 Transcriber's Note:

 The author states in the Appendix "The book which our readers have just completed perusing, is filled with many errors; too many, in fact, for any literary work to contain. "

 Only the very obvious errors have been corrected. 

 THE TRIALS

 OF

 THE SOLDIER'S WIFE:

 A TALE OF THE

 SECOND AMERICAN REVOLUTION. 

 BY ALEX. ST. CLAIR ABRAMS. 

 ATLANTA, GEORGIA:

 1864. 

 Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1864, BY THE AUTHOR, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Confederate States for the Northern District of Georgia. 

DEDICATION

TO

COLONEL JOHN H. JOSSEY. 

Of Macon, Georgia. 

MY DEAR SIR--

Accept from me the dedication of this little work as a token ofappreciation for the kind friendship you have ever displayed towardsme. Wishing you all the happiness and prosperity that can fall tomortal man, believe me. 

 Your Friend, THE AUTHOR. 

PREFACE. 

The plot of this little work was first thought of by the writer in themonth of December, 1862, on hearing the story of a soldier from NewOrleans, who arrived from Camp Douglas just in time to see his wifedie at Jackson, Mississippi. Although the Press of that city made nonotice of it, the case presented itself as a fit subject for aliterary work. If the picture drawn in the following pages appearsexaggerated to our readers, they will at least recognize the moral itcontains as truthful. 

Trusting that the public will overlook its many defects, the Authoryet hopes there will be found in this little book, matter ofsufficient interest to while away the idle hour of the reader. 

ATLANTA, April 20th, 1864. 

THE TRIALS

OF

THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 

CHAPTER FIRST. 

THE "CRESCENT CITY"--THE HUSBAND'S DEPARTURE. 

Kind reader, have you ever been to New Orleans? If not, we willattempt to describe the metropolis of the Confederate States ofAmerica. 

New Orleans is situated on the Mississippi river, and is built in theshape of a crescent, from which it derives the appellation of"Crescent City. " The inhabitants--that is, the educated class--areuniversally considered as the most refined and aristocratic members ofsociety on the continent. When we say aristocratic, we do not mean apretension of superiority above others, but that elegance andetiquette which distinguish the _parvenu_ of society, and the vulgar, but wealthy class of citizens with which this country is infested. Theladies of New Orleans are noted for their beauty and refinement, andare certainly, as a general thing, the most accomplished class offemales in the South, except the fair reader into whose hands thiswork may fall. 

It was in the month of May, 1861, that our story commences. Secessionhad been resorted to as the last chance left the South for apreservation of her rights. Fort Sumter, had fallen, and from allparts of the land troops were pouring to meet the threatened invasionof their homes. As history will record, New Orleans was not idle inthose days of excitement. Thousands of her sons came forward at thefirst call, and offered their services for the good of the commoncause, and for weeks the city was one scene of excitement from thedeparture of the different companies to Virginia. 

Among the thousands who replied to the first call of their country, was Alfred Wentworth, the confidential clerk of one of the largestcommission houses in the city. He was of respectable family, and helda high position in society, both on account of his respectability andthe elevated talent he had displayed during his career in the world. He had been married for about five years, and two little children--onea light-eyed girl of four summers, and the other an infant of twoyears--were the small family with which heaven had blessed him. 

After joining a company of infantry, and signing the muster roll, Alfred returned home to his wife and informed her of what he had done, expecting that she would regret it. But the patriotic heart of hiswife would not reproach him for having performed his duty; so heavinga sigh as she looked at the child in her arms, and the little girl onher fathers knee, a tear trickled down her flushed cheek as she badehim God-speed. The time that elapsed between his enlistment anddeparture for the seat of war, was spent by Alfred Wentworth inproviding a home for his family, so that in the event of his beingkilled in battle, they should not want. Purchasing a small residenceon Prytania street, he removed his family into it and concluded hisbusiness in time for his departure. 

The morning of the twenty-second of May broke brightly over thefar-famed "Crescent City. " Crowds of citizens were seen congregatingon Canal street to witness the departure of two more regiments ofOrleanians. The two regiments were drawn up in line between Camp andCarondelet streets, and their fine uniforms, glistening muskets andsoldierly appearance created a feeling of pride among the people. Theywere composed principally of Creoles and Americans, proper. Thehandsome, though dark complexions of the Creoles could be seen lit upwith enthusiasm, in conversation with the dark-eyed Creole beauties ofthe city, while the light-haired and fair-faced sons of the CrescentCity were seen mingling among the crowd of anxious relatives whothronged to bid them farewell. 

Apart from the mass of volunteers--who had previously stacked theirarms--Alfred Wentworth and his wife were bidding that agonizingfarewell, which only those who have parted from loved one can feel. His little bright-eyed daughter was clasped in his arms, and everyminute he would stoop over his infant and kiss its tiny cheeks. Marksof tears were on the eyelids of his wife, but she strove to hide them, and smiled at every remark made by her daughter. They were alone fromthe eyes of a curious crowd. Each person present had too much of hisown acquaintances to bid farewell, to notice the speechless farewellwhich the soldier gave his wife. With one arm clasped around her, andthe other holding his daughter, Alfred Wentworth gazed long andearnestly at the features of his wife and children, as if to impressthe features of those loved ones still firmer in his mind. 

"Attention, battalion!" rang along the line in stentorian tones, andthe voices of the company officers calling "fall in, boys, fall in!"were heard in the streets. Clasping his wife to his heart, andimprinting a fond, fond kiss of love upon her cheeks, and embracinghis children, the soldier took his place in the ranks, and after thenecessary commands, the volunteers moved forward. A crowd of theirrelatives followed them to the depot of the New Orleans, Jackson andGreat Northern Railroad, and remained until the cars were out ofsight. After the troops had entered, and the train was slowly movingoff, one of the soldiers jumped from the platform, and, embracing alady who stood near, exclaimed:

"Farewell, dearest Eva! God bless you and the children--we shall meetagain. " As soon as he spoke, Alfred Wentworth sprang into the carsagain and was soon swiftly borne from the city. 

