Newspapers / Spirit of the Age … / July 28, 1869, edition 1 / Page 1
Part of Spirit of the Age [1873-1???] (Raleigh, NC) / About this page
This page has errors
The date, title, or page description is wrong
This page has harmful content
This page contains sensitive or offensive material
ti ' ' " j ' ' ' : :'-v " ' r::'- ., -, . : - - -j .:,v:v:':: '.- - , : . - - ;n , V" ' f- -r'-'r:: a 4 4 TWO DOLLARS A YEAR. NO. 14. ' - : V . V J ' V ' V V Y; V ' V V W y V V . V. V frKT V' V v V V V V ' V I Y - 'V; 1 1 1 :'. IS :7-ft TUC nimnn...; j' i' lU -ic uuMiiuiifi Af4GEL ' BYT j. w;TnoirpsoN, ' I'll i Tti CHAPTEU I. iies; oi i'.v.i- are eonnected withotS sreQtiing,:whrse tender resses and maternal fcdidness, if here werojiiolotheru reason Wonld lead me to call her by that sc red name Joi -?How: well dd I remember i that m6tber.; bow sbempathized with all ray childish ForroMr participated in all my childish pleasures, and trained my infant feet to talc e their first steps in tile great patllway of life. ' . - hThere ;waa n one i peculiarity in my mother; which sihall as T was, often caused me sorrow'; arid that was, 'he was always sad'1 jrom the first dawn- ings of recollection; I cannot remember of crer Myirigs?en'! her einei except vnc" m the niifsery with me, her s only child,' when fine would seem somewhat to thro w off th e ' rest rain ts aroti n d her, ainc! onietimes : smile r at my juvenile pranks 'aq clt frolics. At other 1 times, she vas always sad. Why it was, my young mind could not comprehend -y but her sober countenance and droop ing form seemod to cast -a. shadow over my life1, whtch IfCould never escape, fhough I knew not thm tlie cause of iicr sadness, 1. know now ! The mantle of mystery that hung around tiie stib jct, to, my childish mind, has long since boon drawn asld, and the light of years has. madc it all plain enough., jSly fatjier was f a drunkard Oh! that terrible word! It .;. is the death- Jcf!J,0fJim)c, the funrral dirge of hap unesfi ri vjrarumcaraTii es, as I af terwa'rdi!lcarne(1j'"he had so degraded himsplf as.t a I submit to the tyrant's powjer. 'until. the chains of his -bondage . were forged so tightly as to preclude all hope of escape. . 5 Why one of his position for he wns of one of the proudest families in the country should become a victim of this debasing habit, vas most remarka ble. In other respects, he was "all that could be desired In a devoted husband and. father. High-toned, generous, i courteous, he was vell prepared to sus tain the ancient dignity of the family from which he sprung, but for that ter rible habit tlit blasted all his hopes, paralyzed all his energies, and changed the high-totted, honorable gentleman, into the unfeeling, ignoble btnite.T ? It is'not' my happy experience to re member him' as he. was before the temp ter entered his heart ; I only know - his ! former chiirncter by the descriptions of Others. But I can'only remember him as a' gloomy, morose man, hercef to wards.' his'donjestics, cold, .towards his wife and cMand. indeed, sullen , to-, wards everyqne, but the companions ofliis reylries. jxan remember only once taspok tindfy. to J me ; and tliat was one mornmgi'after I a night's debsuciT .of unusual severity' when J he. came into the nursery while all the ser - van ts were gone, ana ook me upon his kneG?'vi wTio;,waAViused'to jiis;: pres: 1 ence, an 4 somewhat r afraid '' of him, etiruarled to be" free J But,-. whil e h e ""i -,,- O j ;(..! Ji 1! - geritly held'me in his arms and stroked iny hair, the tears .eJU 1 r.p to his eyes, and he murmured brokenly : Afraid of his fath er ! Ah ! well, he has reason enough. Hois a drnnk ard's child ra drunkard's child! Oh ! tGod;how bitter !" i . - Then, as if the good spirit bad left his bosom, And the dark spirit had re turned, he almost flung .me from him, and angrily snatched the bellrope. The servant appeared n haste, at the summons.,; Go,- tell Jim to saddle Black Prince immediately. Go.!" ; . As bis retreating footsteps sounded through the hall, I ran to seek refuge in my mother's arms. In a few rhomentfr the olatter of hoofs was heard, and looking from the win- uow Dy w men ijj .uutuct v0 oi.uf I saw him ride; down the avenue and off, towards tb village at full speed. . , -V j . From that time forth, I saw VUtle of j -i i tTf ..i.tthon tttao cltlmm hira, and might have forgotten my sor row, but for that paler sad face of my ftngelic mothercontintialiy ' growing paler and sadder, soon, ah I too soon for hie; to" settle' ! noli e' m a r bl e rig- J :One afterridon, I had finished Vny les sons' for the day, laid aside mv books, when, I;heardJth 'ripgi'n' ot Iron fiodh close Pjncl.ijice almost 1fran overrme m nis way to tfte stable. 