tion will require heroic and self-sacrificing effort on the part of all good men.
and other works.
255
Newark, Ohio, September, 1887.
Mrs. Wintermute :
How Ought Temperance Men to Vote in Ohio ?
I. The Evil. II. The Remedy. III. The Remedy Applied.
I. The Evil—The liquor traffic is a legalized and organized national
crime, i. It is a crime. "A crime is an aggravated offense against the pub¬
lic welfare." (Webster.) This crime strikes at the jugular vein of the na¬
tion's wealth, as it converts $2,000,000,000 of capital into a systematic attack
on our bodies and minds, our homes, schools, churches, and our social and
political life. This poisoned shirt of Nessus is eating up the Hercules of the
State with an annual drink bill of $900,000,000, with an additional annual loss
of $600,000,000 through sickness and waste of time, because of this "over¬
shadowing curse." Between 60,000 and 80,000 human lives are given to it
every year. It causes three-fourths of all crime. It makes idiocy, insanity
and pauperism by the wholesale. To crown all, it dominates our political life
in spite of an overwhelming "sentiment" against it. Under its rule, bribery,
intimidation and fraudulent counts uphold rings and conscienceless monopolies
which wrong and oppress the people. A government by the majority is a
fiction when the criminal saloon minority is always voting in the dark for the
saloon, and only for the saloon, and the respectable anti-saloon majority
mostly votes with either the Democratic or Republican party for so-called
"temperance" laws, which do not even diminish the volume and evils of the
traffic materially. That liquor minority holds and uses "the balance of
power" in Ohio. It compelled President Cleveland to pardon out of peniten¬
tiary a policeman who pleaded guilty in court of having locked up, without
cause, about one hundred voters the whole of election day. It compelled
Governor Foraker to give the control of the Board of Public Affairs, and of
the Police Commission of Cincinnati to the criminal classes, through the
appointment of a majority of their own number. It compelled the late Legis¬
lature to pass the Dow law, written by the brewers of Cincinnati, by securing
the pledge of the thirteen Republican candidates from Hamilton county, that
they would : first, oppose Prohibition ; second, oppose the submission of a
prohibitory amendment ; third, enact the Dow law. These thirteen gave the
Republicans their majority, and were elected by the indorsement of the Saloon¬
keeper's Protective Association. This organized, legalized crime compelled
the Supreme Court to declare the Dow tax law constitutional, though the
people in 1851 and 1874 declared against a license; and this tax is clearly a
license in effect ; that is, it takes the money of the saloon in return for the
256
eleven women and thirteen men
legal protection it gives the saloon. Thus, this crime has our legislative,
executive and judicial power under its control, though a majority of the peo¬
ple voted to kill it in 1883, that majority being "counted out" in obedi¬
ence to this crime.
2. This crime is legalized in Ohio by the Republican party in accordance
with its national policy of legalizing it. Even in Maine, Iowa, Kansas and
Rhode Island, belief in Prohibition is not made a test of party fealty', and
hence, there, in no proper sense, is this a party measure,.and that because a
State party is compelled to be as far as possible in harmony with the National
party, while still holding the majority vote in the State. The Republican party
holds the saloon vote of large towns in those States by permitting it, through
the perfidy of their officials, to violate the prohibitory law. This is in ac¬
cordance with the national policy of James G. Blaine, himself the citizen of a
Prohibition State, (and of the Republican party,) of continuing the saloon
for a money consideration. National policy must overtop State policy as
far as it can, and still hold the State vote.
3. This crime is organized nationally. Witness National Brewers' and
Distillers' Associations, and Saloon-keeper's Protective Associations. These
are organized so that whenever " the ttàde " is threatened, money, speakers
and literature are given for all local contests now by "the trade" in gen¬
eral. Witness the ten cent tax put by the wholesalers on every barrel of
whisky for months to defeat Prohibition in Texas.
II. The Remedy—The disease demands Prohibition in State and Nation
by constitutional amendments with suitable enactments by legislature and con¬
gress. Regulation does not regulate, but Prohibition prohibits though it does
not^ prevent. High License is the acme^of regulation. Under it, with an
administration in sympathy with it, no case can be shown where it has mate¬
rially lessened the volume or evils of the traffic. The num'oer of saloons open
is not a fair test. One saloon might do the work of ten in many cases.
Omaha and Minneapolis have more liquor and more crime under High License
than before. License of Tax: (i) Puts the traffic in alliance with the people's
greed for money—its strongest defense. (2) Only appears to diminish the
volume and evils of the traffic. (3) Legalizes and protects a crime, and thus
educates people not only for this crime but for other crimes closely allied, as
gambling, the social evil, etc. The Remedy is Prohibition, because often in
spite of official perfidy it has lessened the volnme and evils of the traffic, and
it has always outlawed and well-nigh annihilated the traffic where the officials
act in good faith. Witness many counties in Iowa where their jails are for sale
or rent. Witness Atlanta, a city of 65,000, where the Atlanta Constitution
and other works.
257
says, "The Prohibitory Law has been enforced as well as other laws against
crime." Witness Maine, which in 1884 gave a three-fourths vote for the
amendment after trying Prohibition by statute for thirty-three years.
III. The Remedy Applied—Prohibition must have a Prohibition Party
back of it to enforce it. Both the Democratic and Republican Parties are na¬
tional license parties ; as such they conspire with the nationally organized liquor
traffic in preventing this issue from coming before the people even locally, not
to speak of their refusal, as national parties, to pass and then to enforce pro¬
hibitory laws, though a clear majority of the people, in nearly every case where
fair agitation was had, have declared in favor of such laws. This compels reor-
organization as the slavery issue did, resulting by the gradual disintegration of
the Whig party in the creation of the Republican party, which took up the
issue in good faith as a national party, and settled the issue and what
flowed from it as a national issue. He who votes, in Ohio, for the Republican
or Democratic ticket, votes for tax or license for a crime, which only strength¬
ens the crime, votes for the open saloon in our cities on Sunday, votes for mere
council option (not local option), which can reach only the smaller towns, where
the saloon is least dangerous, and even there posts the saloon "just outside,"
votes for criminal rule in the State and Nation through the criminal vote which,
in our cities, holds the balance of power. A vote for the Prohibition ticket
means soon the balance of power for the honest, law-abiding men, who then
will disclose in clear light the inability of any party to take up a vitally new
issue, which, if taken up by it honestly as a party, would defeat it at the next
election, and which, hence, compels reorganization. Put the Prohibition Party
into power in the Legislature of Ohio, and at once, under the "No License"
clause they will enact measures to close the saloon. Give them the executive
and judicial power, and they will enforce and sustain those measures.
WM. A. POWELL.
THE BETTER WAY.
by a. b. clark.
Isn't it better to keep yourselves
Free from the taint of rum and gin?
Do you think your sweethearts, fairy elves.
Care most for him who is stained by sin ?
Do you want your mother to know you drink ?
Will it sweeten, at last, the joys of home?
Oh, brother of mine, please stop and think.
And then be wise Tor the years to come 1
ELEVEN WOMEN AND THIRTEEN MEN
You have youth and manly strength to-day,
And are filled with hope for life's high noon;
Don't foolishly fritter your strength away !
Don't bury your hope in a rum saloon !
Don't say in your heart what the fool has said,
For God's balance still hangs across the sky;
And when at last the awards are made.
It may be better for you and I.
At all events, it is better now
That heads be clear and hearts be clean.
Better to make a manly vow
Than sink in the slime of rum's ravine.
Better to stand with manly men.
Better the manly virtues save.
Than mix with fools in rum's foul den.
And sink at last to a drunkard's grave.
Somebody's love is a better prize.
Than a ribald jest or obscene croon ;
Somebody's sparkling, speaking eyes
Shed a light not found in a rum saloon.
Home in a loyal woman's heart.
Is more than a night with a debauchee.
As heaven is more than the hellish art
That ruins man for eternity.
Then plan for a home, and plant a vine.
Out by the side of the cottage door ;
Where through the trembling leaves shall shine
The light of the sun on the kitchen floor.
Live for the woman whose heart is yours, '
Stand for your Saxon name and fame;
And God and the angels, while truth endures.
Shall shield you with Heaven's oriflamme.
PART II.
h
h
ct Poems,
/ would be as a flower, all tife
With ftagrance and beauty,
Simply and purely in my life
Fulfilling duty.
Wrought in the mind divine,
In God concealing.
Would in heavenly graces shine
His light revealing.
by
Mrs. M. Wintermute.
1887.
ILLUSTRATED.
Come out of the mazy dingle,
Come down from the wooded height,
Wild flowers, winged and airy.
In rainbow colors of light.
FOR GOD AND HOME AND NATIVE LAND.
A Decotation Poem.
FOR GOD.
She had culled her white carnations,
Her pansies and roses bright,
All gleaming with dewy tear-drops.
And trembling in the light.
Then the bleeding heart and the lily
She wreathed in the chaplet, and thought
Of the hearts of out fallen patriots.
Of the costly peace they bought.
She thought of the hands so valiant.
Close folded upon each breast.
Of the camp's lone Sabbath stillness.
And the tent's long day of rest.
The crystal gates of the morning
Broke wide o'er a world of bloom.
And she stood in a moment vision
Of her rapturous heavenly home.
Then in awe and delight her spirit
Pressed on in the stillness of love,
And she whispered, "This day is God's day,
These moments drop down from above."
SELECT POEMS.
AND HOME.
Then she opened her soul as a garden,
That the fragrance and beauty and bloom,
Might reach to the hearts of her loved one's,
His presence pervade and perfume.
Then the roses sweet of the Christ-life,
And the lilies pure of love.
Bloomed in her earthly Eden
With a fragrance born above.
His angel with golden trumpet.
Seemed treading the buoyant air.
And she whispered, " This home is God's home.
This a hallowed house of prayer."
AND NATIVE LAND.
Then the freshly clustering garlands.
And the fluttering flag on the breeze.
And the measured march of veterans.
Brought other thoughts than these.
She prayed as the people marshalled
At the stirring beat of the drums.
For her Native Land beloved.
With its thousand, thousand homes.
Though a shadow swept their thresholds.
And a moment of trembling fear.
She whispered, this land is God's land.
And His arm of might is near.
Then she gave her pure flowers, praying
All lands His blessing may share.
Till the white flower of Our Union,
The nations in triumph may wear.
LIVE ON.
Wait not, for the ship that's sailing
O'er life's sea !
It will come, but none the sooner.
Unto thee.
Hope on, work on, never wearying.
Fail not, faint not, it is nearing.
It is sure, since God is steering.
SELECT POEMS.
Life is young, though years be many,
Just begun
Is the cycle of thy journey,
And not done.
Ages be thy crown of glory.
Life is young, though head be hoary.
You have read the "sage's" story?
He set down to mope and number
Life's last sands.
And the wrathful sea upheaving.
Isles and lands.
Swept him, hurled him from the portal.
Of life's happy gates immortal.
And the wrath all heaven did startle.
Now the sage that sits and grumbles
And looks back.
O'er the inches of fifst milestone.
In life's track.
Should remember this sad story.
And that ages bring the glory.
Lije is young, though head be hoary.
REVEALINGS.
Dost thou perceive in cloud, in sun-lit sea.
In warbling bird—or star, or fragile flower.
The answer to thy spirits helpless plea.
In grief's o'erburdened hour?
Bringing sweet peace to thee?
O ! soul, if thou wilt hearken there will come
Revealings all unknown to wave, or star.
Or flower, or song of bird—from the afar
Bright heaven-land thy Home,
From One that knoweth and can feel.
Thy spirit's pain—with hallowed power to heal.
And there shall come
To thee a Presence, from that heavenly Home,
White winged and noisele^, yet with comfort sweet.
To walk with thee, the paths that wait thy feet.
SELECT POEMS.
PAT'S THANKSGIVING.
Little Pat, out in the biting wind,
Bareheaded and begrime,
A moment he paused at the great church door,
To hear the chant of the hymn.
Thanksgiving Day, and the choir within
Were singing an anthem of praise.
And little Pat heard the preacher pray.
As his hands to heaven did raise.
Thanksgiving, but not a crumb for Pat,
To ease the hunger pain.
And he scrambled on in his search for bread,
In the biting wind and rain.
But the strain of song, and the voice of prayer
Went calling above the blast.
And the wretched child crept back again.
To the door which his feet had passed.
He heard the text of the man of God,
He thought it was meant for him.
And he slipped inside with a hopeful smile
On his wistful face begrime.
For the preacher spoke of the hungry poor.
As on that day he was wont.
And poor little Pat, in his simple faith.
Boldly stepped to the front.
No one had courage to chill his hope.
And none had heart to forbid.
For the aged parson forgot his words.
As his tearful face he hid.
The sermon over, the hopeful child
Walked at the parson's side.
Out from the altar and down the aisle.
And into the cold world wide.
Aye, nothing doubting, he walked straight on
With the preacher to his board.
Where the good wife clothed and cared for him.
Nor ventured a questioning word.
And as Pat grew up a prayerful lad.
And walked in the good man's ways.
Of all the days in the year he loved
The day oí mercy and praise.
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265
MY DYING CHILD.
0 ! it is sweet to hear the perfect praise
Breathed from the guileless lips of babes, and know
The truth revealed by spirits on the wing,
Called in the transient morning hours to go.
1 knew a child that left his mother's heart
All empty, yearning, and by doubt oppressed.
That dropped sweet words from heaven most pure, most true.
As he uprose, borne on the angel's breast.
The fadeless light of Paradise he saw.
The bliss he felt, the soul's enraptured flight—
"Mother I'm dying, for a form is near
That points me to the heavens where all is bright.
Waft on those snowy wings to Paradise,
'Tis joy, 'tis joy to rise 1
"Mother there is no shadow, no chill night.
No river dark that dreadful rolls and near.
But there's a city in the golden light.
And little children at the gates appear !
0 ! happy, happy children of the sky.
They call me from on high 1
"Last night I was so tired I scarce could play,
I left my top upon the parlor floor,
I could not think to put my toys away.
My wagon left beside the kitchen door.
1 shall not need them more.
"There was a whisper came upon my dreams.
There was a voice that called my soul away.
Mother I know that I must die to-day.
Yet all so peaceful sweet and joyous seems,
I would not longer stay."
And thus he passed in childhood's earliest morn.
The mother's heart was healed, for solemn thought
Swayed back the grief—these sweet revealings brought.
Calming her spirit by a faith upborne,
A faith his death had taught.
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THE MUTE MISSIONARY.
He never could do a great thing,
Barbara's little boy !
Poor Barbara knew, and pitying tears.
Mingled with God's sweet joy.
Barbara had prayed, at the birth of her son.
That a churchman he might be.
She had prayed at his solemn christ'ning.
And prayed each day that he
Might preach to the dying people.
Might a missionary be.
But now as she sang her quaint hymns.
And talked of the Lord of love.
He heard not, and never could hear or speak,
A single word of God.
There lived with the widowed Barbara,
And her dumb weakly child.
Her wicked brother Reuben,
Graceless, evil and wild ;
And no one could care for Reuben,
But Barbara patient and mild.
And Reuben no one could conquer.
And no one could love or praise.
For he only hated Barbara good.
With her praying Christian ways.
But Reuben loved the little child.