Mrs. Wentworth remained standing where her husband had left her, untilthe vast crowd had dispersed, and nothing could be seen of the trainbut a thin wreath of smoke emerging from the tree-tops in thedistance. Calling the colored nurse, who had followed with thechildren, she bade her return home, and accompanied her back to hernow lonely residence. 

CHAPTER SECOND. 

THE WIFE AND CHILDREN--A VISITOR

The weeks passed slowly to Mrs. Wentworth from the departure of herhusband; but her consciousness that he was performing his duty to hiscountry, and the letters he wrote from Virginia, cheered her spirits, and, in a measure, made her forget his absence. 

She was alone one evening with her children, who had become the soletreasures of her heart, and on whom she lavished every attentionpossible, when the ringing of the bell notified her of the presence ofa visitor. Calling the servant, she bade her admit the person at thedoor. The negro left the room to do her mistress' bidding, and shortlyafter, a handsome gentleman of about thirty-five years of age entered. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Wentworth, " he said, on entering the room. "Itrust yourself and children are in good health. "

Mrs. Wentworth rose from her chair, and, slightly inclining her head, replied: "To what circumstance am I indebted for the honor of thisvisit, Mr. Awtry?"

"Nothing very particular, madam, " he replied; "but hearing of yourhusband's departure, I thought I should lake the liberty of paying avisit to an old acquaintance, and of offering my services, if youshould ever need them. "

"I thank you for your kindness; and should I _ever_ need yourservices, you may depend upon my availing myself of your offer;although, " she added, "I do not think it likely I shall stand in needof any assistance. "

"I rejoice to hear it, my dear madam, " he replied; "but I trust, " hecontinued, on noticing the look of surprise which covered herfeatures, "that you will not think my offer in the least insulting;for I can assure you, it was only prompted by the most friendlymotives, and the recollections of past days. "

Mrs. Wentworth made no reply, and he continued: "I hope that, after anabsence of five years, the memory of the past has been banished fromyou. With me things have changed materially. The follies of my youthhave, I trust, been expiated, and I am a different man now to what Iwas when I last saw you. "

"Mr. Awtry, " replied Mrs. Wentworth, "I feel rather surprised that, after your presence in New Orleans for so many months, you should nothave thought proper to renew our acquaintance until after thedeparture of my husband. "

"Pardon me, " he quickly answered. "I was introduced to your husband bya mutual friend; and as he never thought proper to extend aninvitation to me, I did not think myself authorized to call here. Learning of his departure this morning, and knowing that hiscircumstances were not of so favorable a character as he could wish, Ithought you might pardon my presumption in calling on you when youlearned the motive which actuated this visit--believe me, I amsincere; and now, " he continued, "will you accept my proffered hand offriendship, and believe that my desire is only to aid the relatives ofone of the gallant men who have gone to struggle for their rights?"

Mrs. Wentworth paused a moment before she accepted the extended hand, while her brow appeared clouded. At length, holding out her hand tohim, she said:

"I accept your offered friendship, Mr. Awtry, in the same spirit, as Ihope, it is given; but, at the same time, trust you shall never betroubled with any importunities from me. "

"Thank you--thank you, " he replied eagerly; "I shall not proveotherwise than worthy of your friendship. These are your children?" hecontinued, changing the conversation. 

"Yes, " she replied, with a look of pride upon her little daughter andthe sleeping infant on the sofa; "these are my little family. "

Mr. Awtry took the little girl upon his knees and commenced caressingit, and, after remaining for a few moments in unimportantconversation, took his departure with the promise to call at somefuture time. 

As soon as he left Mrs. Wentworth sat down, and resting her hands onthe table, spoke to herself on the visit she had received. "What couldhave induced him to pay me this visit?" she said, musingly; "it isstrange--very strange that he should choose this particular time torenew our acquaintance! He spoke honestly, however, and may be sincerein his offers of assistance, should I ever need anything. He iswealthy, and can certainly aid me. " She sat there musing, until thelittle girl, coming up to her, twined her tiny arms round her mother'sneck, and asked if it was not time to light the gas. 

"Yes, darling, " said Mrs. Wentworth, kissing her fondly; "call Betsyand let her get a light. "

After the negro had lit the gas, Mrs. Wentworth said to her, "Shouldthat gentleman, who was here to-day, call at any time again, let meknow before you admit him. "

"Yes, mistis, " replied the negro with a curtsey. 

CHAPTER THIRD. 

MR. HORACE AWTRY. 

Mr. Horace Awtry was a native of the State of New York, and was, atthe time of writing, about thirty-live years of age. He was a tall andwell-formed man, with light hair clustering in curls on a broad andnoble looking forehead; his features were well chiselled, and hisupper lip was ornamented with a mustache of the same color as hishair. Notwithstanding his handsome features and extravagant display ofdress, there was an expression in his dark blue eyes, which, thoughlikely to captivate the young and innocent portion of the fair sex, was not deemed elegant by those who are accustomed to read thefeatures of man. He was very wealthy, but was a perfect type of the_roue_, although a good education and remarkable control of himselfrendered it difficult for his acquaintances to charge him withdissipation, or any conduct unworthy of ft gentleman. As thisgentleman will occupy a somewhat conspicuous position in our tale, wedeem it necessary to go into these particulars. 