1 Rimhing into the house to tell moth eabpmyit, I fonnd fier : Jain ting: ,jnpoii ihe floor of her chamber . Sh e had seen the riderless horse, and her fears had overwhelnd her.4 - tTnder my passion ate cries and lamentations, she:s66n re- coyejeq. , piquing pp sne seemed - be wildered Then memory came - back, and she almost fainted again from the excess of her feelings ! Before sh could ring for one of the .servants to go towardsr the village iq search for the ri dpr, she was arrested by the sight of a solemn, proccssioirconiing np tho ave nue, bearing "with them the sceminglv lifeless body of a man upon a litter. What followed is almost to me hlank. 1 The events crowded into those few days, were so nnmerotis aud awful, that they seem to me now to have been some hideous -night-mare," rather than real occurrences. ' . I have a faint recollection of a shrou ded form in the great hall, a dark, gloomy-looking cbfliu, enclosing a still form and a stony countenance. I remember as a dim vision of the past of a funeral another procession larger and more solemn than the first, preceded by a black hearse, with its gloomy appenda ges.and dark mourning plumes upon the horses heads. Then all was as qui et as before." ' V; .But, I could not help noticing the in creased and almost alarming paleness or my mother, who "seemed togro w 1 thinner every dav. . , ' - . . At last she was confined, toher room,' then to her couch. It teas her death-bed !' . If the, events that immediately suc ceeded mv lather's death were sad and gloomy to me, those that were now. about to transpire w ere overwhelming in. their paiufulness. ; Ah ! who can describe the emotions that tore my heart, save those who have lost a mother! None 'buf they who have1 stood by the bedside of a . dying mother, and watched the death damp as. it overspread that dear countenance, and caught the last whisperings of that beloved .voice, can appreciate the feel ings of a motherless child ! I The end came J ' , ' One bright spring morning,, jnst as the sun was gilding the eastern hill-tops and the birds were warbling; fbrth their morning anthems of praise,;! was sum moned to the couch of my dying moth er..,, My. grief was s"o uncontrolable, that I cannot remember' the scene that ensu ed. Overcome by the intensity of my emotions, I fainted . away,' ; : When I awoke, it was upon a bed in a darken ed room. ' , -r,; ' ....... l Where : is Another ?' " was my first question. ' '" . ''u " ' ;'-. " At rest,, ray child," answered the motherl v-Iooking womart in'attendatfce. " She has been buried over a week, and you have1 been- very rsicki 7But 'ryn' must not talk any rriore, now. Go to sleep, and when you awake I will tell yon more. ' t I. was too much' exhausted toindnl&fe in a fit of ; weeping ; so, overpowered by a sene of utter loneliness that al mostcrushed my young heart, fell back' upon my pillow, and soon forgot my troubles in the arms of sleep.- When I became strong enough to walk, my memory' seemed almost a blank. Of that feartul scene, I remem bered almost nothing! Ah i- there is one circumstance that can never be ef faced from my memory while I have be ing. It is the feeling of a thin, wasted hand upon my curls, and the sound of a feeble voice,-saying: I . f , Edgar, my cjiild, nevef touch a drop of ardent spirits. It killed your father, and through him, it will soon send me to the grave. It has well nirh Mosto vnnr vnnnrr 15fo Oh rtnir r.fSiM I - - neTer put a drop inside, of your lips. it will rob you of ' your honor, your fiends and your life, both in this world and the next," " I promised that I would never drink. Sho died with tb promise still ringing in herars?