That could neither hear nor speak.
And carried him in his great strong arms.
Poor Barbara's boy so weak.
He cared for him with a patient care.
And taught him with sign and beck.
He came to love with a tender heart.
The helpless little child.
And he taught him thus till wonderful thoughts
Seized Barbara's boy so mild.
For he read his mother's sweet church hymns.
And learned of the Lord of love.
Then straightway began with beck and sign.
To preach and to point above.
Reuben could but gaze with weeping eyes.
Thus to seethe thin hands move.
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Then he laid him down for he must die ;
Poor Reuben wept by his side,
But with eyes fixed ever on Reuben's face,
He preaching, pleading, died.
And thus poor Barbara's prayers were heard.
Which had seemed so long denied ;
For Reuben went to the church of God,
And a man of grace became.
And he preached to. the dying people
In Barbara's Savior's name.
MY LOST BOY.
And he is dead—hath yielded up his breath.
My strong, brave son—O, can it, can it be
He will not rise and break this sleep of death.
And look once more compassionate on me?
Must I with feeble frame live on the while.
With care and sorrow, burdened and oppressed.
And he lie low in death, a peaceful smile
Upon his lips, his strong hands clasped in rest?
0 my beloved ! do 1 hear thee speak ?
Mother, I'm near, invisible I stand.
Although I may not kiss thy faded cheek.
Although I may not clasp thy trembling hand.
1 am not lost—my wandering feet have found
A realm of peace, a safe, a stormless strand.
Unbroken ties and tender thee hath bound
Unto my life within this hallowed land.
I bless thee, O ! my mother, for thy love !
It shines upon these heights, this infinite way.
Illuming every flight it broods above.
It lives within my heavenly heart to-day.
In awe my soul stood still, I wept, I praised,
I covered from my sight the lifeless clay;
I woke, and I had dreamed of my lost child.
Who wanders somewhere on earth's desert way.
Then is my love, my prayer, eternal gain
To they who dwell forever in my heart?
My love, my prayer I can, no more restrain.
And we shall meet and never, never part.
SELECT POEMS.
MY MOTHER.
She died in my early childhood,
And the cold world took her place,
The place of my mother's precious love.
With merciless frowning face.
She sent me forth unheeding
Which path my feet might stray.
But I felt some guardian spirit
Was hovering o'er my way.
This good would fall unto me.
That danger turn aside.
My helpless feet would walk aright.
Without a friend to guide.
Then as I rose to manhood.
And bitter grew the strife.
While anxious fears were crowding
My dark and lonely life.
When the tender voice of mother
Would have whispered words of cheer,
I felt that some kind angel.
With pitying love was near.
When the world was cold and heartless.
And weary was my brain,
A heavenly voice breathed softly.
And whispered hope again.
Then when success came crowning
The sterner years of toil,
I heard the same sweet voice again.
Above the great world's moil.
Above the din and tumult.
The praise, the blame and strife.
My guardian spirit breathing still.
Words of a holier life.
Words of a rest from labor.
Of peace when toil is done,
Revealings of a heavenly place.
Immortal triumphs won.
SELECT POEMS.
Be it my angel mother,
Who died in my childhood's dawn ?
—The helpless and unguarded
He doth not leave alone.
O, may it be she lingers,
While the heart of her child hath pain.
To heal with a touch of heaven,
And make it strong again ?
O, may it be she lingers.
With deathless love and fond.
To woo my spirit upward
To the blessed home beyond?
GRIEF OF HERCULES.
Hylas 1 Hylas ! where art thou ?
From my ship I saw thee go
Gayly o'er the waters bright.
And I waited till the low.
Lone, red sun sank out of sight !
Hylas 1 Hylas ! where art thou ?
Answereth but the sea's low moan.
But the wild wind, sad and lone.
I am wandering on the strand,
I am standing by the well.
Where I found thy silver cup.
And thy footprints in the sand.
All the gleaming stars are up,
I shall never see thee more ;
Never, oh ! I pray thee, tell
I have loved thee, Hylas, well.
Is there light in any land.
Is there joy in any spot.
Where thy tender smile is not?
Where no more I clasp thy hand?.
Is there life in any gale?
Breath to waft my bark's lone sail?
Hylas ! Hylas ! hear my wail !
Select poems.
PIGS IN THE GARDEN.
O ! the pigs are in the garden !
Now where did they get in?
They must have broken the pickets,
Or the gate has open been.
They have rooted up the lettuce,
They have spoiled the onions and peas ;
A hog is a hog yet every time.
And the meanest thing there is.
Quick 1 break their backs for them, Mabel,
Run! drive them into the lane;
There, you've spoiled your hat, but beat them out,
And I'll pen them up again.
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You must have let them in, Mabel,
hio, I see the gate is off.
Completely broke from its hinges.
That tells it plain enough.
I'll never have another hog
About me when these are gone.
I guess I won't bother to pen them up.
They are out now, leave them alone.
THE PARDON OF PSYCHE.
Apollo plays on his lyre of gold.
The Arcadian god on his reeds.
The muses chant in chorus grand,
And the beauty of Psyche pleads.
The hours shed roses adown the sky
And the halls of heaven perfume,
Jupiter casteth to her a crown.
And the south wind sends its bloom.
Zephyr bedewed the flowers with tears.
And Cupid forgave his bride—
All, all save Venus, the mother-in-law.
And she her mercy denied.
Then Psyche, poor Psyche, stripped of her all.
Besought not of Venus, proud.
But seeking Somnus, she closed her eyes,
Wrapping herself in a shroud.
To sleep in death—and in beautiful dream.
In helpless dream of her sleep.
She saw fair Venus above her gleam.
Then stoop and caress and weep.
Yet she hasted not, but pale in her grief.
She breathed not from her heart.
But her eyes, as dead, thro' their fringed lids.
Let the crystal tear drops start—
Then Venus in power took Psyche up
And bore her to Cupid's breast !
While the stars fell down and covered her wings,
And the angels her feet caressed !
SELECT POEMS.
AT SYCHAR.
Then give me to drink, O, prophet!
That my soul thirst not again ;
Wearied and faint and often,
I draw of this well in vain.
But thou woulds't not ask favor
Of me if thou hadst known ;
Ye say that men ought to worship
From Jerusalem alone.
I weary of sin and labor.
And I long to be forgiven.
From this mountain of Samaria,
Riseth my prayer to heaven ?
I know when Messiah cometh
His blessings will be free.
But how talkest thou, O, prophet!
Ye deal not with such as we.
Then Jesus, in spirit feasting.
Forgetting all earthly need.
Gave of the heavenly manna.
The fainting woman to feed.
He gave of the living water.
The fount of eternal life.
To the thirsty, wayside wanderer.
From the mart of sin and strife.
What though His disciples marvel
And murmur against His ways.
He came to comfort the mourner.
And the fallen one to raise.
He ever waiteth at Sychar
For the weary who draw near ;
' Tis His feast and joy of spirit.
The prayer of the löst to heart.
SELECT POEMS.
THE NIGHT BLOOMING CEREUS.
We gazed on the Night Blooming Cereus
Revealing the heart of its flower,
And to each a separate vision
Crowned the heavenly hour.
Unto me, like a snowy angel,
With solemn and noiseless tread.
It spake of the pure departed.
And of sainted spirits fled.
From out the shadowy stillness.
Of the dimly lighted bower.
There appeared a resurrection—
The night blooming flower.
In its perfume and perfection.
So beautiful and so brief,
I saw a type of life's frailty,
And of human loss and grief.
But leaf by leaf unfolding.
Did something fairer reveal.
As if the heart of its sweetness.
Were pulsing deeper still.
I thought of lives all fragrant.
Unfolding in earthly night.
Like That lowly life of sorrow.
Like a lily pure and white.
FULFILLED.
I must go on—a little further on.
Though I am weary.
With my task done—I shall be gone.
For life is dreary;
The darker the night on the toiling sea.
The brighter the light on the shore will be.
Now let me sleep—in peace so deep.
Storms that have driven.
Reach out no more—all is now o'er.
For death is given;
Gently this rest dotl^ my spirit still.
Sweetly this peace doth my hopes fulfill.
SELECT POEMS.
ABRAHAM'S GEM.
It is told in some classic legend,
On Abraham's breast was a gem
That shone through all joy and all sorrow,
And nothing its luster could dim.
The gem held the magic of Heaven,
Of healing, of joy and of balm ;
It shone for the faint and the troubled.
Life's billows and tempests to calm.
When Abraham slept with his fathers.
And his spirit ascended to Heaven,
The gem he had worn in his bosom
Was a star on the firmanent graven.
It shone on Jerusalem's sorrow.
Through all her destruction and loss ;
It lighted the steps of the Magi,
It hung o'er the grief of the cross.
It shed its sweet beams in the garden.
His agony there to illume ;
It rested in glorious triumph.
On His head when He rose from the tomb.
That star, O ! beloved, adorning
Humanity's heart with its ray.
The glorious Star of the Morning,
Abides through eternity's day.
Forget not the bright star is graven
Above thee in heavenly height.
The spirit must gaze ever upward.
That would rise on its pinions of light.
Its light ever leads to the Savior,
Its rays gem the crown on His brow.
Once thorns as He stood before Pilate,
The throne of all Majesty now.
When bowed, when stricken with sorrow.
When life's bitterness cometh to thee.
Look upward ! look upward ! look upward !
That star gf bright hope ygu will see,
SELECT POEMS.
2;5
A SONG OF DELAWARE.
Exit act from the Author s Gtaduating Poem.
[This portion of the poem aims to voice the sentiment of the Ohio
Wesleyan University at the time the subject of co-education was under
consideration in Delaware.]
îfc
The forest oak that calmly rears
Its head for many hundred years,
The thousand flowers so low and sweet
That bloom and wither at its feet,
The clouds that float, the seas that foam.
The stars that swing in purple dome.
All ! all ! obey the sweet behest
Of love, my theme—of love, my quest.
As apple blossoms all the night
Will sweetly sleep where none may see
Their tender glowing, soft and white.
That speaks their deepest purity—
So nestled on that western hill.
My sister fair is hiding still.
My bubbling fount, the village pride.
That all the people learn to prize.
Where every twilight, by thy side.
The young men stroll for exercise.
Calls shyly forth her blushing face ;
With mien demure and sober grace.
My sister comes with darkening hour,
To test thy waters witching power.
And oft beside the fount so sweet.
My love lorn swain will stay to greet
The maiden coy that steals his mind.
And gently still his- heart doth bind.
The fount springs up from depths divine.
The twilight's silver stars entwine.
The moon glides up, her eyes to meet.
The grass and flowers caress her feet.
The night veils down, her charms to grace.
All nature broods to kiss her face ;
And in Iiis room, s« scant and bare.
An Eden doth create most fair.
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The staid professor knits his brow,
Considering what hath hindered now,
Nor comprehends the richer store
That takes the place of olden lore.
'Twere folly, man, who e'er thou be.
To strive to break love's silver sea;
'Tis fuller, deeper in its flow.
And stronger in its undertow.
Than all the hidden founts that wait.
Where wisdom true doth minds elate;
The knowledge of the world's best gift.
To longing souls and hearts adrift.
The floods-that'chain, and links that bind,
Lone heart to heart, and mind to mind. >
But must my song hang ever o'er
The threshold bright of love's sweet door,
While wild with beauty and delight,
The flowers by day and stars by night.
Deck flelds of green and fields of blue.
With million gems of joyous hue?
While song of bee, and song of breeze.
Breathes joy through all the garden trees.
Where spicy, dew-bespangled bush.
Thrills with the note of jay and thrush,
And Delaware in robes of June,
Drinks in all nature's rarest tune?
Shall I forever see one star
Burn o'er, the western slope afar?
The idyls of a thousand years.
Could bring no sweeter charm than tears ;
So love and sorrow close allied.
Still threads my song this eventide.
For hangs that silver star apart,
From clustering groups that crowd the mart.
Nor milk-maids path, nor Pleiades,
Can bind with subtle art to please
Thy sister soul, my lone cold star.
The crowning light of Delaware.
By St. Paul's dome—by Greenwood lake.
My restless burdened heart I take ;
By gurgling Olentangy's brink,
I strive in vain new thoughts to drink.
I meet a face at every turn.
In every sound het accents burn ;
select EóeMs.
The little squirrel and the bird,
Doth comprehend the witching word ;
Even my footsteps seem to tell
The tale that maiden knows too well.
The boding cloud that skims the sky,
Heavy across my soul doth lie.
No more can vanquish—flee no more,
While she stands mirrored in my soul,
Than moon could melt the mountains hoar,
Or star break forth and day control.
And so as falls the eventide,
And all my night in hope must bidé, '
I hang my lute of minstrelsy,
Upon the weeping willow tree.
Of Olentangy, proud and fair.
That skirts thy shores, my Delaware.
FAITH.
Give me the rest of faith,
Give me the faith to test
My life forever on Thy word.
My heart upon Thy breast.
BECOMING GRANDMOTHER.
I know it is true, by the way you all look,
It makes me feel queer, I confess;
I'll sit very quiet, and rock in the nook.
And leave you to wonder and guess.
One wee little head at the window I see.
With flaxen hair brushing the pane ;
One little toddler just clutching my knee.
And, behold, I am summoned again.
Now I may as well tell you the secret and done.
It may not seem funny to you.
There never was anything under the sun.
Half so sweet as my grandchildren two.
SELECT FOEMè.
ANNIE O'NEIL.
In a sunny nook of a sunny room,
Annie was busy with wheel and with loom ;
Her flax, soft, silken, and silk flaxen hair,
Bend close to the flyers, in beauty.rare;
The twirling wheel, and the spool in its turn.
Whirl gaily together ; the sunbeams burn.
And the heart-beams burn, in mingled light.
On the azure Hopes of her spirit bright.
select poems.
The flax breaks not in her fingers white,
That now and then in the gourd dip light,
All pink with beauty ; the subtle thread
Trips lightly their tips in joyous tread.
I gazed from 'the window, the morning in May ;
The dewy deep clover, waved green and gay.
But a wintry breath from the clear north sky.
Caused the bursting buds to shiver and sigh ;
The apple bough, and the peach bloom bright.
Whispered of frost in the still midnight.
But Annie had fire, and hope, and will,
And her thread spun on, to the hum of the mill.
Whose dusty great wheels went round and round.
While Henry, the miller, stood and ground.
Annie sang as she spun :
"Beautiful, flashing beams.
Of my father's mill !
Beautiful water that gleams.
And turns the wheel.
Beautiful dust of snow.
That floweth still,
Beautiful springs that flow.
And turn the mill ! "
The miller was lithe, and gay, and young,
As the grain he ground, this song he sung,
As the great, dusty wheels went round and round.
This song, as the grain he ground ;
As out of the dusty door he did look.
Over the mill race and turbid brook.
It was midsummer, the flax in bloom.
Stood eyes wide open toward Annie's loom ;
He saw in acres the broad square field ;
As the miller thought of its promised yield.
This was the song he sung :
"O! beautiful the flax to spin;
O 1 beautiful home, so cozy within,
Where Annie sits at her Zoom
And beautiful fields of flax in bloom.
And waving corn and wheat for the mill.
And / a blissful groom
May^ work or play at my will."