Some seven years previous to her marriage, and while yet a child, Mrs. Wentworth, with her father, the only surviving relative she had, spentthe summer at Saratoga Springs in the State of New York, and there metMr. Awtry, who was then a handsome and dashing young man. Struck byher beauty, and various accomplishments, he lost no time in making heracquaintance, and before her departure from the Springs, offered herhis hand. To his utter astonishment, the proposal was rejected, withthe statement that she was already engaged to a gentleman of NewOrleans. This refusal would have satisfied any other person, butHorace Awtry was not a man to yield so easily; he, therefore, followedher to New Orleans on her return, and endeavored, by every means inhis power, to supplant Alfred Wentworth in the affections of EvaSeymour--Mrs. Wentworth's maiden name--and in the confidence of herfather. Failing in this, and having the mortification of seeing themmarried, he set to work and succeeded in ruining Mr. Seymour inbusiness, which accounts for the moderate circumstances in which wefind Mrs. Wentworth and her husband at the commencement of this book. Worn out by his failure in business and loss of fortune, Mr. Seymourdied shortly after his daughter's marriage, without knowing who causedhis misfortunes, and Horace Awtry returned to the North. After beingabsent for several years, he came back to New Orleans some monthsbefore the departure of Mrs. Wentworth's husband, but never calledupon her until after he had left, when she was surprised at the visitnarrated in the foregoing chapter. 

This gentleman was seated in the portico of the St. Charles Hotel afew mornings after his visit to Mrs. Wentworth, and by his movementsof impatience was evidently awaiting the arrival of some one. At lasta young man ran down the steps leading from the apartments, and herose hurriedly to meet him. 

"You are the very man I have been waiting to see, " said Horace Awtry;"you must excuse my apparent neglect in not calling on you before. "

"Certainly, my dear fellow, " replied the gentleman. "I am certain yourreasons are good for not attending to your arrangement punctually--bythe way, " he continued, "who the deuce was that lady I saw youescorting to church last Sunday?"

"An acquaintance of mine that I had not seen for years, until a fewdays ago chance threw me in her path and I paid her a visit. "

"Ha, ha, ha, " laughed his companion. "I understand; but who is she, and her name? She is very pretty, " he continued, gravely. 

"Hush, Charlie!" replied Horace; "come to my room in the St. LouisHotel, and I will tell you all about it. "

"Wait a moment, my friend, and let me get some breakfast, " he replied. 

"Pooh!" said Horace, "we can have breakfast at Galpin's after I haveconversed with you at my room; or, " he continued, "I will order abreakfast and champagne to be brought up to my room. "

"As you like, " said the other, taking a couple of cigars from hispocket and offering one to his companion. 

After lighting their cigars, the two men left the hotel, andpurchasing the New York _Herald_ and _News_ from the news-dealerbelow, proceeded to the St. Louis Hotel, where Horace ordered abreakfast and champagne for himself and guest. 

Throwing himself on one of the richly-covered couches that ornamentedthe apartment, Charles Bell--for that was the name of thegentleman--requested his friend to inform him who the lady was that heescorted to church. 

"Well, my dear friend, " said Horace, "as you appear so desirous toknow I will tell you. I met that lady some seven years ago at SaratogaSprings. If she is now beautiful she was ten times so then, and Iendeavored to gain her affections. She was, however, engaged toanother young man of this city, and on my offering her my hand inmarriage, declined it on that ground. I followed her here with theintention of supplanting her lover in her affections, but it was of noavail; they were married, and the only satisfaction I could find wasto ruin her father, which I did, and he died shortly after without adollar to his name. "

"So she is married?" interrupted his companion. 

"Yes, and has two children, " replied Horace. 

"Where is her husband?"

"He left for Virginia some time ago, where I sincerely trust he willget a bullet through his heart, " was the very charitable rejoinder. 

"What! do you desire to marry his widow?" asked his friend. 

"No, indeed, " he replied; "but you see they are not in very goodcircumstances, and if he were once dead she would be compelled to workfor a living, as they have no relatives in this State, and only a fewin Baltimore. To gain my object, I should pretend that I desired tobefriend her--send the two children to some nurse, and then have herall to myself. This, " continued the villain, "is the object with whichI have called upon her"--

"And paid a visit to church for the first time in your life, " saidBell, laughing; "but, " he resumed, "it is not necessary for you towish the husband dead--why not proceed to work at once?"

"Well, so I would, but she is so very particular, that on theslightest suspicion she would take the alarm and communicate to herhusband the fact of my having renewed my acquaintance with her, whichwould, perhaps, bring him home on furlough. "

"Nonsense, " replied his friend, "the secessionists need every man toassist them in driving back McDowell, and there is no chance of anyfurloughs being granted; besides which, we are on the eve of a greatbattle, and for any of the men to ask for a furlough would lay himopen to the charge of cowardice. "

"That may be all true, " said Horace, "but I shall not venture onanything more as yet. As far as I have gone, she believes me actuatedby no other motives than the remembrance of my former affection forher, and, with that belief, places implicit trust in me. "

The conversation was here interrupted by the appearance of twowaiters, one carrying a waiter filled with different descriptions offood, and the other a small basket containing six bottles ofchampagne. After setting them on a table, Horace inquired what thecharges were. 

"Twelve dollars, sah, " was the reply. 

Horace took out his pocket book, and throwing the man a twenty dollargold piece, told him to pay for the breakfast and champagne, andpurchase cigars with the remainder. 

The negroes having left, Horace Awtry and his friend proceeded todiscuss their breakfast and champagne. After eating for a few minutesin silence, Horace suddenly said:

"Charlie, what do you think of this war?"

"My opinion is, that the South has got in a pretty bad dilemma, "replied that gentleman. 

"That is identically my impression, but for heaven's sake do not letany one hear you say so. The people are half crazed with excitement, and the slightest word in favor of the North may lay you at the mercyof an infuriated mob. "

"What do you intend doing, now the ports are blockaded, and no one canleave the country?" asked his friend. 

"Why, remain here and pretend all the friendship possible for theSouth. Maybe I will get a contract or two, which will further thedesign of covering my opinions on this contest. "

"Such was my idea, but I am afraid that the secesh government willissue their cotton bonds until all the gold is driven from the States, and then we will have nothing but their worthless paper money, "replied Bell. 