-t.j'. v '$t't Snch, dear ret " is the foundation hich succeeding rnd the fiercest fearful dan- of those princip! chapters will exh; temptations and tl gers. . ' I TEMPTATION. We will pass rapid ,ORT. ot u,ceBci)g years, unti theigejf rmanhoiad.- Sufiicejifc to sayv that during thatf time I pased several years at college, completing that educa tion which I had commenced. under. the tuition of that fair-haired being at home. How many bitter tears have I shed, and how many weary heart-longings have I experienced,5 when, in the loneliness of my college room, I have; recfirretl to those happy hours long gone by, alas ! to return no more! - !. ,n? Yf During my college life, it is needless to say that : I ' was ? exposed ? to many temptations. All wh have passed through the same' experience, know full well the peculiar trials to which I was subjected. But, during all these years, I never forgot that dying'iojimction of my angelic mother: . r.;:: (:.' " Kd, ar, my child, never touch a drop of ardent spirits " 3Iy principles wero often severely tested. I was called a- milk-and-water" man, a " teetotaler," a "coward," and every freheme was laid for my dowtifa'l which aitifice ' could devise. Banquets were prepared, and suppers were given, and I was always invited ; and as often as invited, I Was pressed to drink. - - But at such times, when the Arch- tempter stood before me, in the shape of my fellow-students, and sought to press the wine-glass to my lips, I vrottld swiftly recur to that pale,5 fair face up on the pillow, surrounded d)y its halo of golden curls, and thatfaint 'oice, saying: " Edgar, my cliUd, netier touch a drop rf ardent spirits. Xj The sad, beseeching face of my dy ing mother seemed f o rise up, even in the very depth of the fiery liquid which they urged me to quaff, and warn me of danger. I could not 'drink with such scenes, thronging the avenues of memo ry. I Ciuld'only shudder 'at ihe dan ger and make an early escape. ' In due course of time my education was completed, ahd I returned to the old ! homestead. There, after selt'ing up the affairs of my father's estate, which had been neglected so long, I found to my surprise that, after- paying off the liabilities of my father, 'almost nothing-was left for ray patrimony. I say that! was surprised ; but! need not have been. My father had done ak thousands of other rich and prosperous men have done, he had squandered his. whole property in dissipation. : " j But regrets were vorse than useless. So, after paying off all the debts of the estate, and discharging the remaining domestics-1 set1 f about to find'1 some thing to do'fo a bring.' . ' 1 ' It wiashot lorig1 bet-re'KI received a the city;u As - the v salary jwas amply sufficient for'my support 'and the situa tion bade fair to be a pleasant one with al, hTs proposition' was nnhesitatingiy accepted; -s Thusr it'wa's1 that one morn ing I found myself rapping at the counting-room door of Augustus Sinclair, Esq, the wealthy merchant. ' ! I was met by Mr. Sinclair, a fine-looking old gentleman, with a cordial grasp of the hand, and invited "to make my self comfortable in a large arm chair. " So, Mr. Trent, you have come to live with us, baggage and all," said the old gentleman, 'smilingly, glancing at my trunk and valise that had been thrust in after me. I replied that such was my intention, provided I could suit for the position. - " No fear of that, my boy," replied he heartily. " I think you will suit. But," added he, glancing at his watch, "it wants some hours of dinner time. Perhaps you would like to see some thinf of the city which you are to make .vonr future home. You mavtakea look around the; city, .-''and return here proposition trora a friend of my rather jIe Helen pfefers, to stay in tb pnrf in his early years td "fill iha'positibn of lor and ieceivex the ateutionH of the bodk-keerjer 1 and 5 confidential cleric in other ee Alice welyaVprvt hU IhtW rrteroantile estab!ishrnpnt;rin smiles and flattery which Heleii prizes, ; : -- ' ...... ... . a . ..