28o
SELECT POEMS.
But never of beautiful Annie O'Neil,
Who sweetly worked at the spinning wheel ;
Never of love sang he that day,
The miller so young, and lithe, and gay.
But Annie held in her heart untold.
Her secret, wrapped in its virgin fold.
As pure and white, and cold as the snow.
That dfifted and chained, the brooklets flow.
And silenced the hum of the mill.
And the wintry winds of heaven did blow.
From its barren hill.
And they sent through the veins of hatvest a chill,
And the tender corn, and the jointed wheat.
And the flax fields, whispered of frost and sleet.
And the song of the miller was still.
FART II.
Then Jane McNorra, with black eyes bold.
Whispered a word of bank stock and gold ;
Her father was willing, her father had wealth ;
She planned to meet him at every turn.
With beauty that fetters, and words that burn.
And she came to the mill by stealth ;
Between him and Annie she filled the space.
With dimpled smiles and bewitching grace.
With prattling tongue, and coyish ways.
Yet never a song sang he.
The night wind's sigh, and the leaves astir.
To his saddened spirit spoke not of her;
Sweet Annie he saw no more!
Sweet Annie O'Neil, at her spinning wheel.
With her pure soul beaming o'er;
His heart stood still as her father's mill.
And icy as heart of ore.
Toward Jane McNorra, with gold in store.
Who stood between him and her loom.
Between him and her spinning wheel.
And the cozy little room.
And the frozen arms of the mill.
Between him and the love that was born
To a life, but hidden below the corn.
And the wheats and the flax in the field.
Yet born to a hope forlorn.
SELECT POEMS.
But what is the miller singing to-day ?
For I hear him singing a song.
I paused, for I thought I heard the mill
Creaking and grinding away with a will;
And I heard the hum of the wheel ;
He was singing of Annie O'Neal.
I turned my ears toward a singing bird,
'Twas not the gay miller's song I heard.
I turned my eyes toward the blushing bloom
Of the sumac bush, and the scarlet flush
Of the robin s breast, and the throat of the thrush.
PART III.
Eschewing sight, Annie chose a path
Through the knee deep meadow of aftermath;
Not seeing the flame of the sumac bush.
Nor heeding the note of robin or thrush.
Sweet Annie walked timidly forth.
Dreading the autumn's enflaming glow.
O'er the dying beauty of spring laid low.
Her eyes upturned toward the golden cloud.
She saw between, a man in a shroud-,
Harry, the miller, pale and sad.
In his week day suit of flour dust clad ;
They stood entranced, as if spirits had met.
Their eyes were dim for the sun had set.
Like a circling sea, the brooding west
Set forth a new star on its crimson breast ;
I heard no carol of nightingale sweet,
I saw no beauty of earth or the skies.
But I saw the lips of the angels meet.
As they lifted the veil from blind love's eyes.
O ! beautiful flashing beams
Of my father's mill ;
O ! beautiful water that gleams
And turns the wheel !
And O ! the corner of Annie's room
Was bright again, and wheel and loom
Wove threads of scarlet, and threads of white.
Entwining hearts in meshes of light,
In warp of silver—and woof of blue.
With the gold of the morning dusted through ;
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SELECT POEMS.
Up the brown slope, the narrow path,
The white sheep made through the aftermath,
Looked like a thread in Annie's eyes.
Linking her flax to the far soft skies ;
And it seemed as if summer, with blue eyed bloom.
Twinkled in smiles o'er her clattering loom.
And it seemed as if autumn might be forgiven.
For robing the woodland in hues of heaven.
Thus the song of bird, and rustle of leaf.
Rejoices with joy, and grieves with grief.
And the miller, Henry, he stood all day.
And the wheels went round, were it work or play ;
The great dusty wheels went round and round ;
The hoppers were filled, and the wheat was ground.
While his heart kept sipging away ;
It seemed to him that the air was sweet.
As the odor of spring breathed of springing wheat.
All green and soft, and the yellow red grove
Wore the ardent hue of his deathless love.
PART IV.
In the gloaming faint, ere the stars were lit.
He saw from his path two sly lovers flit;
"It was Jane McNorra," at first he spoke.
But then it was Annie's own bonnet and cloak.
Now Jane McNorra had written a letter.
In which she said that another suitor
Had sued for Annie, and Annie was pledged ;
But Henry, the miller, thought he knew better.
He had felt that she loved him—and knexv
He loved her! yet, in the newer light
Of the letter, and what he had seen to-night.
How could one tell! Yet she was not untrue.
For she ne'er had looked in his eyes; the gray
Of a cloud that hung unseen all the day.
O'er spread the lone sky—and drops of chill rain
Fell down on his hands like tears of sore pain.
Lost, was the breath of sweet odors from far.
Lost, was the moon and the white beaming star.
The hope of his heart, the rest of his mind.
Lost in the sweep of the rain and the wind.
He sought his lone fireside, and most glad was he
That a neighbor dropped in, companion to be,
A man of experience, wisdom, age,
select póewís.
Was Father McNorra, the gossiping sage ;
And he, too, had heard of sweet Annie's betroth ;
To tell young Henry, at first he seemed loth ;
Then spoke of his Jane, a prize of a maid.
And told of the gold and estates he had made,
A dower to him his daughter should wed.
He spake, too, of Annie, a slanderous word,
Bîit a hint\ it fell, a thunderbolt heard
From the far deep of heaven, it touched his heart
As if lightning, long pent, had shot forth its dart
To shiver and blast; the merciless rain
Beat out in the darkness its low, sad refrain.
And as the old man, forth his lantern drew.
The wind, with a gust, the whirling leaves blew
Across the lone room, and about his sad ears.
Leaves blushing with shame, and gleaming with tears.
And yet why should he so git all the night.
To rivet his mind to matters so slight;
What cared he at last for Annie O'Neil,
The flaxen haired girl at her spinning wheel ?
What matter to him, if she chose to wed
Another man after his winning?
Would he stand a fool at her father's mill.
And dream of a love so cold, and so still.
As of little timid Annie O'Neil,
While round and around hummed the dusty wheel
Of his fate?
And perchance she is false—with a guilty start.
That sent the life from his face to his heart,
Henry, the miller, self judged now stood ;
Changed was his visage, and changed was his mood ;
How dared he utter a word so base
In the light of her pme angelic face I
part v.
From the gold mist East,
The morn looked forth.
And smiled on the West,
And the clear, calm North.
Not the whitest cloud marred its virgin breast.
Not even a mist of the snow drop dew
Arose in the warmth of the wondrous blue.
Like spring baptized to a deeper green.
SELECT POEMS.
Was the face of that early, peaceful morn ;
Like the face of a wanderer, pale and worn.
The face of Henry, the miller, was seen;
His soul drank in the still balm of the air.
The storm of his life seemed forever spent.
Yet on his proud lip was stamped his despair.
He knew what the chime in the towers meant ;
He heard them ringing all night in his ear.
Afar in the sky, then low and anear,
'Twas the wedding morn of Annie O'Neil.
'Twas well for him that the woodland was gay.
And dressed in false glamour the tender wold ;
Well for him that the Autumn looked May,
And the day broke forth in billows of gold.
And well for him that he dreamily strayed
To the little church in the breezy vale.
Where the leaves let drop the sun through the shade.
And the elm to the willow whispered the tale.
It was not Annie that day to be wed !
But Jane McNorra, the witch, in her stead !
And who did she wed in all of that land ?
The man who was sueing for Annie's hand.
The flags and the rushes
Anod through the bushes
That hem but to hide the sweet stream.
Now seemed all a twinkle to gleam ;
And from under her lashes.
Above the pink blushes,
Annie gazed in his eyes like a dream.
In his asking eyes, and her meaning was set,
'Let us haste," she said, "for the morning is wet
From the last night's rain, and the frost of the skies ; "
Then her sweet look changed to anxious surprise.
'You are changed, so changed, since a year ago.
When the chestnut was bursting its craggy burr;
We met in the north wood, you stood by het.
And twisted the vines that hung full of snow ;
The early, the cruel snow.
Changed since last spring, when the frost did chill.
And you worked no more at my father's mill.
Where the beautiful waters flow."
SELECT POEMS.
"One night she came for a cruel joke,
And wrapped herself in my hood and cloak,
To cross your path, as the dusk fell down.
While I trembled and wept for you !
In my dreams I dreamed of you !
And my slumber spoke a tale most true,
For I saw you weary, and pale, and sad.
In your work-day suit of flour-dust clad."
The maiden looked down on his work-day clothes.
Then up to his face where the red flush rose.
Nor yet understood,
How he came to a wedding with mind so becloud ;
Forgetting all else but that Annie O'Neil
Would be wed that day for woe or for weal.
So he came as a man in a shroud.
My story ends well.
The next wedding chime was for Annie O'Neil.
MORAL.
A man may learn the costly lore.
That love is better than golden store ;
That bitter and sweet, the heart will yield
Her fruits as well as the harvest field.
WIDOWED IN JULY.
Month of the season's garnered gold,
Verdure and bloom and myriad charms,
Behold thy gleaming days unfold.
My lost beloved—a shrouded form.
O, sad ! O, unforgiven month !
Thou standest marked amidst my years.
Forward or backward though I look,
I view thee through a mist of tears.
Thy perfumed palaces of light.
Thy orchestras of music rare.
That bring sweet solace to the sight.
And cadence to the trembling air.
They seem as seems the carol sweet.
They seem as seems the sunlight gay,
Of happy hearts, to one bereft
Of love, that robs the soul of day.
286
SELECT P.OEMS.
AGED PEOPLE.
In Answer to Mrs. Mary T. Willard's '^Little People.
Wait at glory's golden gate,
Aged people,
Let the twilight gray be late.
Aged people.
It shall fold in rapt repose.
Day shall hold a peaceful close.
Aged people.
There is perfume in the dew.
Aged people.
Tints of sunset in the blue.
Aged people.
Warbling birds that skim the sky,
Signs that speak the angels nigh.
Aged people.
When the whispers of the night.
Aged people.
Steal from far Elysian height
Aged people.
Falls the soft baptizing dew
To freshen and renew.
Aged people.
As the dew descending still.
Aged people.
Doth thy touch of love distill.
Aged people ;
As a cooling and a balm
Waves to lull and hearts to calm
Aged people.
Morn hath need of such as thou.
Aged people;
Shed the sunshine from thy brow,
Aged people.
That the dew and sun may bring.
Bud to flower and bird to wmg.
Aged people.
SELECT POEMS.
All the day hath need of thee,
Aged people,
Toiling on the noontide sea.
Aged people.
I have felt to me belong.
All the sunbeams of thy song.
Aged people.
Souls are coming on your way.
Aged people,
Down the path of life's brief day.
Aged people.
Thank you, for your tender prayer.
Breathed like healing on the air.
Aged people.
TYPE OF A TREE.
To the rock beneath, in a closer clasp.
The fibrous roots of the cedars are twined.
When from Lebanon's height in adverse blast
They are bowed to the earth by the battling wind.
Come then deeper and truer life to me.
Come growth and fruit of a tree.
EFFORT.
Chiefiy for thyself the fruitage.
It shall fall as withered leaves.
If thou tollest for the Master,
Thou shalt reap the ripened sheaves.
SING, BIRD OF PITY.
O, bird of God, with love so true.
Drop quickly down in my heart thy song.
I perish but for the healing dew
Thou suffering bird dost bear along.
In the night of my grief, let thy note be heard.
Sing not of thy sorrow, O, sweet bird,
O, falter not on thy blessed way.
Sing on till the dawn of day.
288
SELECT POEMS.
CELESTA'S SONG.
Never without her father's door,
Had Celesta's song been heard ;
But she gazed to-night o'er the moonlit moor,
And a purpose her spirit stirred.
She looked o'er the moor to the city bright.
That loomed in the distance near ;
She would go and bring him bread to-night.
She would keep her heart from fear.
The very heavens did hear her song.
As it broke from her breaking heart ;
To the mansion windows there rushed a throng.
And the great doors swung apart.
But one, the lord of that happy home.
He hushed the household all.
And listened as if his very soul
Was hearing the poor child's call.
The song had ceased, but another rose.
Rich and with gladness rife.
It soared away on a buoyant pose
To the morning gates of his life.
"That is Keifer's song," in joy he cried—
" Keifer, my old, lost friend;
We are back by the sea with its ebbing tide.
Where our shouts and our laughter blend."
He was out on the street, and the singer brought
Timid and faint to his hall.
Then he took her back to her father's cot
And learned their story all.
How Keifer's voice was no longer heard.
And his violin was still ;
How the bread grew scanty upon his board,
And to work he had no skill.
How his only child he had shielded long
And taught but her father's lore ;
How his life had run like a dreamy song
Clear down to its sunset shore.
SELECT POEMS.
The rich man grasped the poor man's hand
And both were boys for a day,
For they wandered back to life's sunny strand,
Where the morning billows lay.
They wandered back and their lives grew green
By the sea—on the sylvan bay,
And love smiled sweetly upon the scene,
While the poor man passed away.
GARFIELD'S LAST DREAM.
It was said of old, whom the gods would bless.
And lure to the shores of Elysian rest.
They would waft a vision, lovely and clear.
Of what in life was cherished most dear ;
Our hero's last dream was of Mentor!
Statesman and warrior, true and grand.
With a love aglow for his "Native Land,"
With his soul of strength and his honored name.
And his life gone up to its topmost fame ;
Strange he should dream of Mentor!
Of a quiet home and a mother's form,
A sacred hearthstone, pure and warm.
Beloved wife and children dear.
This was the vision, bright and clear.
Living and true, of Mentor !
Firmer than all the warrior's might,
Clearer than all the statesman's light.
Deeper in life, and nearer to heaven.
Was that last sweet dream by the angels given ;
O, sanctified home, at Mentor!
Waves of Elberon, sky and sea.
Pause ! as the wand of eternity
The beautiful gate of his dream unbars
Unto to the home beyond the stars;
True and glorified 'Mentor!
Ve mothers who clasp your children,
It was bitter, bittet to say,
' ' Go forth, my son, at your country's call.
At her feet y out young life lay!"
SELECT POEMS.
POEM FOR DECORATION.
O, we bring our flowers together
To deck the warrior's grave,
We talk of the days of '6i,
And weep over the slumbering brave.
We whisper our words of sorrow,
And drop our regretful tears.
But the veiran's lips alone can tell
Boys,—of those awful years.
When our ships took iron armour.
And our navies boiled the ports.
And the flag of our Republic
Run up and down our forts.
For the South said, "A must perish!"
And the North said, "A must wave!"
And brave men rushed by thousands.
To fall in a nation's grave.
It was not the cry of a not.
Of a city in terror thrown,
'Twas the deadly march of a million men
From the nation's vitals drawn.
The pulpit uttered the thunder.
And the press the lightning word.
The very heart of the plowman's earth
By the spear of sttife was stirred.
The pen of the ready writer
And the gentle poet's strain.
Pulsed with the numbers of carnage
And beat out the war's refrain.
Its flame shot up from the forge fire.
And fierce came the hammer's beat.
The pruning-hook and plow share
Took shape of swords in the heat.
And slender fingers "picked the lint"
And wound the "bandage ball,"
While the children Isarned the muster.