"I have thought of that, and made up my mind to convert all theproperty I have here into gold at once, which will give me betweensixty and seventy thousand dollars, and as fast as I make any of thebonds from contracts, I will sell them for whatever gold they willbring. "

"That's a capital idea, my dear follow, " said Bell, rising from hischair and slapping Awtry on the shoulder; "I think I shall follow yourplan. "

The cigars having been brought in, after a few minutes of unimportantconversation, Charles Bell left his friend, with the arrangement tomeet at the Varieties theatre in the evening, and Horace Awtry, divesting himself of his clothing, retired to sleep until the eveningshould come. 

CHAPTER FOURTH. 

A POLITIC STROKE--THE TELEGRAPHIC DISPATCH. 

June and half of July had sped swiftly away. The great battle, whicheverybody daily expected, had been fought, and the Yankee armyignominiously defeated. As every one of our readers are wellacquainted with this battle, I shall not go into any details; enough;as history will tell, to know that it resulted in a glorious victoryto the Confederate army, and covered the gallant Southerners withhonor. 

On the arrival of dispatches giving an account of this victory, to usea vulgar phrase, New Orleans "ran wild. " The excitement and exultationof the people were beyond description, and during the same night thatthe news was received, one scene of gayety was observed in the city. There was one heart, however, that did not share the joy and merrimentso universal among the people. In the privacy of her dwelling, withher two children near by, Mrs. Wentworth spent a night of prayer andanxiety, and next morning rose from her bed with the same feeling ofanxiety to know whether her husband had escaped unhurt. At about teno'clock in the morning, a knock was heard at the door, and soon afterMr. Awtry entered. 

"How are you this morning, Mrs. Wentworth?" he said, taking her littledaughter in his arms and kissing her; "so we have gained a greatvictory in Virginia. "

"Yes, " she replied; "but I do feel so anxious to know if my husband issafe. "

"Do not think for a moment otherwise, " he answered; "why a soldier'swife should not show half as much solicitude as you do. "

"I am, indeed, very desirous of knowing his fate and I am sure thefact of being a soldier's wife does not prevent my feeling a desire toascertain if he is unhurt, or if he is"--she paused at the thoughtwhich seemed so horrid in her imagination, and lowering her face inher hands, burst into tears. 

"Mother, what are you crying for?" asked her little daughter, who wassitting on Mr. Awtry's knees. 

"My dear madam, " said Mr. Awtry, "why do you give way to tears? If youdesire, " he continued, "I will telegraph to Virginia and learn if yourhusband is safe. "

"Thank you--thank you!" she answered eagerly; "I shall feel deeplyobligated if you will. "

"I shall go down to the telegraph office at once, " he said, risingfrom his seat and placing the child down; "and now, my littledarling, " he continued, speaking to the child, "you must tell your manot to cry so much. " With these words he shook Mrs. Wentworth's handand left the house. 

The day passed wearily for Mrs. Wentworth; every hour she would openone of the windows leading to the street and look out, as if expectingto see Mr. Awtry with a telegraphic dispatch in his hand, and eachdisappointment she met with on these visits would only add to herintense anxiety. The shades of evening had overshadowed the earth, andMrs. Wentworth sat at the window of her dwelling waiting the arrivalof the news, which would either remove her fears or plunge her insorrow. Long hours passed, and she had almost despaired of Mr. Awtry'scoming that evening, when he walked up the street, and in a fewminutes was in the house. 

"What news?" gasped Mrs. Wentworth, starting from her seat and meetinghim at the door of the apartment. 

"Read it, my dear madam. I shall leave that pleasure to you, " hereplied, handing her a telegraphic dispatch he held in his hand. 

Taking the dispatch, Mrs. Wentworth, with trembling fingers, unfoldedit and read these words: "Mrs. Eva Wentworth, New Orleans, Louisiana:Yours received. I am safe. Alfred Wentworth. " As soon as she had readthe dispatch, her pent up anxiety for his safety was allayed, andthrowing herself on her knees before a couch, regardless of thepresence of Mr. Awtry, who stood looking on, Mrs. Wentworth pouredforth a prayer of thanks at the safety of her husband, while tears ofjoy trickled down her cheeks. 

"Allow me to congratulate you, Mrs. Wentworth, on the safety of yourhusband, " said Horace Awtry, after she had become sufficientlycomposed. "I assure you, " he continued, "I feel happy at the knowledgeof being the medium through which this welcome intelligence hasreached you. "

"You have, indeed, proved a friend, " she said, extending her hand, which he shook warmly, "and one that I feel I can trust. "

"Do not speak of it, " he answered; "it is only a natural act ofkindness towards one whom I desire to befriend. "

"And one I will never cease to forget. Oh! if you had but known how Ifelt during these past hours of agonizing suspense, you would not havethought lightly of your kind attention; and I am sure when I writeAlfred of it, he will not have words sufficient to express hisgratitude. "

"In my haste to impart the good news to you, " said Mr. Awtry, rising, "I almost forgot an engagement I made this evening. It is now gettinglate, and I must leave. Good evening. "

"Good evening, " she replied. "I trust you will call to see me soonagain. "

"With _your_ permission I will, " he answered, laying particularemphasis on the word "your. "

"Certainly, " she said. "I shall be most happy to see you at anytime. "

"I will call soon, then, " he replied. "Good night, " and he steppedfrom the threshold of the house. 

"Good night, " she said, closing the door. 

Horace Awtry stood for a moment near the house; then walking on hemuttered: "A politic stroke, that telegraphic dispatch. "

CHAPTER FIFTH. 

JACKSON, MISSISSIPPI--A HAPPY HOME. 

We will now change the scene of our story, and, using the license ofall writers, transport the reader to Jackson, the Capital of the greatState of Mississippi, and there introduce him or her to othercharacters who will bear a prominent part in this book. 