-...---.;. s t I irt time to accompany i me to dinner. j Mrs.; Sinclair jarid the girls are2pect- ingyou.''-cvf. - r ; f'r.t V;j-Y :. "Pardon me;"8iri bnt did yon not say ' the girls? vil was not aware that you had more daughters than one- the fair 3Iiss Helen, whom I have not seen since we were children." . 4You are right in supposing that I have but one ' daughter. The other in-f jmafe o'.iT family is Alice Iiaiden;niy .wer?tbe;evenjjlr,v:? 'sVpjWhls 'sre' both dead JfaHirletrat j Ste'.lia? I ?i ) Trtf usotilj' aTew months. But vbi'Xivil! robnkiio xri pnnn oti'hf them, without my assistance. SoTgoor mnrnmtr fn r.thfl- nrpnt " ' r . .;,-., morning for the present. i Uo resumed his writing, and I saun tered out into the street; ' J I v In due time I appeared again at the merchant's office. ' v :. "Punctual, I see," said heYsfnilingly.: s Glad to see it; sir; Punctuality Va good capi tal 'to.' begin 1 i f w th ?V V , After directing a servant th have my baggagotsent- to the residence, Mr. Sinclair joined me, and we set forth for the house. I found Mr. Sinclair to be a somewhat handsome lady, dignified in her demeanor, and withal a most fit ting companion for the generous-hearted merchant. She received me with warm courtesy, and soon made me feel at h6me. r Miss Helen Sinclair, whom I had not seen in many years, I found to be a stately b aut-, a-very queen in her de portment; Tn!1 majestic figure, s!on der andgracefivl as the gazelle, eves and hair of midnight , darkness, and an indescribable expression of countenance, in which dignity- and affability seemed to blend in most intimate 'connection. When she chose, she could keep you at a distance by a single look from those j urtoniuy ui u, anu a fcijngie imperious wave of that delicate, jewelled harm?! Again . she could draw you towards her bvan irresistibleimpulse, bv the meltin tendefhessof "her look and the gracefiil attitude of her superb form. This 1 learned afterwards! On this occasion, she received me with a statelv how, and a slight pressure df her tinyfingei-s', in token of former acquaintance. But Alice Hidden was the verv oppo- ite. Slight in figure, with a wealth rof golden hair clustering 'about her t'pmu pies, and tyes of -purest blue in whose jiiqnid depths the very emotions of her Soul could -almost be perceived. In stpad cf that1 stately" dignity and cool self-possession, which so eminently characterized her cousin, there was a certain shyness and timidity in her de portment, which' she seemed entirely unable to overcome. She received me ivith a low courtesy and ' a downcast, blushing face: ' After tthe ! 'first ccuTte sies of introduction .were 1 'over,1 she 'em braced the '..first oppbrtuaity of slipping from, the room, as she thought un per ceived, ,4But ,I had observed her de parture though the others seemed not to have noticed it. - " Your niece seems to be diffident. in company, Mrs. Sinclair," I remarked, when shft had gone. t ,-f td Jes," replied she, " she hardly ever seems atcase when forced to appear In ihe parlorli 1 She keep's verys closely-td her, room,' engaged in .study;' which ihe likes.,, Helen and she are. very unliktv eem-.tp. be5:- en tirely 'alael ess In dier eyes., a, She prefers the wmjnniopiihip of Byron, Moore, and. oijiers.of the. po ets, and even the mosjfc 'absf ru?e VnVtar physical and philosophical w5fk Vb all the admirers UrttHhroug around Helen." " Fie,: mother,?, said Hel en, a slight blush tinging her cheek, " yoij. would make MrT Trent believe that I am fond of attention and flattery." ; Just then the dinner-bell sounded, and the conversation ended. . ; : i - (To be Continued.) J' ;f p$33J5? THE DRUNKABD'S WIFE. The grey inornicg was already daw- nin" when a c:berable wretch turned into a dirty ftbey and entering a low ruinous door, groped through a narrow entrj and paused at the entrance of a room within. That degraded being had once been a wealthy, man respected by his neighbors, surrounded by his friends. But alas! the social glass' had, first allured him