In cabin and princely hall.
SELECT POEMS.
Tongue can not tell the suffering,
Of famine the peril sore,
Thought cannot picture the anguish
The hearts of the women bore.
We whisper our words of sorrow.
And drop our regretful tears.
But the vet'ran's lips alone can tell
Boys, of those awful years.
The maiden's heart all bleeding.
And the mother's crushed with pain.
Might breathe the words I fain would bteathe.
Might swell a fit refrain.
They parted with best beloved ones.
Sons to be cruelly slain.
They brought them back and laid them down
Where to-day your flowers are lain.
Ye mothers who clasp your children.
It was bitter, bitter to say,
"Go forth my son at your country's call,'
At her feet your young life lay ! "
For many must fall in battle.
And some must in prison die.
And others among the missing.
In an unknown grave must lie.
And two were trampled beneath the foe,
Where one returned again.
So each farewell was breathed in tears.
In almost hopeless pain.
Yet that was a cry of freedom.
And a blast of war's alarm.
That swept the host like a tempest.
From city, and village, and farm.
You have heard it oft as you've gathered
By the lowly, grassy tomb.
With the voice of peace in the balmy air.
In the flowers that wave and bloom.
select eôems.
FRED'S FLOWER MISSION.
Come out of the mazy dingle,
Come down from the wooded height,
Wild flowers winged and airy.
In rainbow colors of light.
Bridal-rose, whisper your mission.
And Tulip, the secret tell;
O Fuschia! drop your pink curtain.
And ring me a chime. Blue-bell.
Sigh, wind! sigh low o'er the rosies.
Expanding their light breath above.
And waft me the tremulous language.
The sweet hidden language of love.
O 1 if I were a delicate wild rose,
I'd fly from my woodland bower.
And nestle amid the dimples,
Lilian's necklace flower.
And there, in a' modest manner.
Would my sweetest perfume shed.
And if ever she gazed upon me,
I would bend my blushing head.
Come, glittering pearls of dew drop,
Fall bright in the May Lily's crown.
Fall thick on the orient Sunflower,
And weigh me thé gold dust down.
If I were a frail Narcissus,
Drooped low o'er the limpid stream.
Or the Gentian gazing heavenward.
Of her love I'd muse and dream.
Or, if I were a Gowan Daisy,
A pillow oí white and gold.
Or a fluffy pink Peony,
I'd ask her tresses to hold.
Her tresses are only sunbeams.
Her fingers are snow-drops bright.
Her heart is a white, white Lily,
All dancing in beautiful light.
SELECT POEMS.
EULETRA'S GRIEF.
Look not down, O stars, on me!
Hast thou seen his sail?
Ask not thou, O ! winds that wail.
Whither did he flee?
I have loved him, O, Ihou sea!
All thy moaning billows tell.
All have Azo sought.
Yet they answer me their knell.
Lone heart he is not.
Azo, lost upon the sea.
Hear the mermaid's laughter gay.
Mingling with the tide's low tale.
Look not down, O stars, on me !
Ask not fleeting winds that wail.
Whither did he flee?
Will the lone moon rise and set?
Will the lulled winds sleep?
Will the weary days forget.
While I watch and weep?
Will the starlight gem the sea.
Will the wild waves dance and sport,
Bringing sail and ship to port.
And not thou to me?
Azo, lost upon the sea !
Quivering, motionless and bright.
Stood his bark defiantly.
Heedless that the blaze of noon.
Burning white o'er all the sea.
Made a shroud of ghostly light.
And the ominous spotted loon.
Skimmed the prow with its wild wail.
And the wind sat in the sail.
Whispering all forebodingly.
Azo heard not, heeded not.
All forgetful in his dreams.
He had reached the fated spot.
And "Mi" chida's silken hair.
Floated out like golden gleams.
All ardund him unaware.
SELECT POEMS.
In a mystic tangling net,
And to snap one shining hair,
Or to break one woven mesh.
Tried he all his wondrous strength.
But in vain, and captive there.
Sat he in enchantment sweet.
Listless sat he till at length.
Dipping low upon her keel,
His good bark began to reel.
And the sea washed o'er his feet.
One glance backward toward the Shore,
Where Euletra, waiting, wept.
Still the waves, caressingly.
Higher, higher on him crept.
One sigh for the love he left.
As the bright sea downward bore ;
One thought of the heart bereft.
One tear and no more.
THE SEVEN OF GOD.
A MYTH.
Paler and paler Euletra's lip grows.
The kiss comes no more, as the dew to the rose.
From Azo, and fast she is fading away ;
Her heart mourned for Azo, but brief was the day.
A bud was broken from off its stem.
But deep in its bosom a lone, white gem
Was trembling a million starry rays,
'Twas the tear departed from Azo's gaze ;
Euletra's heart caught the tear in its fold.
And up in the whiteness of love untold.
She placed it a star of magic light.
In the clustering Pleiades of night ;
That star, that tear, that dew on the bud.
Binds in sweet sorrow the Seven of God.
TRUE FRIENDSHIP.
Haply the friendship, madly crushed
By careless feet or ruthless deed.
Comes back with spirit footsteps hushed.
Touched by our sore and helpless need.
SELECT POEMS.
THE OUTCAST.
No kiss of holy welcome
Did the lord of the feast bestow,
No water to wash the toil worn feet
Of the weary man of woe.
In the outer court of the palace
A weeping woman appears,
To fall at the feet of Jesus,
And wash them with her tears.
The finger of scorn was lifted,'
The disciples drew apart.
But the outcast touched His garment's' hem
And found a home in His heart.
MARY.
He knew she loved, and O, such love.
His spirit held in sway ;
Enraptured at His side she stood.
Priestess in pure array.
Let her alone, ho other hand.
Such work of love hath done ;
Let her alone, no other life.
Such heavenly praise hath won.
MARTHA.
Jesus loved Martha, so full of care.
She so tenderly sought to serve and,bless;
She had fashioned the raiment He chose to wear,
The "seamless robe" o'er His heart oppressed.
Yet gently chiding her anxious mind.
He drew a lesson for souls distressed :
'Sit at my feet and my love shall find
For thy toiling life, sweet peace and rest."
SELECT POEMS.
THY FLOWER.
If ye shall search and wander and nevet find,
If ye shall ask of the wave and wind,
And they know not thy flower most fair.
Remember, some are plucked of the purest
For the angels to wear.
ELIJAH.
What, though upon the desert sand his flesh
Passeth a weary night.
What, though in agony his feet press up
Carmel's and Horeb's height,
Forevermore upon his spirit shone
Light from God's throne.
MY BABE.
I thought it was just a tiny blossom.
Opening on its stem,
I thought it was just a little dew-drop.
Given my heart to gem.
And when soon a snowy angel.
Breathed a chilling breath,
I thought it was only the early frost-time.
And not blighting death.
I was careless in my joying
O'er my tiny flower.
But the tenderer Watcher culled it
In a midnight hour.
Then I knew I held a treasure.
All before unguessed.
Held a precious, priceless jewel.
On my yearning breast.
O, I never cease to wear it.
Never with it part.
It hath linked me unto heaven
With a mother heart.
Get 'Minadab's letter mid read it again,
He has written, ' ' Betsy is dead ! ' '
Jt puts me in mind of them, pact Betsy BJynn,
The winter before they wete wed.
SELECT POEMS.
BETSY BLYNN.
Dedicated to Mt. Isaac Smticket, President of the Fioneer Society of Licking
County, Ohio.
Never mind the few dishes and bed, just yet,
I'll surely not call you a shirk.
Come ! sit down beside me and rest you a bit,
No need to be always at work.
The day has been long that together we've walked
On the way, and we're nigh to the end.
And, mother, you think that you've worked and I've talked.
But we've plenty and something to lend.
Get 'Minadab's letter and read it again.
He has written, "Betsy is dead!"
It puts me in mind of them, poor Betsy Blynn,
The winter before they were wed.
The children are gone, he has written, likewise;
Is it possible that can be?
They were little things, and all of a size.
And a dozen, it seems to me.
'Minadab always was shiftless, yon know,
[And I never liked him, in truth,]
Poor Betsy, she's had such a hard row'to hoe;
It was always from hand to mouth.
And Betsy was counted the prettiest girl
In the country, \excepting you,^
With eyes like a flash, and with teeth white as pearl.
But nobody better would do.
For she would have 'Minadab, mother, you mind.
How she squared on her cap for him ?
And cut you clear out, O, now mother, you mind.
So don't look so sober and prim.
You remember the fall her mother did spin
Such a length of linsey and wool?
How they colored and wov^, then called us all in
To a kickin, the cloth to full?
300
SELECT POEMS.
You remember the quill wheel and Betsy's loom,
The warping-bars and the reel?
How we set them all out and cleared the room,
And went into it toe and heel?
Now 'Minadab, mind, was yout own sweetheart then,
Of course he and I were both there;
And I guess I'd been going with Betsy Blynn,
For a trifle more than a year.
And Betsy was pretty and spry as a cat.
And purrin' as ever I see ;
But then you looked fairer and younger at that.
And seemed sweeter, a heap, to me.
But 'Minadab wanted both Betsy and you.
And I thought then, just go it, Miss!
And before the linsey kickin was through,
I saw her and 'Minadab kiss.
I'd have given my life for 'Minadab's shoes.
Just choosing between two such girls;
It was which one to take and which to refuse—
Pretty dimples and tossing curls.
Yet 'Minadab made but a worthless man,
[He was never the man for her,]
And Betsy had always to pinch and to plan.
And always lived wretched and poor.
But Betsy is dead, and it hardly seems right.
Lightly to talk these things o'er.
The children all gone, he's in pitiful plight.
Who will keep the wolf from his door?
You mind when we started to come to the West,
And Betsy must bid us good-bye.
She stood looking pale, with her babe on her breast.
And the tears stole into her eye?
You mind how we sailed slowly down the canal
On our journey, so sweetened with love?
[With no railroad engine to stun and appall]
The soft smiling azure above?
From Cleveland to Newark, swept down in a boat ;
[A cluster of log-cabins then,]
With wild flowers tangling, and wild robin's note,
A wood-scented river and glen.
SELECT EOEMS.
And, mother, we sauntered alone by the creek.
With sycamore branches o'erhead.
Where now it is buzz, and whistle, and smoke.
And clattering street car instead.
If we rode at all 'twas on horseback we sat.
And you behind me on the same ;
I oftentimes laugh when I think of it yet.
Those riggins of pillion and hame.
Our oxen and cows took a different air.
As they munched the fodder and hay.
They were meeker and fatter, with no such wild stare.
As the oxen and cows of to-day.
But all things are brisker and better arranged.
And people are wiser, no doubt.
It seems as if everything earthly has changed.
Above and within and without.
Then they moved here, too, and their children all lived.
While our darlings—O, mother, don't cry !
It is better, by far—their children all lived.
Our darlings would sicken and die!
Though I never liked 'Minadab, still, you know.
Since he is forsaken and poor.
And bowed for the grave, with his hair like the snow.
We ought to throw open our door.
I was thinking last night of our dear little ones
That peacefully sleep in the tomb.
It is better than having undutiful sons.
Regardless and thoughtless of home.
I often go back to my own childhood days,
I play in the orchard and lane,
I con o'er my prayers and my old cradle lays
And enter the cabin again.
I can see my grandfather peacefully sit.
Asleep in the chimney nook ;
My grandmother busied with peel and spit.
With pintles and crane and hook.
And often I'm sitting again in that room.
Where my mother sat spinning away,
I hear a faint clatter of shuttle and loom.
And see my two sisters at play.
SELECT POEMS.
Ah ! that sunrise of life was scarcely aflame,
Till the noontide was over my head 1
And then the descent, Oh ! how swiftly it came.
Now sunset its glory doth shed !
It seems so strange, mother, I look o'er the past,
I hardly see how it could be.
But forever I feared that I might outlast
The goodness of God unto me.
Forever I feared and forever I planned.
Lest you should be left when I'm gone !
In secret I thought and weepingly scanned,
Your widowhood, childless and lone!
But here we stand waiting, together we wait.
Our Father still holding my hand !
Way down the long pathway, aye, just at the gate.
That enters the heavenly land !
TO A YOUNG POET.
Though thy song be a breath of the morning,
And filled with the warmth of thé June,
The theme which befitteth thy manhood.
Is set to the soul's minor tune.
Go ! gather thy rhythm from life's soundings,
Or shallow, or deep, may they be;
Go ! meet thou the heart of thy brother.
And touch as thou sailest the sea.
GOD IS MINE.
God is mine, and knowing this.
Matters it what now I miss ?
Who is God, that I should say.
My unfruitful day ?
Need I fear though doubt o'erspread.
And the work I do seem dead ?
He may bid it live again.
In the garnered grain.
Though I am of all the least.
He will give me what is best; .
God is mine, what He hath done.
Is my triumph won.
SELECT POEMS.
SONG FOR MY ALMA MATER.
The sea aflame with glory,
The day beams caught the sail ;
We launched upon life's billows,
And lightly rocked the gale.
The cliffs were gold and crimson.
The isles were dew and balm.
The far off sunset haven
Glowed in a golden calm.
Love gleamed on every billow.
And winged the joyous sail.
But mists and shadows gathered.
And hope began to fail.
The darkness falls before us
To shroud the sunlit wave ;
A wintry sky frowns o'er us.
And wild the tempests rave.
We're whirled by cruel eddies.
We're borne by currents strong.
Yet what would life be missing.
To madly drift along;
To close our tear-dimmed vision.
Faith's anchor cast away.
And miss the high calm haven
After the storm-tossed day?
The snow-peak and the snow-shroud.
In shadowy heights may meet.
Above to hide the gold cloud.
Beneath, to chain the feet;
The rifts of sky may glimmer
With constellations pale,
The years, like frost, may shimmer.
To load the weary sail.
Yet what would life be missing.
To miss the angel hand
That beckons o'er the water.
And beckons q'er the land.
To bays of sylvan beauty.
And isles of Summer gleam.
And seas of tranquil glory.
Beyond earth's fairest dream?
SELECT POEMS.
The spectral stars will vanish,
The day will yet reveal,
The frost a spanning rainbow.
The Wintry heights unseal ;
The snow-peak and the snow shroud.
Flash from their sunlit slope.
The morning's gold and crimson.
Of youth's eternal hope.
O, drop the steadfast anchor
Within the heavenly veil.
The music of the harpers
Is filling all the gale ;
'Tis sunset in the harbor.
The fieet is homeward borne.
The sea and sky are blending,
More gorgeous than the morn.
O, helmsman, make the haven !
Our storm-tossed bark is frail.
Ere shadows fall upon the wave.
Or night winds drive the sail !
A hailing sound of welcome.
Falls faintly on the ear,
O, helmsman, make the haven !
The refuge sure and near.
A PRAYER.
Thou all agony hast known,
Thou all depth of love hast shown.
Thou canst comfort. Thou alone.
Dark, O, dark ! the night of grief.
Thou alone canst bring relief ;
Let the agony be brief.
Come in this o'erburdened hour.
Give Thine own eternal dower.
Heal, O Christ, with hallowed power.
Heaven of love for the oppressed.
On Thy kindred heart be blessed.
Weary, dying souls with rest.
SELECT POEMS.