In the parlor of an elegant resident on Main street, a beautiful girlwas sitting with an open book in her hand. She was not, however, reading, as her bright blue eyes rested not on the pages, but weregazing at the half-opened door, as if expecting the arrival of someone. While she is thus musing, we will endeavour to give a descriptionof the fair maiden. Fancy a slight and elegant figure, richly dressedin a robe of _moire antique_, from under the folds of which thedaintiest little feet imaginable could be seen. Her features, thoughnot regularly carved, made her, at the name time, very beautiful, while her bright blue eyes and rich golden hair, braided smooth to herforehead, and ornamented with a jewelled tiara, then much worn, lentadditional charm to her appearance. Her hands were small, and asByron, we think, has it, was an undoubted mark of gentle birth. 

She remained in this reverie for some time, but was at last aroused bythe entrance, unannounced, of a handsome young man dressed in theuniform of a lieutenant, when she started up, and meeting him, said ina half-vexed, half-playful tone:

"Oh, Harry! why did you not come earlier? I have been waiting for yourarrival over an hour!"

"Excuse me, dearest, " he answered. "I was just on the point ofstarting from my office when I received a mass of orders fromregimental headquarters, which detained me until a few minutes ago. You must, therefore, " he continued, "excuse me for this once, and Ishall not offend again, " and as he spoke he parted the hair from herforehead and pressed a kiss upon her lips. 

"I forgive you for this time, " she answered, playfully tapping him onthe shoulder with her fan; "but the next offence I will not be solikely to excuse. "

"I will take good care not to offend again, then, " he laughingly said. 

The conversation continued for some time in this light way, whichlovers will sometimes indulge in, when, assuming a seriouscountenance, she spoke to him:

"When does your regiment leave for Virginia?"

"I hardly know, " he replied, "if it will go to Virginia at all. TheColonel informs me that it is likely the regiment will be sent toTennessee; so if it is sent there, I will be nearer than you thought. "

"What a horrid thing war is!" she said, without appearing to noticehis last remarks. 

"You are not inclined to show the white feather now, are you?" hesaid, laughing. 

Her bright blue eyes sparkled for a moment, as if repudiating thequestion; then lowering them she answered: "No, indeed. I would nothave a single one that I love remain at home while the Abolitionistsare invading our homes. "

"Spoken like a brave girl and a true Southern woman, " he replied, "andI shall remember your words when I go into battle. It will nerve andinspire me to fight with redoubled courage, when I recollect that I ambattling for you. " As he spoke he gazed at her with mingled pride andaffection, and for some minutes they remained gazing at each otherwith that affection which springs from

 "Two souls with but a single thought-- Two hearts that beat as one. "

Oh, Love! ye goddess of all that is blissful and elevating in man! Howthy devotees bow down to thy shrine and offer all that they possess topurchase but a smile from thee! And when you have cast your favors onsome happy mortal, and the pure feeling of affection becomes centeredon woman, the fairest flower from Eden, how should not mankind cherishthe gift you have bestowed upon him, and look upon it as the first andpriceless object on earth, and but second to one above in heaven!

The lovers remained in this silence, which spoke more than words couldhave done, until the entrance of a tall and venerable lookinggentleman of about fifty years of age. As soon as he entered, theyrose up together, the young lady addressing him as "father, " and theyoung man as "doctor. "

"How are you, Harry, my boy? give me a kiss, Em', " he said, in onebreath, as he shook the young man warmly by the hand and pressed aparental kiss on the brow of his daughter. "Pretty warm weather, this, " he continued, speaking to the young man; "it is almoststifling. "

"Suppose we step out on the balcony, pa, " said the young lady; "it ismuch cooler there. "

"Ha, ha, ha, " he laughed; "you had not found that out until I entered. However, " he went on, "do you both go out there. I am certain you willdo better without than with me. "

His daughter blushed, but made no reply, and the young man removingtwo chairs to the balcony, they both left the old gentleman, who, turning up the gas, proceeded to read his evening _Mississippian_. 

Dr. James Humphries was one of the oldest and most respectablecitizens of Jackson, and was looked upon with great esteem by all whoknew him. He had been a medical practitioner in that city from thetime it was nothing more than a little village, until railroadconnections had raised it to be a place of some consequence, and thecapital of the State. He had married when a young man, but of all hischildren, none remained but his daughter Emma, in gaining whom he losta much-loved wife, she having died in child-birth. 

At the time we write, Emma Humphries was betrothed to HenryShackleford, a young lawyer of fine ability, but who was, like many ofhis countrymen, a soldier in the service of his country, and beenelected first lieutenant of the "Mississippi Rifles. "

We will now leave them for the present, and in the next chapterintroduce the reader to two other characters. 

CHAPTER SIXTH

The Spectator and Extortioner. 

Mr. Jacob Swartz was sitting in the back room of his store on Mainstreet counting a heap of gold and silver coins which lay on a tablebefore him. He was a small, thin-bodied man, with little gray eyes, light hair and aquiline nose. He was of that nationality generallyknown in this country as "Dutch;" but having been there for overtwenty years, he had become naturalized, and was now a citizen of thechivalrous States of Mississippi, a fact of which he prided himselfconsiderably. 

Mr. Swartz was busily engaged counting his money, when a little boy, who seemed, from a similarity of features, to be his son appeared atthe door, and mentioned that Mr. Elder desired to see him. 