to indulgence, and tben ;to inebriety, until he was now a common drunkaidL i - mmmm . j-.. ,r-. TT (l mfl The noifeof his footsteps had- been heard within, for the creaking door was timidly opened, and a pale emaciated boy about nine years old, stepped out on the landing and asked ? in mingled anxiety and dkead "Is that youfnther?" ' 'les, wet to te kin curse it," said man "why aya't you abed and ,yon brat T ljl little ttfllcwT" irTMtJTAlot 'iVi l eon rsn i,ft ' U TJ. '.Yfou iing..with'fUetcYV; 7 stuff An ,nf& OVtiy in. I .Meant W hat are you standing there ga Aim tor :"V Mid the wretch. "It's '' b.id enought' to hear a sick wife gnynblihg all day without havinff-vou kopt up ' at night to err me m the morning get to bed, you imp do y; u liear?" " - . The little fellow did not answer ;: fear seemed to have deprived tiira of speech; but still holding oijojLhfi door latch, with an imploringdook, he stood righj in tho way by which his parent would liave to enter the room, n -i? , "Ain't yon goingito mind?" said the man with an oath, breaking into a fury. "Give me the lamp and go to bed; or I'll break every bone in your body.' "Oh! father don't talk. so loud,"said the little .fellow, bursting into tears "you II wake mother; she's been worse! all day, and hasn't hnd any fleep till now," arid' as the man made an eff rt to snatf-li i!. - candle, the boy losing a'l personal fe.n s in nnxiety for his sick mother, stood firmly across the drunk ard's path and said, "you m'ultn't you mustn't go in." "What does the brat mean ?"' broke out the inebriate angi ily 'this comes of fearing you to wait on your, .mother iU-vwlearn to be as obstinate as at iuule will you . disobey mc take HaHthAnyo:ttimpVV t-'fi'l'.r.inu f.fA C;.l-Twlinfr to the floor, kicked aside his body,- and strode into the dilapidated room; -h.. ; It was truly a fitting place for.' the home of such a vagabond as he. Tie Walls were low, covered with smoke and seamed with a hundred cracks. The chimney-piece had once been white, but was now of the greasy lead color of age. " The ceiling had lostmbstbf the plaster, and the rain soaked . through With a monotonous click upon the floor. A few broken chairs, a cracked looking glass, and a three-legged table, on it was a rimless cup. were in different 3arts of the room. But the most striking spectacle was directly before the gaml ler. On a rickety bed lay the wife of his bosom, the once rich and beautiful Emily Languerre, who, through 'po verty, shame and sickness, had still clug to the lover of her youth. Oh ! woman,' thy constancy' the. World cannot shake, nor shame; nor misery subdue. Friend after friend had deserted that ruined man ; indignity had been heaped upon him, and deservedly ; year by year he had fallen lower in the sink of i n tamy ; an d vy et still. through every mishap that sainted woman hid. clung io him for he was the father of : lierJti bbv, and the huslantl of lwr youth; ItT was a hard tasK lor nerto penorm; bnt it w as her duty; and when all the world deserteu him, should , 6pej; fpo leave him ? Siie Iiau borne inuch, ; but alas I nature could endure no tnorer Ilealth had tied ft'cxa her' Oheeks and her eves were dim and Ftmkrnj Mhe was in the last stage of consumption, but it was not that which was killing her she teas dying or a. broken, heart. f TL rs.cn mmlo bv;- hpt ' fSfmlftnd awoke her from her troubled steep ; 8n half started up in bed, tho vhectic . fire streaming along her cheek, and a wild, fitful shooting into her sunktn eyes. There was a? faint, shadowy smil e lighting np he r face, but it was as cold as moonlight upon snow. The sight might have m vd a felon's bosom ; but what can penetrate the- j" seared.. arid hardened heart of drunkenness ? The man besides was in a passion. 