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FLOWERS OF PEACE.
O, wondrous land ! wear on thy breast,
In all thy realm sweet flowers of rest,
Sweet flowers of rest, for memory now
Would wreathe the fallen patriot's brow.
Give all thy flowers, O, wondrous land !
And fitly cull from forest grand.
Of greenest leaf and vines that cling,
And weave a chaplet meet to bring.
Let skies that softly drop the dew.
Drop silent tears of sorrow new ;
Let every zephyr waft a sigh
For our beloved that lowly lie.
SELECT POEMS.
Press the green sod from grave to grave,
And decorate, O, vet'rans brave !
Live those wild days in memory o'er.
With banner and with sound of war.
O, land redeemed! O, South! O, North!
Bring all thy richest laurels forth,
And decorate with flowers of light.
Of radiant sweetness pure and bright.
How can thy crystal brooklets flow,
O, land, where Libby's dead lie low?
How can thy crimson flower or white.
Bloom in its wonted wild delight?
Bring cooling drops to heal the spot.
The death parched lips, "forget-me-not,"
May murmur, while the heavens of blue
Bathe the sweet flowers with azure dew.
Close tented in the vale and mead.
Mute from their last entrenchments plead
Our noble dead, whose sacrifice.
To-day in solemn incense rise.
O, land beloved ! wear on thy breast.
Sweet flowers of peace—sweet flowers of rest !
While all the perfume ladened air.
Breathes out the vespers of thy prayer.
SEA MOSS.
Fair Santa Barbara! dear Santa Barbara!
New Naples art thou of this afternoon sea.
Invalid's Mecca,—with tropical flora,
Girt by thy foot-hills, "See Naples and die."
Historic old mission of Franciscan Friar,
Crescent-like bay, the white beach beside
Salt-scented zephyrs—soft summer sea air.
The dull roaring surf and opal-like tide.
Slow footmen—swift horsemen, the sea breeze inhaling.
Venturesome craftsmen with toil-hardened hands.
Spreading white sails, casting nets in the offing.
Strewing rich spoils, moss and shells on the sand.
SËLËdt pôëmS.
Aye ! and I thought as I gazed on the toilers,
And health-pilgrims, burdened with sickness and sin,
God, who so careth for moss of the ocean,
Careth much more for man's spirit within.
The sea anemonies, the delicate coral.
The pearl and the star-fish may rival in vain.
The beautiful sea moss, floating and floral.
As I thoughtfully gather it up in my strain.
The silky, the filiform, thread-like branches.
The gossamer frondlets, lace-like and free.
Such garlands I bind, as my stray fancy launches,
To bring thee a souvenir out of the sea.
Blow, O, rough sea! but rend not a fibre.
Shatter the rocks that repose in thy realm ;
O, rend not a fibre, though worlds ye may trouble
With tumult and tempest that shock and overwhelm.
O, kindly and tenderly waft ye my sea moss—
Ruthless and turbulent billows that roll,
In marvelous gracefulness serried and storm-tossed.
In fashions the fairest enchanting the soul.
Perfect in loveliness, bright and ethereal,
Unmarred in thy beauty to bloom and to shine.
Safely, thou're borne mid dirges funereal,
Dost thou not teach us a lesson divine?
O, trailing vines and flowers on the foot hills !
O, lichen and fern in canyon so steep.
My prismy mosses no winter wind chills.
Floating so bright from the caves of the deep.
Gay with thy lilies, O, Fair Santa Barbara !
Exhaling thy breath to my flowers of the sea,
From cascades of clematis, snowy or purple.
From occident billows of poppy and pea.
God, who so careth for moss in the ocean,
Careth much more for man's spirit within,
God, who hath wrought in the deep and the valleys,
Clotheth in white and cleanseth from sin.
SELECT EOEMS.
THE FACE OF CHRIST.
Dannecker, the yeoman sculptor,
In a vision the Christ face caught.
Then he seized his faithful chisel.
And year by year he wrought.
And to fashion that face ideal
Gave all his time and skill.
That a work of God so hallowed
Might his hands fulfill.
For he would that all his people
Might behold that Savior's face
So "altogether lovely,"
So full of wondrous grace.
Rapt in the sacred vision.
He wrought with skill divine ;
Unnoted sped the days of toil.
Before that hallowed shrine.
At last (yet still reluctant).
He called a little maid,
'What have I here?" he questioned,
"Some great man," she said;
Dannecker took his chisel.
And patiently wrought on.
Until in awe he whispered.
Exulting, "It is done!"
Again he called the maiden.
She answered on bended knee.
Aye! 'tis suffer the little children
To come unto me;"
And the people all, beholding.
Wept the Christ face to see.
That divinely wore illumined
God's great charity.
For the suffering knew His pity.
The burdened found release.
The sinful felt His tender love.
The troubled perfect peace.
With such sorrow and compassion
That wondrous face was sealed,
That each man saw a Savior,
Each read God's heart revealed.
SELECT POEMS.
Then Dannecker, the artist,
Did his faithful chisel stay ;
No longer of mind to sculpture
From models of earthly clay.
Nor image the most enchanting
Could tempt his matchless skill.
Since a work of God so hallowed
Did his hands fulfill.
REST.
For rest I sought
On the proffered breast
Of earth's truest and best.
But rest came not
To my burdened heart, no rest nor peace
Till the Meek and Lowly gave release.
PATMOS.
O ! barren Isle of Patmos,
O ! desert of the sea.
Thy veiled heights prophetic.
The angel walked for me.
O ! Patmos, holy Patmos !
Of promise rare and sweet,
The sunlight for thy snowy brow.
The furnace for thy feet.
A PROPHESY.
He was born for a noble manhood.
He will rise through years of strife ;
Do not deem it the chance of a prophet.
He will win in the race of life.
It is not a fancy I deem,
I marked his face when I saw it.
And I saw it again in a dream.
It, still firmer and stronger had grown.
And men were looking unto it.
As men look to a throne.
O! tell me the song of the angels,
0! tell me the tale of His bitth,
Fot this is the last merry Chistmas
That I shall be with you on earth.
SELECT POEMS.
LITTLE PEARL'S CHRISTMAS.
Sit closer beside me, dear mother,
And clasp your cool hand on my brow ;
I have heard the sweet song of the angels.
They are hovering over me now.
I may not be here on the morrow,
I've been praying and thinking of all.
And I care not, but for your sorrow.
If to-night the dear Savior should call.
O, when I was healthy and happy,
I scarcely once thought of that heaven ;
How careless I lived, and how sinful,
I wonder my heart is forgiven.
But long have I known this, dear mother.
That each day was bringing it near.
I've prayed, as I beaded and broidered.
Confessing my sins in His ear.
I hear little Fred in the parlor.
So happy and full of his glee ;
He is thinking of Santa Clans, mother,
O, what is He bringing to me?
For it seems that I hear sweetest music,
And I see a fair ci^ of gold,
O, may it not be that on Christmas
The angels still sing as of old?
SELECT POEMS.
All day it has seemed as if Jesus
Was sending His gifts unto me.
And if I should live any longer
A far better child I would be.
I've thought of the poor and the needy;
I've longed to be useful to you;
Yet, O, it would be but a little,
That I for another could do.
You will go to my trunk in the closet,
And you'll find Freddie's toys, all new,
And the slippers I broidered for papa.
And the card-case I painted for you.
And you'll find in my work-box, all finished
And hidden clear out of her sight,
A bright beaded pocket for grandma.
Lay |;hat on her table to-night.
For grandma is troubled and grieving,
I saw her sad face as she passed;
O, why should she grieve that on Christmas
I shall see my Redeemer at last?
O, grieve not at all, but remember
What blessedness cometh to me,
For what do you think, dearest mother,
Ought a Christmas in heaven to be?
You remember you chide me, dear mother.
But you'll find, when to-morrow you look,
Why I took from my bank all the money ;
'Twas to buy you that beautiful book.
And when you shall see papa's slippers.
You will know 'twas because I was weak,
They are not as nice as they should be.
And the beads on the pocket would break.
If grandma feels over the beading.
To ask of the white and the blue.
And finds out the beads that are broken.
Explain how it came to be so.
SELECT POEMS.
And tell her I saw in a vision,
Her blind eyes had come to their sight ;
And she stood by a beautiful river
All shining in raiment of white.
She will need me no longer to lead her,
But comfort her when all is o'er;
O, soon she will follow me, mother.
She will rise from her couch never more.
O, mother, death seems very near me.
And all day I felt you so dear;
I've scarcely cared aught for the Christmas,
Yet I long the sweet story to hear.
O ! tell me the song of the angels,
O ! tell me the tale of His birth.
For this is the last merry Christmas
That I shall be with you on earth.
O ! pray for me now, O! forgive me,
0 ! clasp me once more to your breast.
For I am so sick and so weary,
01 rock me, O ! soothe me to rest.
The morning sighed low at the casement.
The snow drifts fell shrouding the earth,
The sun in the grey sky was veiled.
The shadow lay dark on the hearth.
A hush in a sorrowing household,
A crape hanging white on the door.
Where the feet of their little darling.
Will be coming and going no more.
Christmas morning in heaven.
Beryl and jasper and gold !
01 wonder of wonders immortal.
For a little child to behold.
Visions of glory and beauty.
Anthems of rapture on high,
Christmas song of ths angels
Filling the courts of the sky.
SELECT POEMS.
A LETTER TO SANTA CLAUS.
BY CHARLEY.
I'll sit down and write to old Santa,
'Tis the very best thing I can do,
For I fear he will never remember.
What is wanting for me and for you.
First I'll ask for a drum and a fiddle.
For I'm fond of music and dance;
And next for a little wagon.
And a pony to run and prance.
I'll ask for a box of candy.
For nuts and oranges, too;
But all for myself, remember.
Now what shall I ask for you ?
O, yes, I forgot to tell him
To bring me a top and a knife,
Ánd bring some furs to grandma.
And to uncle Fred, a wife.
For mamma says of all things.
He needs a home of his own.
And auntie needs a prayer book,
For I guess her old one's gone;
And bring the dog a collar.
With his name carved on it nice.
And Dorcas says she wants a trap.
To set and catch the mice.
SELECT POEMS.
For the pie and cake is missing,
To catch them she is bound,
But I guess her mice are two legged.
When uncle Fred is 'round !
And I forgot to tell him.
The minister is dull ;
And papa said he needed brains,
And bring his wife a shawl.
And Minnie's beau is but a dude.
His name is Chawley Gray,
He is not half a man, we think.
So bring him money, pray;
For father says he's poor as dirt.
And Minnie is a fool.
It makes us all feel bad, and guess
We'll send her off to school.
But bring a little engine.
That winds up with a key ;
A drum, a fiddle, a top, a knife,
A pony and wagon for me ;
Just one thing more, dear Santa,
The baby that you brought
Last Christmas is so very bad.
Please leave the next one out.
And the worst of anything I want,
I want it specially.
Is a box of tools and a target gun,
A watch and a book for me.
SANTA CLAUS IN TROUBLE.
Old Santa sat down in a dismal plight.
And shaking his beard and his long locks white,
Pie growled and grumbled for very spite.
The time has come for my famous ride.
Headlong down the firmament side.
And I am expected the clouds to bestride.
Expected to straddle the ocean wide.
To fiy with the wind and pitch with the tide;
All over the world in a night.
SELECT POEMS.
Whatever on land or on sea may befall,
On everyone in the world I must call ;
And not to be seen by great or small,
Must be cunning as a fox.
There are mountains of nuts and candies by tons.
And millions of dolls, and whistles, and guns.
For stocking, or shoe, or box.
I must carry the world in a haversack
Saddled about my shoulders and back.
And crowd with it all through a chimney crack ;
I'm decided not to go.
There will probably be great wind and hail.
In the south a flood, at the poles a gale.
Through the clouds and the seas I would lose my trail ;
I'm decided not to go.
So he fell asleep in his sullen mood.
And there came to him in a funny hood,
A little child from the pole-land rude.
From the land of hail and snow ;
And carried a snow-shoe from her land.
And held it forth in her little hand ;
And there came a fairy in fluffy dress
From the land where the warm winds so caress.
And she kissed his worship on cheek and mouth.
And held out a box from the sunny south.
Then from land and sea, from east and west.
The children thronged and the children pressed.
Till Santa awoke with an awful groan.
And vowed if they only would leave him alone.
He would fly with the wind and pitch with the tide.
And over the sky with his reindeer ride ;
And anything, everything else beside
Would do, from zone to zone;
And so look out, my children, dear.
For Santa is coming yet this year!
THE CHRISTMAS STOCKING.
Grandma would have it, that stockings brand-new.
Were the best for Santa Claus to fill.
And so she had hurried the whole day through
To finish the pair she was knitting for Nell.
SELECT POEMS.
Grandma still knitting on Christmas eve,
While little Nell anxiously waiting sits ;
Grandma silently dreams and smiles,
As the soft, bright yarn she knits.
Nellie sees the stocking is reaching the toe.
And she pictures it filled to bursting that night ;
But fearing grandma too sleepy may grow.
She fixes the fire and light.
And she talks : ' ' Grandma, do you think it is late ?
The room is light, but you're sleepy, I know.
It is hardly bed-time, it's just striking eight.
And you're almost to the toe."
Grandma takes the spectacles from her eyes.
And brushes the thin locks back from her brow ;
And Nellie starts up in anxious surprise.
For grandma is crying now.
The quick little arms clasp around her neck.
And she kisses the lips that quiver to speak ;
' ' No you shall not knit it anothet speck,
Dear grandma is sick and weak!"
Pooh ! she takes the knitting again in her hand,
O, softly and gladly the bright needles play.
For the touch of Nell, like a fairy's wand.
Had charmed her tears away.
The moments pass, and a golden head
Drops low in the lap of grandma, so tired ;
For Nell is asleep, but the knitting still sped.
By the thought of her love inspired.
The stocking, "toed off," falls at last on the floor,
And grandma stops for a moment to rest;
Just then good Santa peeps in at the door.
She, too, is asleep—you can guess the rest.
Santa, someway, had not thought till to-night.
That grandma was scarcely more than a child ;
Now he laid some beautiful gifts at her feet.
Then looked at Nell's stocking, and smiled.
He filled it to bursting, with toys be sure.
And among them right down at the toe.
It was just a wonder how charming a gem
Good Santa's art could bestow.
SELECT POEMS.
'Twas a picture of Nell, with her golden hair,
Asleep on her grandmother's knee ;
And grandmother gladly knitting with care.
On that stocking of love, you see.
A CHRISTMAS HYMN.
Twice hath heaven been so full of sweet joy.
It hath burst on the ears of men.
When the Savior came down from His throne on high.
And when He ascended again.
Ah ! little we know of the raptures above.
And little of heaven's wise plan.
But we know the Savioi's coming meant love.
Meant peace and good will to men.
When the angelic strain rang o'er Bethlehem's plain.
And reached to man's senses so dull.
On the tempest of life—a peaceful refrain.
It meant on the dark waves a lull.
But little we know of His pilgrimage here.
The suffering Savior so meek.
We know that He carried the grief and the fear.
Of a world in defilement laid wreck.
We know not the glory that greeted our King,
When again He ascended His throne,
From the gates and the doors all uplifted was heard.