"Vot can he vant?" said Mr. Swartz. Then as if recollecting, hecontinued: "I suppose it is apout that little shtore he vants to rentme. Tell him to come in. "

The boy withdrew, and a few seconds after a tall and scrupulouslydressed gentleman, with his coat buttoned up to the throat, andwearing a broad rimmed hat, entered the room. This was Mr. JamesElder, a citizen of Jackson, but not a native of the State. He camefrom Kentucky several years before, and was a man with "Southernprinciples. " To do him justice, we will say that he was really truefriend to the South, which fact may have been not only from principle, but from his being a large slaveholder. He was also the possessor of aconsiderable amount of landed property and real estate, among whichwere several buildings in Jackson. . He was also looked upon by the_world_, as very charitable man, being always busy collecting moneyfrom the people in aid of some benevolent object, and occasionally hisname would appear in the newspapers, accompanied by a flatteringcompliment to his generosity, as the donor of a liberal amount ofmoney to some charitable institution or society. There were people, however, who said that the poor families, who hired a series oftenement buildings he possessed in the lower part of the city, werevery often hard pressed for their rent, and more than once turned outfor non-payment. These reports were considered as slanders, for beinga member, and one of the pillars of the Methodist Church, no one, fora moment, believed that he would be guilty of so unfeeling an action. 

On entering the room, Mr. James Elder made a stiff bow to Mr. Swartz, and declining the hand offered to him, as if it were contamination totouch the person of one of God's likeness, dusted a chair and sat downopposite his host. 

"Vell, Mr. Elder, have you decided whether I can get the shtore ornot? Tis place of mine is in very pad orter, and I tinks yours villshust suit me, " began Mr. Swartz, after a silence of about threeminutes. 

"Yes, Mr. Swartz, I think you can have the place, if you and I cancome to terms about the price of the rent, which must be payablealways in advance, " replied Mr. Elder. 

"I tont care, " answered Mr. Swartz. "I would as soon pay you inadvance as not. But vot price to you charge?"

"I charge fifty dollars per month, " was the short answer. 

"Vell, dat vill do; and I suppose you vill give me the shtore for vonyear certain?"

"I am not decided about that, " replied Mr. Elder, "as I do not like tobind myself for any given time; for, " he continued, "there is notelling what may be the worth of a store in six months. "

"I vould not take it unless I could get a lease by the year, " repliedMr. Swartz; "for the fact is, I have made a large contract with thegovernment, and vill have to extend by pisness. "

Mr. Elder remained thoughtful for a few moments; then he replied: "Asyou wont take it unless I give a lease for twelve months, I will do soon one condition: that on your failure to pay the rent monthly inadvance, you forfeit the lease, and I am at liberty to demand yourremoval without any notice. "

"Shust as you like, " he replied, "for I know te monish vill always peready in advance. "

"Well, I shall have the lease drawn out to-day and bring it to you tosign, " said Mr. Elder, rising and putting on his gloves. "Goodmorning; be here at three o'clock, as I shall call round at thathour, " and with those words he left the room, and the Dutchman resumedthe counting of his money. 

CHAPTER SEVENTH. 

THE HUSBAND A PRISONER--EXILE OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 

Months rolled on, during which time Mrs. Wentworth was cheered by manykind and affectionate letters from her husband, who had not been sicka day since his departure from home. One of the letters received fromhim stated that he had been detailed from his regiment to act as clerkin Brigadier General Floyd's adjutant general's office, his superiorintelligence fitting him admirably for such an office; and the nextletter from him was dated at Fort Donelson, whence General Floyd hadbeen ordered with his brigade. 

Fort Donelson fell. We need not record here the heroic defense andstubborn fighting of the Confederate forces, and their unfortunatecapture afterwards. These are matters of history, and should berecorded by the historian, and not the novelist. Sufficient to say, that in the last day's fight Alfred Wentworth, having received asevere wound in the arm, was marching to the rear, when an officer, dressed in the garb of a lieutenant, who was lying on the field, called faintly to him, and on his going up, he observed that thelieutenant's left leg was fearfully mangled by a fragment of shell, and was bleeding so profusely, that, unless medical aid was quicklyprocured, he would die. Forgetting his own wound, which was verypainful, he lifted the officer on his shoulder and bore him to thehospital, where his leg was immediately attended to, and his lifesaved. The severity of his own wound, and the length of time whichelapsed before any attention was paid to it, brought on a severefever, and on the escape of General Floyd, he was delirious and unableto accompany him. He was, therefore, sent to Chicago, and placed inthe same hospital with the lieutenant whose life he had saved. 

On their recovery, which was about the same time, LieutenantShackleford--for it was he--and Alfred Wentworth were both sent to"Camp Douglas, " the military prison near Chicago. 

On the receipt of the news in New Orleans, that Fort Donelson andnearly its entire garrison had surrendered, Mrs. Wentworth underwentanother long suspense of excitement and anxiety, which was, however, partially allayed by the intelligence that General Floyd and staff hadescaped. But as the weeks rolled on, and she received no letter fromher husband, the old fear that he may have been killed came over heragain, until relieved by seeing his name as being among the wounded atthe Chicago hospital in one of the city papers. 

In mentioning these hours of grief and suspense on the part of Mrs. Wentworth, it must not be understood that we are representing aweak-minded and cowardly woman. On the contrary, Mrs. Wentworth wouldhave rather heard that her husband was killed than one word spokenderogatory to his courage, and would never have consented to hisremaining at home, while so many of his countrymen were hurrying toprotect their country from invasion. Her suspense and grief at theintelligence of a battle in which her husband was engaged, were onlythe natural feeling of an affectionate wife. At that moment she was nolonger the patriot daughter of the South; she was the wife and mother, and none should blame her for her anxiety to know the fate of one somuch loved as her husband, and the father of her children. 