4B!ast it,' woman," said the "wretch, as he reeled into the room "is this the war yon receive me after being out all day in the rain to 'get something for your brat arid you ? Come, don't go to whining, I say," but as his wife uttered a faint cry at bis brutality, and fell back senseless on the bed, he I seemed to awaken to ;a partial sense -of his condition ; he reeled a step or two forward, pn his hand up to his .fore-, head, stared wildly . round and then gazing almosi vacantly upon her, icon- tinued, "but why what's the mat ter?" , - His ix)or wife lay like a corpse betore him,bnt a. low voice from the lother fidlbf the bed bbswercd ancl in tones. PijoshaTi Teei:r"fon who had ste'en m, and Preniinn at several JiWi:ioIen iJlf.WP" : i - mo - . her 'limbs, bo invoked her wildly to aw a tie. . ,.o. - . . . '' ".- f "Dead I" said the man, and he was sobered 1 at ' once dead ! dead !", he .continued, in -a; tonq' of horror ; that chilled tht blood and advancing to the bctjside, wjth eyes, starting "roin their soclcets, he lakf his hand upon her ' mar ble 'brow then bn niy God I I have murdered herf Emilj Emil; yon are not deaft say so oh ! speak and 2 for give yonr repentant husband f" .and kneeling by the bedside hfe'ehafed her white, thin hand, wateririg it with liU hot tears as he sobbed her name. Their efforts, at length, 'partially restored her, and the first thing she saw up'-n reviving vris bm weeping Ty her side, and er.UitVo Ut "En'iilf." It was the first time he had doue so for vears.' It stirred old memories in hr ht-art, and called back the shadowy visions of years long passed. She w as back in her youthful days, before ruin had bias-, ted her once noble husband, 'and when all was joyous and bright as her o: happy l6sbrm ; lWoe shame, Invert yy , desertion. evet bis brivial . lntsgiia'ge' W88 van tne lover or ner youui, .- uu i m. moment of delight ! She faintly threw her arms around his neck, and sobb?4 there for very joy. "Can.' yon forgive me, Emily? I have been a brute, a villain oh ! can you forgive mc? I have sinned an never man sinned hefore. arid against such an angel as you. Oh! God annihilate me for my guilt." . ,' Charles," said the dying woman in a tone so sweet and low that it floated through that chamber like the whisper of a disembodied spirit, " I forgive you and may God forgive you too; but oh I do not embitter this last, moinent by Muttl2 arms. lie Crotn for weekher'only nurse,nd ' " ; hsuf long siocelfearaeS .&actf fori iilm 'x- sucn' an impious 'wish. s - ;v ..- The man only sobbed in reply but his frame shook twith the tempest of agony within him. J''- .-'.'." " Charles' at last continued1 the dy-. ing woman, "! fiave long' J; wished, for ' this moriierit; that I' might say1 some . thing to'you ahout burTittfe IInryJ' ; " " God forgive me for riiy wrongs ta him too !" murmured the! repentant ' man. ' ; ' . -.-j " I have tritich'to say, and J hare out jime nine m say it m, i icci umt . shall never see another 6uri;'r J? Violent -fit of coughing mtemipted her r; f , yon" must not, yVi; not. djhe'r'"1iusWridjash6'- sup ported her sulking frame1 yon'Il live to save yotir repentant husband, , Oh I . : yori wiiin - . : - l:rC 1:-" ,,'t i , . ine tears gusnea into ncr eyep, one she only shook her head. She laid her wan hand on his, and continued feebly tight and. day, for many a long . year, hayciJ prayed for thai- hour, and - never, evean the darkest momcnt,h&ve ) I doubted k would comRS for I. have i felt that within me which whispered that as all had deserted, you and I had : qot, so in the end yon would at lat come back to your early feelings. Oh! would it had come sooner some' bap-r piness; then ; might have been mine again ; in this world ; but God's, will be done i I am weak. I feel I am failing fast ' Henry, uivft me vour hand." ; 1 : The little boy silently placed it in her'; sb3. kieed it, and then laying it within her husband's continued ' 'A I-'- wite, eep, love, cuensn mm. , up I re Jmember that he is young and tender- t Here is our child our only born. f when I am gone he r ill have none to ''' take care of him but you, and; as God is above, as yon loye yoar own bloody i and as ybu Value promise to a .dyinc' I I I' Ml r I i. i 4; i t -4 'j- I d
Spirit of the Age [1873-1???] (Raleigh, NC)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
July 28, 1869, edition 1
1
Click "Submit" to request a review of this page. NCDHC staff will check .
0 / 75