Just a note of that anthem unknown.
And we know that it meant the victory won,
That the lost had been found by the King,
That the soul, O ! so faint, when life's labors are done,
To a heaven of rest will He bring.
CHRISTMAS WONDERS.
Do we know what wonders on Christmas eve
Have happened the ages through?
In every land where the people dwell.
Strange hiysteries olden and new ?
SELECT POEMS.
It is said that at hour of midnight,
The flocks on the moon-lit plains
Stand still on their knees and listen
To sweet and heavenly strains.
That in the abbey a Christ-tree
Springs up and bursts into bloom,
And with fruit and flowers commingled.
Burns incense of rare perfume.
The mistletoe on the orchard branch.
And the Christmas-rose in its bed.
Are changed in leaf to a deeper green.
And in flowet from white to red.
One night while they kindled the Yule-log,
It is said that a woman of Konz,
With her hand on the great Fagtahvel,
Called'peace from the heart of the sun.
That a dove, all gleaming as crystal—
The story is whispered in awe—
Descended, and dropped in her bosom
From its bill the healing dew.
And seven days through the gods can be seen.
In wondrous movements to glide.
And fashion the season of vintage and green
Of the coming summer-tide.
In the sky you may see the reindeer;
From the snowy star-lit height
They herald the Bandag (white day)
Of sacrifice and rites.
However, with myth or with symbol.
The Christmas worship began.
It is "God's white day" to the people yet.
In every home and land.
For we ring the "Manger carols"
On every hearthstone bright.
And wait for the festal day to dawn.
With its tokens of delight.
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SELECT POEMS.
CHRISTMAS GREETING.
"And He shall sit as a refiner and purifiet of silver, and purify them as
gold a7id silver."
Bright day that crowns the dying year,
With highest love and hope of earth ;
Crown it our hearts and hold anear,
That Heart low bound by human birth.
Long as the veil of years drops down,
An angel hand will brush it back,
And lifting up the "Christmas crown,"
Strew stars of light adown the track.
Then let us trust, too short our sight,
To comprehend life's good or ill ;
The pattern wrought by God in light;
Our night of toil will soon fulfill.
He may not to our sense reveal.
The tender reachings of His care,
Though deeper than the prayer we feel.
The need we have, the woe we bear.
When undeserved His blessings fall.
The gift is at His wise command.
When chastening doth the heart appall,
The rod is in a pierced hand.
Here is the sealed mysterious scroll ;
There 'twill unroll in language bright ;
Here may the sackcloth shroud the soul.
There it shall walk with God in white.
Days have there been with tranquil sails.
When blue skies veiled the craggy snows,
And calmly brooded in the vales.
The golden rays of hope's repose.
And there are days born low in grief.
When all the tree of life seemed bare,
And stark and stricken every leaf.
Sealed By the sleet of wintry care.
select poems.
Yet all as drops of goodness fall,
Since God has willed and He is wise,
With clinging hearts we hold them all.
Even while the shadow darkest lies.
When separate days as one unite.
And blend the gleam of smiles and tears.
And far aslant life's sunset bright.
Wafts vision back, and heaven appears.
Then joy of perfect hearts shall flow.
In perfect bliss and light above.
The furnace fires no more shall glow.
His face reflect shall burn with love.
A SONG.
Day dawns all laden with beauty.
With hearts singing gaily we launch on life's sea
Day dawns, the light beaming brightly.
We'll sail toward the haven so happy and free.
See ! see ! the cliffs they are golden.
And morning in glory is lighting the sky.
White sails afar o'er the billow;
Outward we're darting, our hopes rising high.
Good-bye, good-bye.
Oh ! see the bright sky.
Chorus.
Night comes but let us be merry.
Breathing a prayer for the days that shall be ;
White sails borne on the billows.
Borne toward the light all so pure and so free.
Good-bye to the friends we are leaving.
Not always together our voyage may be ;
Sail home "toward the light" that is beaming.
The light of the haven across the fair sea.
See ! see ! the cliffs they are golden.
The morning in glory is lighting the wave ;
Launch out on thy far homeward journey.
Sails dancing lightly and hearts beating brave.
Good-bye, good-bye.
Oh ! see the bright sky.
Chorus.
SELECT POEMS.
A VISION OF PEACE.
It was when the hour of sunset
Sank on noiseless golden wing,
And the moon uprose in beauty
With its silent offering ;
When the softly purpling azure,
With its crimson cloud and gold.
Deepened into starlit shadows.
Night's mute grandeur to unfold.
That methought I saw an angel.
Filling all the earth with light.
With his white feet stand majestic
On the threshold of the night.
And I saw the islands fleeing,
And the mountains sink away.
Then the sea of mingled crystal
Aild of fire before me lay !
And I saw the harpers harping.
And their wondrous song I knew ;
Then the holy, heavenly city,
With God's glory burning through
Gates of light and walls of jasper,
Joys that swelled and bliss that thrilled.
Yet my spirit prayed and lingered,
With its longing unfulfilled.
And I cried, "O heaven unveiled!
With thy raptures all untold.
What can heal my sin-sick spirit?
More, O more to me unfold!"
Then the angel's face was shrouded.
And the harpers ceased to sing;
Crystal sea and holy city
P^led away on shadowy wing !
Then the vision changed before me.
All its glory and delight.
While I stood a wandering pilgrim.
Lost in shades of deepest night;
Where the muttering of the storm-cloud.
And the lightning's lurid glare
Told of wrath, and dread foreboding
Filled niy rpind with wild despair,
SELECT POEMS.
Till upon the awful darkness
Gleamed a rending veil of light,
And within the cross of Jesus
Rose before my wandering sight ;
And I saw the world's Redeemer
Bow His holy, dying head—
Saw His face of love and pity,
All my doubting terror fled !
Then I fell in raptured worship.
And in tears of love I cried,
"Let my heaven be but to praise thee
At thy feet, O Crucified 1 "
May my spirit-life be ever
Crowned, O Christ, with love like this !
I will walk earth's loneliest desert
As a hallowed realm of bliss.
Though the dream hath long departed.
It häth left its changeless spell.
And for evermore enchanted.
In its peaceful light I dwell.
My calm day that stretches forward
Into brighter day beyond.
Knows no night of tears or tempest.
Since that blessed Cross is found.
THE DESERTED OLD HOME.
I saw the same old house, and hill, and fence, withal.
And the same trees upon the silent hill.
The same out-looking windows of the hall.
And the same doors and latches drawn and still.
No longer need of sentinel or minister.
Of mortal all had vanished, and no thing
With spirit lived within, that wintry night.
Nor yet without, no creature with heart-string.
It was bereft of children, all bereft.
Some gone to paths without, some paths beyond.
Not one remained to bless the parents left;
Next 'twas bereft of parents, true and fond.
No longer was there need of twittering bird,
To tell of early spring or breaking dawn,
No longer need of smile op- cheerful word.
Where all similitude of love was gone.
select poems.
Yet what were now deserted threshold and cold hearth,
My thoughts went deeper as the latch I lift.
And enter what was once my fairy berth.
The world my only—in its cradle gift.
When lo ! where I had thought to feel and see
Such utter loss, I found a peopled feast,
A gathering of love awaiting me.
And I was hailed the last expected guest.
My sister, who was first to go, who long
Had dwelt in heavenly lands, in joy drew near.
And clasped me with the sweetest welcoming.
It seemed no dim, or vague, or dream-like sphere.
But real as the heart clasp of an earthly soul.
And real as the home had ever been.
With lighted hearth-stone and illumined wall.
And all convivial joyfulness within.
And there was one I looked not for again.
One that had dropped from out our earthly home.
One I deemed lost forever—O, such gain.
It brought my heart such joy to give her room.
All, all, save one I dared not ask or know
Why one the most beloved was not there;
I thought I saw her shadow on the, snow.
Once when the moon shone forth most bright and clear.
I asked, "How is it hast thou ever dwelt.
So by this hearth, and so within this room?"
The answer came, "There are no walls around.
And only in thy mind is hearth and room."
And while your soul is still in moiety.
For what you miss, let love and gratitude.
For what remains, the missing draw to thee.
Thy life hath much in store when understood.
Then suddenly I stood without upon the snow.
Where first I stood ere I the latch did lift.
And all was silent and deserted as before.
While o'er the fields the shadows came adrift.
But my grieved heart upon a truth had touched.
As years glide on, I hold it more a truth.
Our desolation is our lack of faith,
And kindred spirits dwell not far in sooth.
SELECT PÓEMS.
325
COMING HOME FROM SCHOOL.
TO RACHEL
You remember the coming home from school,
When the task of the day was done,
How I'd come by your way or you'd come by mine.
And we'd loiter till set of sun ?
How our little feet skipped glad and light.
Or halted in thoughtless play.
How we brushed the fennel, yellow and white.
That grew by the roadside gay ?
Do you think of your mother with patient smile.
Of mine with her care-worn brow ?
We must have traveled full many a mile.
They were younget than we are now.
The olden home is low in the dust.
And the old glad greetings o'er.
But we'll journey on with a loving trust.
Till we come to Our Father's door.
For we're coming home from school, to-night,
Though, alas, we have weary feet.
But we see the hill-tops gleaming bright.
Where our paths again will meet.
AGE.
As the branch that is bending leafless.
May shiver within the blast.
Yet bloom again in beauty.
When the wintry days are past.
So the winter of age seems cheerless.
When the spirit is bowed with woe.
Yet the morn of immortal glory
Will soon o'er the hilltops glow ;
And the pilgrim who stands waiting.
At the sunset gates of gold.
Will feel in the hgavenly dawning.
The wings of his life unfold.
SELECT PÔEMâ.
MY OWN MOTHER.
Still peering over her glasses
On me,
I hold her gaze with trembling;
Eighty !
I cannot spare you, mother.
Must it be ? '
Yet you'll be coming often
Back to me !
With this noonday burden
On my heart.
Must I lose your blessing.
Must we part?
With my debt unsettled—
Love for thee?
Oh ! I cannot spare you ;
Eighty I
Mother, I cannot utter
What I feel.
Breathe a prayer once more.
While I kneel.
LITTLE WILLIE.
Darling baby, shouldst thou ever
Be a man of strife and care,
O remember, naught can sever
Thy life from thy mother's prayer.
It will live and bless forever,
Though her lips to dust may mould
And eyes be closed to earth.
While her spirit lives above thee.
Bright in its celestial birth.
Her love will forsake thee never.
SELECT POEMS.
■THE GHOST OF THE CLIFF.
A LEGEND.
In the Northland cold, where the ocean bold,
Breaks wild on the rocky shore.
Of the wreckers cruel, a legend is told ;
'Tis a hundred years or more.
Since a grim and greedy band of men^
Led by a captain bold.
Did lure the vessels tempest tossed.
Till on the rocks they were driven and lost.
When they plundered them for gain.
Where the craggy rocks in sleet and snow
Strike up to the leaden cloud.
And the dreary moan of the winds that blow.
And the beat of the wave is loud,
A beacon was lit on the topmost cliff,
'Ere the sun went down it was lit.
And the wreckers grim, in the shadows would sit.
Till the ship to the rocks would drift.
The captain grew rich in goods and gold.
And afar in the Southland free.
His only daughter, fair, was told
Of his castles and ships at sea.
And the beautiful daughter was pure and true.
And her father loved her tenderly ;
He cared for naught, but his lovely child.
And his wreaking gains from the sea.
To the rocky coast a vessel was tossed.
While the beacon beamed cheerily.
And the wreckers cursed the faces white.
That were washed up from the sea.
And a youth was found with goodly store.
And the beautiful daughter's picture he wore.
On his bosom so cold and dead !
The father saw, and in rage he knew.
And his anger was something to dread.
For he cursed the youth, and he cursed the sea.
And he cursed his daughter fair ;
Then he took the youtb.in a wrathful glee,
And hanged him on a gibbet there.
SELECT POEMS.
Then night by night, as the beacon sent
Its false gleam far and high,
And the wreckers into the shadows went.
To watch the ships go by,
A form was seen on the topmost crag.
Over against the sky.
And the light was fanned, by an angel hand.
That never a ship came nigh.
For the light went out, and the men looked ghast.
And their cruel hands and hearts so stout
Trembled and feared to light it again
In the drear of the morning blast.
Then the captain stood up and cursed his men,
'Ere the sun went down sat he
By the beacon light, on the stormy height.
The ghost of the cliff to see ;
The mist and the ice on the rocks were wet.
Yet never a fear had he.
But what does he hear in the shadow.near.
The breath of a clinging child.
With starting eyes and with agile strength
She was braving the tempest wild;
With panting heart, and a pallid face.
She is standing beside him now.
Yet before her hand the light had fanned.
It flickered upon her brow.
And the father shrieked in a terror wild,
For he saw the ghost was his lovely child.
Yet before he could clasp, in his frenzied grasp.
She had fanned the light away.
And her bare, chilled feet, in the wintry sleet,
Had slipped from the rocks for aye,
And from ledge to ledge her lifeless form
Went dashing down to the sea.
But they saw where she touched the dark, cold wave
A youth was standing with outstretched atni,
Who caught and shielded her lovely form.
Then they sank in an ocean grave.
But still at night, when the wintry storm
Lashes the rock, can be seen a form
Pacing the waters o'er.
And an old man bending, with locks ^yh^te,
SELECT POEMS.
As the snow-crowned cliffs, on that awful night,
And he curses the youth as before.
And his wailing cry is bitter to hear.
As he shrieks for his child in a maniac fear.
And clambers the steep rocks o'er.
Or peers in the shadows and curses his men.
And bids them to light the beacon again.
Which was lighted nevermore.
THANKSGIVING.
What was it that brought Thanksgiving
Brought our glad Thanksgiving day ?
Was it that first ripening harvest?
Was it that first breath of May?
When the Plymouth fields were emerald.
And the rock was white with foam.
Why was it that William Bradford
Called a happy "Harvest Home?"
Why was it those pilgrim women
Gathered in the house of praise.
And to God, the gracious giver.
In accord their songs did raise?
Was.it not the fruit of sorrow.
That the winter bleak had sown.
Fruit of peril and of famine.
Such as few on earth have known ?
Half the faithful band of Plymouth,
In their graves were smitten low.
Neither seed time nor rich harvest.
In this land of hope could know.
Let us think of that Thanksgiving,
In those sad November days.
When in every heart was sorrow.
Yet on every lip was praise.
Let us not forget the pilgrims.
Fathers, mothers, noble, grand.
Who for God, and faith, and freedom.
Dared on Plymouth rock to land !
330
SELECT POEMS.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
O, alas ! thou noble chieftain,
Must we, must we mourn for thee ?
What is this that falls upon us.
Mid the joys of victory?.
Take the telegram and read it !
O, the heart sinks down in dread !
He was just, and great, and noble.
He was loved, and he is dead !
He is dead who most hath carried
This great burden of all time ;
Ever patient, ever faithful,
Metcy was his only crime.
Farewell ! now the peace of heaven
Falls to thee in richest store ;
All thy faithful warfare ended.
All thy anxious vigils o'er.
All the nations shall be gathered
In great love to crown thy fame.
And all tongues, in all the ages.
Taught to speak in praise thy name.
MERCY UNKNOWN.