Soon after her husband was taken prisoner, Mrs. Wentworth observedthat Horace Awtry became more assiduous in his attentions to her. Every day he would call with presents for her children, and severaltimes small packages of bank-bills were found in the parlor, which, when presented to him, he would always disclaim being the owner of;and although Mrs. Wentworth truly believed that they had been leftthere by him, the kind and respectful tone he used to her, and theintense interest he appeared to take in the welfare of her children, were such that she never imagined, for a moment, he was using thismeans to cloak a vile and unmanly purpose. Once, and only once, wasshe made aware that the scandal tongues of her neighbors were beingused detrimental to her honor; and then the information was given byher slave Elsy, who overheard a conversation between two of herneighbors not at all complimentary to her, and which the faithfulnegress lost no time in repeating to her mistress, with the veryindignant remark that, "ef dem people nex' doh fancy dey can doanyting to take away your name, dey's much mistaken, as I will tellyou ebery ting dey say 'bout you, an' you will know what to do. " Mrs. Wentworth made no reply to the negro, but on the next visit of Mr. Awtry's, she candidly told him what had been said of her inconsequence of his visits. He appeared very much surprised, but toldher that such scandalous remarks, emanating as they did out of puremalice, should not be noticed, as all who were acquainted with herknew very well that her character and fair name were above suspicion. With that the subject was dropped, and he continued paying her hisvisits. 

New Orleans fell into the hands of the enemy, and the wholeConfederacy was convulsed, as if shaken by an earthquake. Noneanticipated such a thing, and its fall brought misery to thousands. The enemy had scarcely taken possession, than Horace Awtry and hisbosom friend, Charles Bell, went to the provost marshal's office andtook the oath of allegiance, after proving, entirely to thesatisfaction of the Yankees, that they were Northern, and had alwaysbeen Union men. Mr. Awtry immediately received a commission in theFederal army, and by his willingness to point out prominent"secession" men and women, soon ingratiated himself in the favor of"Beast Butler. "

No sooner had he gained the favor of Butler, than his attentions toMrs. Wentworth changed to that of unmanly presumption, and at last hehad the baseness to make proposals at once dishonorable to her as alady of virtue and position in society, and disgraceful to him as aman. These propositions were accompanied by a threat to have herturned out of the house and exiled from New Orleans. With a spiritworthy of a Southern woman, she indignantly spurned his base offersand ordered him never to place his feet across the threshold of herhouse, at the same time defying to do his worse. He left her, declaring that she should be turned out of the city, and a few daysafter, in proof of his threat, an order was presented to her, signedby General Butler, commanding her to leave the city. 

Her faithful slave, Elsy, shed bitter tears on hearing that her kindmistress would have to leave New Orleans, and declared that she wouldnot remain in the city, but would follow her. 

"But they will not let you go with me, Elsy, " said Mrs. Wentworth. "You are free now, they say, to do as you like--you are no longerbelonging to me. "

"I ain't a gwine to stay here, missis, " replied the negro, "for anymoney in dis world, and if dey wont let me go out wid you, I will comearter you by myself. "

"Well, Elsy, " said Mrs. Wentworth, "I do not force you to leave NewOrleans, but should you get out, come to me at Jackson. You are a goodgirl, and I shall not forget your fidelity. "

"I'll be dere, shure, " said the negro, quite pleased at the permissionto follow her mistress if she could. 

Mrs. Wentworth immediately set to work packing up a few necessaries, and with the small amount of money she had left awaited the nextmorning, when she would start for Pass Manchac. 

On the following morning she proceeded to the boat, amid the cries andlamentations of the faithful Elsy, and with throbbing heart and manysighs gazed on her loved city until it had receded from her view. 

On arriving at the "Pass" she was about to step from the boat, when ahand was laid upon her shoulder, and looking round she observed Mr. Awtry, dressed in the full uniform of a Yankee captain, standing byher. 

"Are you determined to leave home, " he said, "and all its pleasures;and starve in the rebel lines? Why not accept my offer and lead a lifeof ease and affluence. Your husband shall never know of ourconnection, and thus you will be spared many a weary day and nightworking for bread to feed your children. "

She looked at him for a moment with all that withering scorn andindignation which outraged virtue and innocence can assume, and thensaid: "Leave me! Go to the land from whence you came and make suchoffers to the women there, but remember now you are speaking to aSouthern woman. "

"But think a moment, and--" he began. 

"Leave me this instant, " she said excitedly, "or I shall call otherswith more the heart of men than you to my assistance. Accept youroffer?" she continued with all the scorn she could use. "Accept suchan offer from a _Yankee_! Go, I would despise and hate were you nottoo despicable for either feeling of enmity. "

Several persons approaching at that moment, he moved away hurriedlyafter hissing in her ear: "Take your choice. In either one way or theother I am revenged on you for the way you rejected my addresses inpast years. "

She landed on the shore, and a few minutes after the boat moved backon its way to New Orleans, when taking her small trunk in her handsthe soldier's wife, with her two children, started on their long andlively march. For where? She knew not. There she was, an utterstranger with two tender children, far from her home, and with onlytwo hundred dollars in money. Where could she go to for support. Herhusband was in a foreign prison, and she a wanderer in a strangeState. Her heart sank within her, and the soldier's wife wept. Aye, wept! Not tears of regret at what she had sacrificed, but tears ofloneliness. Who would not weep if they were parted from those theylove, and were cast in a strange land without a friend, and withscarcely any means?

We leave the soldier's wife for a brief while, and transport thereader to her husband. Her trials have commenced--God help her!

CHAPTER EIGHTH. 

THE PRISONERS--THE HUSBAND AND THE LOVER. 

We stated that on the recovery of Alfred Wentworth and LieutenantShackleford from their wounds, both were sent to Camp Douglastogether, and as Alfred had no regiment of his own captured, thelieutenant promptly requested him to become one of his mess. Thegenerous courage exhibited by Alfred Wentworth, and the fact that butfor his chivalric attention, he should have died on the bloody fieldof Fort Donelson, had created a feeling of gratitude in LieutenantShackleford for his preserver, which, on closer acquaintance, hadripened into a warm friendship, and he soon made Alfred acquaintedwith the fact of his betrothal to Emma Humphries, and Alfred in turnwould speak of his wife and children in such tones of affection asonly those who love can use. They would sit down for hours andconverse on the loved ones at home, thus wiling away the sad andlonely hours of a prison life, until the news was received in Chicagoof the fall of New Orleans. Although he bitterly regretted his nativecity having fallen into the hands of the enemy, the opportunity whichit presented of once more being able to correspond with his wife, madehim feel happier, and as soon as mail communication was received withthe city, he requested and obtained permission to write her. 