O Christ, it was mercy to me unknown,
For now whate'er my life betide.
One strong, golden link must still abide.
To hold my poor heart to Thine own.
And lift up my prayer to Thy throne.
FROM THE FRENCH.
The vine and the flower doth speak for the heart.
Confession of love doth the rosies impart ;
The laurel is fame and the cypress a sigh.
The lily of Lethe so pale in its bloom.
Asks but to the heart that remembrance die.
And rosi^ and cypress be dropped in its tomb.
SELECT POEMS.
331
THE CONFESSION.
I need not tell you of the men,
Who stormed the field of Elchengen ;
I the report to Duroc bore,
After the bloody day was o'er,
' ' Who led along the covered way,
He is the hero of the day."
The Emperor said, "And where's the man
That stormed the battery at Dorran?"
Duroc made answer to him then,
"Brave sire, the same is Eigenheim."
"Well! very well! brave Eigenheim,
Report him Colonel of the men.
Chef de Bataillon ^f the plain
Below the hill of dark Dorran!"
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SELECT POEMS.
"And where's a youth with bolder tread,
That hath in fiercer dangers led?
A message must to Innsbruck go.
Duroc! do you a hero show,
That dares the "Salzburg passes" brave,
The honor of his chief to save?"
"Your Majesty, Eigenheim here,
Has never knozvn a cowering fear."
I doffed my cap, and bowed me low,
Eigenheim would to Innsbruck go.
"Baron, a thousand shall be thine
Of truest men beyond the Rhine ! ^
To-day your own brevet shall tell.
Napoleon shows VAllernange well."
Narrow and rocky is the road
From Landburg to the Mitten-Thoç,
Humble the Tyrolese abode,
But cunning is their hand in war.
Above the path the mountains tower.
The rugged rocks, the holly hides ;
From ledge to ledge the torrents shower.
And through the gorge the river glides.
Winding and dangerous is the glen.
Where single file I marched my men.
Three days in Tyrol had we been.
And not a living thing had seen ;
The children's voices all were still,
The herds were gone from every hill.
Many an humble cot was there.
But all was silent, cold and bare.
Halting to rest our weary feet.
And shelter from the noonday heat,
I, looking backward toward the plain.
Espied the figure of a man ;
Suspicious of some lurking ill.
Quickly I spurred my ready steed.
The figure skulked behind the hill,
I galloped up with furious speed.
But ah ! how little was the need.
It was a pilgrim lone and sad.
Feeble and old, and humbly clad ;
SELECt POEMS.
I drew my purse to give him aid,
He shook his head with mournful air,
His hands upon his breast he laid.
And raised his eyes as if in prayer.
"Come then," said I, "him have I seen.
Would not refuse my wine canteen."
He seized the flask with trembling haste,
I left him there and rode away ;
We journeyed on another day.
Wild and more dreary grew the waste ;
Begirt by rocks on either side.
In Mitten-Thor there is a glade.
Where sweeps the river dark and wide.
And here one night our camp was made.
In silvery floods the moonlight fell
And lighted up the lonely dell ;
And brightly rose each craggy spire.
While faintly burned the bivouac fire.
In vain I closed my weary eyes
Before me would the pilgrim rise
And to my memory recall.
The dangers of that lone Schwarz-thal.
I saw the lake gleam far away.
Beyond the tramp of many a day ;
I saw the wild flowers at my feet.
That deck the banks of Iser sweet ;
The mountain bristling with its pines ;
The granite overrun with vines ;
The rushing torrent underneath ;
The watch fires gleaming from the heath ;
The armed group with weapons bright.
That glittered in the moon's pale light.
Then near a rustling noise I heard ;
And then the leaves and branches stirred ;
I saw the sentry's musket raised ;
Above the camp the beacon blazed ;
To arms! the heavy drum was beat;
The warriors started to their feet;
Just then a wild unearthly shout
As one, from every rock rang out ;
'Twas followed by the musket's roar.
And through our ranks the bullets tore;
I knew resistance would be vain.
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SELECT POEMS.
And score by score my men were slain ;
But springing toward the gap I called,
''Forward, my braves, to Mitten-Wald ! "
With desperate speed we pushed ahead ;
Thé cavalry of Strassburg led ;
Onward we rushed—the gap was passed,
And gained the narrow road at last ;
What was our horror, when we found
The pass was barricaded round;
"On btaves !" I cried, "climb the stockade !"
And all my men, as one, obeyed ;
A volley met us full and fair; '
The leading file of horsemen fell.
Little was left us but despair.
And life its hope will dearly sell.
The Tyrols on our footmen dashed.
And man to man our sabres clashed ;
Their band was strong, the strife was brief,
I came to face the Tyrol chief.
He drew his spear to cleave my head,
I lifted mme and struck Jmn dead.
That blow, the last my arm e'er dealt,
'Twas then 'twas severed from my side;
I saw my wound, but nothing felt ;
I fell, and gladly would have died.
The last of all our band of men.
The comrades of the Elchengen.
A foeman with his sabre sprang.
And would have killed me lying there ;
A wounded Tyrolese lay near.
He shrieked, and grasped the assailants spear.
And something said in Jaeger tongue.
Yet can I hear the dying cries.
That rose upon that dreadful night ;
Yet can I see the dawn arise.
That o'er that Schwarz-Thal spread its light ;
Then o'er the mountains, dread and bare.
We journeyed on for many a day ;
Upon a litter, borne with care.
Beside my Jaeger-freund I lay.
All silently the hours were past.
Till on a quiet eve at last.
Our loftg procession wound its way
SELECT POEMS.
Into the streets of Marien Kretitz,
A little town of mountain huts,
Hundreds of mourners thronged the place ;
The widow bent above her son,
Or wife with pale and anxious face.
Asked vainly for the missing one.
Still by my Jaeger-frcnnd I staid.
And close beside our beds were laid.
And ever bending o'er us there.
And watching with a sister's care.
Unwearied, day and night there staid
Marien's loveliest peasant maid.
'Ere long the suflering Jaeger slept.
His sabre hung upon the wall.
His sister o'er his coffin wept.
The father chanted in the hall ;
Ah ! might o'er me the grasses wave.
As o'er that Jaeger's peaceful grave.
But Lydchen did not quit my side.
Save, sometimes at the hour of eve
I'd rest, and then my couch she'd leave.
And up the village way would glide
To the kirkyard where her brother lay.
And she'd kneel upon his grave to pray ;
Not cheerless were the months that passed
'Ere I was well, but well at last,
I roamed with Lydchen in the vale.
Or listened to the fisher's tale.
Or, at the hour of twilight sung
From Koerner in the Jaeger tongue.
One afternoon, sitting alone.
Upon the spacious altar stone,
I heard the tramp of hurrying feet.
As of a tumult in the street ;
Then wild and boisterous grew the crowd.
Then rose to shoutings fierce and loud ;
The wounded on their couches sat
And joined them with a feeble yell,
And, "Blood for blood!" rang o'er the platz,
"Blood foT blood!" echoed from the dell.
SELECT POEMS.
And Lydchen rushing to my side,
'Tis you! 'tis you they seek!" she cried;
"In Innsbruck but on yesterday,
The French have shot our prisoners all ;
And seven were from this town they say !
For you, and for your life they call I
O ! say you're with the struggling band
That love their homes and vaterland ! "
Her arms around my neck she clasped;
I, sternly rising, loosed her grasp ;
' No, Lydchen ! never will I bring
The shame upon my country's king;
To men my fealty be made,
When life is in the balance laid 1
Shall I, a foeman, mercy plead.
While hundreds of my kindred bleed ?
' Shame ! if thy rebel band, can show
A coward that would crouch so low I "
The mob had reached the chapelry ;
The priest arose and waved his hand :
The boisterous tumult died away ;
In accents firm he gave command,
"The prisoner dies,—but not to-day!
To-morrow let him target stand.
For men who guard the Alt Deutsch-Land."
Again a loud, applauding shout.
From every savage soul broke out;
And Lydchen whispered, — "Not to-day!"
To-morrow find thee far away."
'Twas just as dark began to fall.
She glided softly through the hall
And, aided by the kindly priest.
The death-doomed prisoner released :
And, dressed in hat and mantle stood.
Beside me ready for the road ;
Unseen, we passed the chapel door.
Our little boat pushed from the shore.
And darted out with muffled oar;
In safety reached the mountain side.
Where waited us a peasant guide.
We took a footpath through the glade.
To Salzburg, 'twas the longest route
Through Tyrol that we could have made.
Eluding thus the cunning §cput;
SELECT POEMS.
Hour after hour, day after day,
We journeyed on our lonely way.
Nor met a living thing to dread ;
Before us now, the mountain high.
And now the river glided by,
And now the crag that frowned o'erhead.
Left but a narrow gleam of sky ;
And then our path would lead again.
Into the open sunny plain.
The little hamlet, Altendorf,
Lies one day's march from Salzburg wharf.
And thitherward our steps were bent;
It lay below us as we went.
For we were on the rocky height
That winds above the Hofer Hill,
And long the village lay in sight.
Our guide kept cautiously ahead ;
One morning at the break of dawn.
He met us pale and faint with dread;
" The Tyro lese the town had fled!
The French were bivouacked on the lawn.
The Germans, too, were there," he said,
"The pass at Salzburg had been crossed.
And all the Jaeger s hope was lost."
Lydchen stood silently and gazed.
The foeman's camp fires faintly blazed.
Tenderly, calm, her dark eye beamed.
And tears beneath their lashes gleamed,
A moment, then in ire they burned,
Ahd like a flash of war were turned.
Fairly on mine, she pointed down
Upon the desolated town;
"01 shameful that a foreign foe
Should rise against des Deutschen peace 1
What if her children strike the blow ?
Shall the fond-hearted Tyrolese
Crouch down and see his country slain
Upon a bloodless battle plain?
No! hater of thy Vaterland;
No 1 cruel heart and murderous hand ;
No! when we feel our dying shock.
Speed ! speed ! our Jlagle from the rock,
O ! flee it far above the cloud.
SELECT POEMS.
And find it there a stainless shroud ;
Fold its broad pinions, close its eyes,
Higher than 'ere the vulture flies !
But, Eigenheim, I curse thee not.
Shall my own brother be forgot?
'Twas you that met him in the glen.
He told me o'er and o'er again.
This is the goutd you left him then ;
'Twas him that scented to the wild.
Fierce track you came, that many a mile
Kept even trail—'twas him that crept
To count your warriors while they slept ;
'Twas him that whispered Jhrough the rocks
To Jaegers, in their strong hives.
To load their guns and whet their knives!
She lifted up the little flask,
Eigenheim, this is all I ask I
What else had spared you on the night.
When all your comrades fell in fight?
What else had bought the tenderest care.
The Tyrol maiden's humble prayer?
Eigenheim ! sttanget ! fare-thee-well ! "
And she was gone, ah ! had I deemed.
That Lydchen was not all my own ;
No other joy my heart had known.
For weeks and months—ah! had I dreamed,
Lydchen and I could ever part?
That blow was heavier, keener, far.
Than men may ever deal in war ;
It was a wound that pierced my heart,
A wound that will not heal—a smart
That balsam cannot reach—a sting
That naught but death a balm can bring.
Rash was the hand of Eigenheim,
When once again it grasped the spear ;
Stern was his face before his men.
Nor thought hë aught of shame or fear;
Ah ! has thou touched the blade of war ?
Thou knowest I need not paint the gore;
I've stood within the Tyrol glade.
When thousands slain around me laid;
I've heard the exulting shouts that rise
And peal along the murky skies
In savage glee for victory ;
SELECT POEMS.
To the great cities far away
I've borne the tidings of the day,
Have seen the rushing, frenzied crowd.
That gathered, the rejoicings loud.
That rang, and burst from every tower ;
And I have seen in that same hour.
The crushed heart bleeding, and the eye
Of love grow dim—the last hope die
Within the lowly, widowed breast ;
And I have seen proud cities dressed
In their last winding sheet of fire;
Have seen their dying, burning ire;
O, Germany ! O, treasons stain !
Would I could make thee whole again
From Baltic to the, Tyrol glen !
Thyself hast heard Le-Febre's campaign.
The tale that Tyrol will retain.
That stride of carnage—barbarous trail.
Of slaughter streaming through her vale ;
And many, a peasant maid can tell
What heroes haunt the Tyrol dell ;
They gather on the river strand ;
Their tracks are in the snowy sand ;
And many are the eyes that weep.
Where'er the gleaming billows leap ;
Where coldly drips the mossy steep.
Where darkly heaves the barren earth.
There many a falchion will rust ;
And where the richest fruits have birth.
They blush above the patriot's dust.
One day a foeman in disguise
Entered our lines—Elgenheim's eyes
Were watchful, and he caught the spy
Who was condemned at once to die.
'Twas night, the moon was bright above.
And dark clouds drifted through the sky.
Their shadows in the valley crept.
Or, o'er the towering mountains swept ;
The time was come, the order drawn.
The platoon centred on the lawn ;
The prisoner begged an interview.
And I refused—I raised my hand.
The ranks were hushed, I gave command
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SELECT POEMS.
The platoon's fire, the muskets flash,
The shriek, the shudder, and the crash.
The victim reeling, falling, then
A cry of horror from the men,
"A woman! woman! we have shot!"
I staggered faintly to the spot;
Lydchen ! Lydchen ! my own rash hand
Had murdered her—my own command ;
Her pallid lips—her forehead fair.
The stain upon her raven hair,
I cannot drive away the sight.
It haunts me ever, day and night.
She rashly came, my life to save.
Alone that mountain pass did brave.
Bearing the message in her hand
That saved from doom my faithful band.
And with her other hand she pressed
That flagon to her lifeless breast.
The Baron ceased, his tale was told.
His life blood fast was curdling cold.
Haunted by ghostly shape and gleam.
That revel in death's fitful dream.
With blast of war and bugle blow.
He grappled with the last dark foe.
The night wore on in fated gloom.
The hours portentous of his doom.
In vain he marshaled forth his men.
Brave stormer of the Elchengen.
The holy father waited near.
Shriving the soul by prayer and tear.
By word of peace and solace meet.
Let fall in benediction sweet.
Noiselessly sped the hour of dark.
The gray dawn stole into the park ;
The sunlight o'er Thüringen fell.
And morning smiled on sweet Cassell.
Eigenheim from his dream awoke.
In tenderest words he faintly spoke,
(Not in the kindly shriver's ear:)
Strange visitants seemed drawing near.
"You comg at last—let us cross o'er
SELECT POEMS.
Dear love, to yonder shadowy shore !
Let us sit down beneath the trees,
Mid beds of Tyrol bloom so sweet.
And rest us in the cooling breeze.
With Iser gliding at our feet.
Let us go sailing down the lake.
Floating upon the murmuring tide.
On silvery sands the ripples break.
Through clefts of gold the billows glide.
O, Lydchen 1 let us rise and go.
The cliffs of Marien Kreutz arise ;
Their heights are spanned by steps of snow.
Their caps are flashing on the skies."
Then shuddering, ghast he raised his hand,
In wonted mien of stern command.
As wildly from his couch he sprang.
And o'er the Platz his clear tones rang,
" Ground arms! how many are the men
That know the chief of Elchengen?
" Present arms! fite! she's dead! she's dead!"
Eigenheim sank upon his bed.
Thus died the hero of Aspern,
The stormer of the Elchengen.
FROM THE GERMAN.
Look upward and thy strength renew.
Look forward with a purpose true.
Look 'round thee on thy brother.
One-half the battle is in right,
In courage is the other.
THE SLAIN.
Peace brightens the rolling Potomac,
And smiles on the lonely James
And the desolate Rappahannock,
And flowers the mountains and plains.
Our fallen brave are buried.
And flowers o'er their graves are strown.
And the young men who stood in battle
To gray-haired men are grown.
Select eoemS.
Then the North must conquer rebellion,
And the chain of the bondman burst ;
Yet now there are viler rebels,
And slaves more bitterly cursed !
Our nation is held in bondage ;
Our laws are defied and slain ;
And the life of our proud republic
Is grasped by the brewers' chain.
Subtle and strong is the tyrant
That crouches within his lair ;
And pitiless is the monster
That coils round our brave and fair.
Oh ye ! who have stood in battle.
With arms that like steel were nerved,
'Gainst the foe that threatened our Union,
With courage that never swerved ;
Ye who have stood o'er the wounded.
And burned that it must be so.
The time is ripe for your ire again
On the nation's deadlier foe.
Ye mothers, who clasp your children.
It is better—O, better by far—
The name of the hero winning.
That they die in the heat of war.
Than be slain by the rum-cup glowing.
In the days of peace and pride ;
The serpents, the shining adders.
In its deadly dregs that hide.
O, the graves all empty of honor !
O, the slain all covered with shame !
That cry to us in our land to-day
To arise in Jehovah's name!
To stand in the breach of carnage.
With hand and heart and brain,
And strike for bur sacred home and hearth
Till we break the rum-fiend's chain !
SELECT POEMS.
KALID; OR THE CHANGE OF THE SOUL.
A MYTH.
A fountain there was in the years of old,
With crystal water and bed of gold,
And an angel form of dazzling light.
Shadowed above it from morn till night ;
The charm it was of the fallen brave.
And if a mortal should touch the wave.
Or even come to the fountain nigh.
The sentence was, that he could not die.
A youth there was in the years of old.
His spirit was swift, and his heart was bold.
His. steps were silent, he came afar.
The beacon of fate was his guiding star;
He had culled the sweets of the Cythian glade.
And heard the Amorite's mournful tale ;
He had pressed the lips of the Hebrew maid.
And left his harp in the Cypress vale ;
He had braved the tempest and crossed the mount.
And now he stood by the charmed fount.
The floods of eternity filled his soul.
The mirage was lifted from time's vain shore ;
He could see each drop in his mystic bowl.
No danger nor evil could harm him more;
' The curtain of mystery reacheth high,
Beyond it our joys and our sorrows lie.
And Kalid ! Kalid ! illusion's charm,
Is a banner of mercy o'er man unfurled.
It gildeth the pleasure and hideth the harm.
And spreadeth a smile o'er the desolate world."
The angel's beauty was shrouded now.
The light was gone from her heavenly brow,
' Fofever," she whispered—"aye, fear and gloom.
Aye, danger and death and dreaded tomb ;
Go, Kalid ! time's battle waves, surge after surge
Heave heavily upward a pitiless dirge.
And the breath of the tempest with agony quakes ;
Go, Kalid ! the pestilence walketh by day.
And o'er the calm threshold of happiness breaks
And scatters around him the seeds of decay.
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SELECT POEMS.
"Go! mocking the creature that fails with a breath,
That grasping for pleasure is gathering death ;
Rush ! rush ! the frail standard of life to uplift,
Where the blast of destruction is deadly and swift.
"But sweeter to pass from this valley of tears.
Away to a realm of beanty and bliss.
Than linger forever mid sins and fears.
And darkness and death in a world like this ;
A bark that is lost on the high rolling sea.
When every companion to harbor is sped,
A leaf left to hang on the desolate tree.
When all the warm breath of the season is fled.
"As you linger upon time's sorrowful tide.
The loved who are gone, the friends that have died.
Will come to you oft in the dark of the night.
To whisper their love and mingle their tears;
You will know their forms and footsteps light.
And clasp them again as in other years.
But O ! the price of the dreams of earth.
The promise of pleasures that die at their birth.
"But, Kalid, my mission is this command.
That ye tell no one whete the waters lie T'
Then she sealed his lips with her snowy hand.
And vanished away in the distant sky.
But she left no light on his boyish face.
No gleam of hope that his heart could trace;
O ! 3fe of the present—O ! ye of the past.
Could ye look for joy where the dead are cast?
He sped away from the magic fount.
Beyond the tempest, beyond the mount.
And he cast himself in the dashing sea.
And demon and god of the wave is he.
O ! whither is Kalid ? away ! away !
Where the breakers are broad and the rapids play.
Where the fisherman guides by aurora's glow.
And the white wolf bounds o'er the crested snow.
He is here and there, when the ocean is loud.
And the billow is swept by the battling cloud.
He is here and there, where the ocean is still.
Where the rippling waves go softly by.
And sands of gpld, on the margin lie;
SELEtíT POEMS.
We hear his steps in the woodland rill,
We hear his voice, it is sweet and low.
Where the flowers hide their bosom of snow.
And the zephyr kisses the leafy hill.
The mother of Kalid—O ! long did she wait.
Her soul wandered out in the darkness to hear.
She cried from the lattice, and wept at the gate,
He came nevermore her lone bosom to cheer;
She is gone from the lattice, her feet, they say.
With the breath of the night, went softly away.
Her wail was caught by the rushing wind.
And is ever borne to the sky and the sea ;
She wandered—and no one her path could find.
The snow was trackless that covered the lea.
Sweet is the gondolier's distant notes.
When o'er the bright seas of Italia they roll.
Sweet is the answer that plaintively floats.
When mournful Jerusalem swells in his soul;
Sweeter her voice from the magical shore.
To the drowning mariner's raptured ear.
When the tempests beat, and the billows roar.
It rises above them, soft and clear.
The watch of the mariner's hope is she.
As he goes about on the dangerous sea.
The God of the deep she lulls to rest.
That they safely glide o'er his charmed breast;
But woe to the seaman if Kalid wakes.
His spirit sweeps o'er the trembling wave.
The stoutest sail on the ocean shakes.
He heaves a breath and the firm bark breaks.
And he drags it down to a fathomless grave.
The mighty waters move to and fro.
The high wind echoes the dirge below.
And I think of the bottom with feelings dread.
For there are the motionless ghastly dead.
And there is the demon's kingly tread.
His sinews are iron, his strength is swift.
His hands do the strong tides uplift ;
His locks once jetty are now as white
As the polar snows or the mountain sleet,
His eyes are fierce as the fiery light.
Where the sunset burnished billows meet.
346
SELECT POEMS.
A maniac, too, is the god of the wave,
By fits he will sorrow, and smile, and rave ;
Sometimes he wanders along the shore.
Flinging the rocks to the beds below ;
Sometimes he scratches and carves them o'er.
And casts them upward his name to show.
But what is written no man can know.
There's a withered leaf and a bit of mud,
A lustrous pearl and a coral bud,
A broken shell and a fossil old.
And now and then a glimmer of gold ;
And Kalid will gather the shells and sands.
And grasp the weeds in his mighty hands ;
The monsters that coil, and creep, and crawl
About him throng, and he knows them all.
His idols they are, and he bows him low.
And clasps a viper—its keen pangs dart.
He shrieks and curses, but lets not go.
You saw him once when a little child.
His heart was pure and his words were mild.
He twined the lily to wreath his brow.
Would ye call him the same as Kalid now?
Is the soul thus marred by the evil things?
Is each touch a stain on its delicate wings?
And yet how it clings to the idols of earth.
And barters the jewel of priceless worth!
O 1 we cannot know in the mortal clay.
The spirit eternal that dwells within ;
We cannot know, in time's fieeting day.
The sorrow, the shame; and the blight of sin,
O ! darker by far is the wreck of the mind.
Than the midnight storm on the howling sea.
And sadder to hear than the moaning wind.
The wail of the desolate heart will be.
When the night of eternal death shall roll.
And shroud the hope of the human soul.
COME.
Come, in Thy searching whiteness,
Come, with Thy burning feet.
Come, in Thine ancient glory
And tnajesty most meet!
SELECT POEMS.
Yet come to heal our suffering,
And wipe away our tears ;
The Alpha and Omega
Of human hopes and fears.
He comes to make thee conquer,
O man, at Peniel's brink;
The bitter strife of Jacob's dream
Is Israel's rest and strength.
Halting, but clothed with the might
That every foe disarms—
The Edom vestment of onr Lord,
The Bozra's crimson charms.
He comes to make thee conquer,
O pilgrim on the wild.
With moving tent and veiled ark.
And garments long defiled.
Not priest with robe and miter.
And ephod gemmed with gold ;
With robe of shame and sorrow's crown
Thy Priest and King behold !
The piercing nails they print thy name
And signet of thy birth ;
The altar of thy sacrifice.
The cross that lifts the earth.
HAPPY NEW YEAR.
O New Year! bring us faith.
Though clouds may dim our sight.
The faith that falters not and finds
The paths that lead aright.
O New Year! bring us hope,
To shine upon our way.
That we rejoice in heavenly light,
Blest children of the day.
O New Year! bring us love,
To crown with peace our days,
O, bring us nearer to our God,
In trust, in works, in praise.
SELECT POEMS.
COURAGE.
He opened His mouth and taught the m,
Who sat at His feet to hear ;
They were few and despised and timid,
Yet He had called them near;
And in language that still enkindles
The souls of martyrs aglow,
He taught them the golden lessons
The ages have sought to know.
Ye who draw nigh to the Master
And learn His precepts' worth.
Shall be a light in the darkness—
Shall be the salt of the earth.
Then shine, O ! beloved disciples.
Though men may mock and deny ;
It is not His chosen people,
But Him they must stand to defy.
MAY QUEEN.
Come, Fleur-de-lis, Fuchsia and White Pink,
Come, Edelweiss, Lily and Rose,
Come, sail with your wings on the south wind.
Come, sail while the north wind blows !
My May, Queen, all ready and waiting.
Walked into the glen, and her feet
They pressed but the glittering snow drops.
Her tresses were filled with the sleet.
Come, summer wind, blow o'er the meadows.
Come, sunshine, and set them aglow 1
I shall need Dandelion and Violet,
Unlink the tall weeds from the snow.
My May Queen is pure as the lily.
And fair as the May days of old.
Then let us be wreathing a fiower crown
Of royal purple and gold.
SËLËÔf ËOËMS.
If you were a fallen patriot,
And your grave a neglected spot,
The Bleeding Heart would she bring you.
And the sweet Forget-me-not.
Or if I were lonely and hopeless,
Suffering, aged and poor.
She would come with her loving offering
To gladden my heart, I am sure.
Make haste then, bright springtime, and blossom.
With delicate fragrance and dew.
Her eye-lids droop sadly and miss you.
As she wanders the meadow land through.
FLOWERS.
The flowers are monuments of wondrous meaning,
Above the sorrow of my thoughts ethereal.
They swing their perfume—incense upward teeming.
All vague, all subtle in a breath funereal.
O flowers ! ye make a paradise of sadness,
A sacred language of the soul unspoken ;
Ye fill the lonely heart with tender gladness.
With smiles of sympathy and love's mute token.
Come lowly flowers of blue and purple choosing.
Hues that reflect the shadowy heights afar.
Come at the hour of rapt lone twilight musing.
Come breathe for me the rhythm my words would mar
Come flowers of pearl and sunshine, that remind me
Of opal morn, of sunset on the sea;
Wing thou my dream o'er billows bright and find me.
Strain that will voice thy moaning melody.
Come flowers of every hue into my vision.
Breathing the soundings of that heavenly sphere.
Ye are the sent from the afar Elysian,
Fill with God's symphony my listening ear.
SÈLÉCT POKMS.
TO MY FRIENDS.
I fain would have wandered the summer-land musing and dreaming,
Bringing bright language from blossom, and tree, and the wild vine ;
Bringing a prelude from soft winds of heaven, and seeming
The voice of the woodlands—the life of the springtide all streaming
Up through its trembling and secret ways to the sunshine.
I would have wooed aroma sweet to these pages, entrancing.
That your senses subtle, and calm, deep reflections of spirit
Find solace from sorrow and longing, 'rapt visions advancing
In fancies sequestered, my beauty of precept enhancing.
Add gleams to my stray gems of merit.
But lost in the summer-land mazes, bewildered and failing,
I have entered the hearts of my loved ones, enraptured have wandered,
Where song-bird and blossom, and tendril their sweets were regaling,
And fountains celestial the warmth of their sunshine exhaling
To holy repletion of spirit, I've feasted and pondered.
My dreams I give back as the face of a gem on a mirror.
Or as mirage delivered from billows, upgathered brings nearer
The images real and clearer.
Index to L.etters on Tejviperance,
PAGE
Mr. Jacob Barrick 244
Dr. J. R. Black 241
A. B. Clark, Esq 253
Hon. C. B. Giffin 245
Rev. E. I. Jones 246
Mr. Levi Knowlton 251
A Lady 249
A Lady 250
Rev. W. A. Powell 257
Mr. Isaac Smucker 248
Rev. R. R. Sutherland, D. D 252
D. W. Winter, M. D 247
Index to Poems,
PAGE
At Sychar 272
Abraham's Gem 274
A Song of Delaware 275
Annie O'Neil 278
Aged People 286
A Prayer 304
A Prophesy 309
A Letter to Santa Claus 315
A Christmas Hymn 318
A Song 321
A Vision of Peace 322
Age 325
Abraham Lincoln 330
Becoming a Grandmother 277
Betsey Blynn 299
Celesta's Song —. 288
Christmas Wonders 318
Christmas Greetings 320
Coming Home From School 325
Come 346
Courage 348
Effort 287
Elijah 297
Euletra's Grief 294
For God and Home and Native Land 261
PASS
Fulfilled 273
Faith 277
Fred's Flower Mission 293
Flowers 349
Flowers of Peace 395
From the French 33O
From the German 341
Grief of Hercules 269
Garfield's Last Dream 289
God Is Mine 302
Happy New Year 347
Kalid; or the Change of the Soul 343
Live On 262
Little Willie 326
Little Pearl's Christmas 311
My Babe 297
My Dying Child 265
My Lost Boy 267
My Mother 268
Mercy Unknown 330
May Queen 348
Mary - ' 296
Martha 296
My Own Mother 326
Pat's Thanksgiving 264
Pigs in the Garden 270
Poem for Decoration 291
Patmos 309
Revealings 263
Best 309
Sing, Bird of Pity 287
Song for My Alma Mater 303
Sea Moss 306
The Better Way 257
The Mute Missionary 266
The Pardon of Psyche 271
The Night Blooming Cereus 273
Type of a Tree 287
The Seven of God 295
True Friendship 295
The Outcast 296
Thy Flower 297
The Confession 331
To a Young Poet 302
The Face of Christ 308
The Christmas Stocking 316
The Deserted Old Home 223
The Ghost of the Cliff 227
Thanksgiving 229
The Slain 241
To My Friends 250
Widowed in July ' 285