Alfred Wentworth had not the slightest idea that Horace Awtry wouldever dare to offend his wife, much less to offer infamous proposals, and on their being refused have her driven from the home he had placedher in. It is true that his wife had written to him that Mr. Awtry hadrenewed his acquaintance with her, but her statements of his kindattention to her and the children, and her mentioning the eager mannerin which he had relieved her anxiety after the battle of the 21st ofJuly, 1861, instead of raising any suspicion on his part of thehonesty and purity of his motives, only made him return thanks in hisheart for the previous kindness shown to his wife. 

On obtaining permission to write her, he immediately penned a long andaffectionate letter which was forwarded. For many days after heremained in a long suspense for the expected answer, as he neverbelieved for a moment that she would delay answering him, but as daysrolled into weeks, and no letter came, while the other prisoners fromNew Orleans received letters regularly, he became alarmed, and spokehis fears to Shackleford. 

"Do not be afraid of any harm having occurred to her, Alf, " said thelieutenant, after listening attentively to his friend's words. "Youmay depend that your letter never reached her, and she, in ignorancewhether you escaped unhurt from the engagement, cannot write, notknowing where you are. "

"It is not her silence which troubles me as much as the knowledge thatshe possess no other money than Confederate notes, " replied Alfred. "How she will manage to support herself and the children God onlyknows. "

"Have you not friends there?" enquired Harry. 

"Yes, but I cannot depend on them for assistance, for two reasons:first, because from the disordered state of the money market in NewOrleans, they are almost as badly off as she is; and second, I amquite certain that Eva would rather starve than ask for charity. "

"Charity!", echoed his companion. "Do you call it charity to assistanother situated as your wife is, particularly where her husband isfar from her fighting for his country?"

"You do not know the people of New Orleans, " replied Alfred. "Nomatter how kindly a favor may be bestowed on them, it is stillconsidered charity, and though dire necessity may induce them toaccept aid if proffered, the knowledge that they were eating the breadof charity, would embitter each mouthful. "

"Pooh, pooh, " said his friend, "all these fine notions would do verywell before the war, but at the present time the least we think ofthem the better. "

"It is all very well for you to speak that way, " answered Alfred, "foryou have no wife and children to cause uneasiness, but I cannot beotherwise than anxious to know what has become of her, that I receiveno letters, while other prisoners have had theirs regularly by mail. "

"An unfortunate fact, which you may depend has been caused by no otherreason than the neglect of the Yankee officers to forward yourletters, " said Harry, then continuing: "Come, cheer up, and throwaside your dullness. Another battle like that of Shiloh, will give theSouth as many Yankee prisoners as they have of us, and then ho! forhome and the "Sunny South!" As soon as we return, I will take you toJackson, and then you can write your wife to come out, and she canlive with my mother, if you are not too proud to accept myhospitality. "

"Thank you, " he replied, "but I must first wait until we areexchanged, and God knows when that will be. "

"Why, man, I tell you there is no doubt of our whipping the Yanks andcapturing a lot of them in the next battle; then adieu to CampDouglas, and hurrah for the Confederacy once more!" replied Harry, taking his companion by the arm, and dragging him to their tent wheredinner had been placed in readiness for them. 

CHAPTER NINTH. 

ROOM TO RENT. 

We must now return to my heroine, who, with her two children, we leftslowly travelling toward Jackson, Mississippi. On arriving atPonchatula, she took the cars on the New Orleans, Jackson and GreatNorthern Railroad, and in a few hours was in Jackson. On arrivingthere she proceeded to the Bowman House, and purchasing a newspapereagerly scanned the columns to find an advertisement of rooms to rent, knowing full well that, with her limited means, she would never beable to remain at the hotel, or live at a boarding house. 

After looking for some time, without finding the desiredadvertisement, her eye at last lit upon the following notice under theheading of "To rent:"

 "TO RENT, "Unfurnished rooms in the one-story tenement buildings on ---- street. For particulars, apply to the undersigned at his office on Main street, near the State House. 

 JAMIE ELDER. "

After reading it she folded the paper, and remained musing for severalminutes, when rising up she went to her children, and, kissing them, told them she was going out for a few minutes, and to play like goodchildren until her return. She then left the hotel, and, after somelittle trouble, at last found out the office of Mr. Elder, which sheentered. 

"Is Mr. Elder in?" she inquired of a clerk. 

"Yes, madam, " he replied. 

"Can I see him?" she asked. 

He gave her no answer, but going to an adjoining door, half opened it, and announced, in a loud voice, that a lady desired to see Mr. Elder. 

"Admit her, " was the reply of that gentleman. 

Mrs. Wentworth passed the desk, and, entering the room from whence thevoice proceeded, found herself in the presence of Mr. Elder, who wasseated in an arm chair reading a newspaper. 

"Be seated, madam, " he said, rising and handing her a chair. "What canI have the honor of doing for you this morning?"

"This is your advertisement, I believe, " she replied, handing him thenewspaper. 

"Yes, madam, " he answered, looking at her through his spectacles. 

"Well, sir, it is my desire to rent one of the rooms. "

"You, madam!" he replied, evidently surprised at her question. 

"Yes, sir, " she replied; "I am a refugee from New Orleans, having beendriven from there by General Butler. My husband is now a prisoner ofwar in the hands of the enemy, and my means being limited, I amcompelled to live economically. "

"Ahem, ahem, " said Mr. Elder, clearing his throat; "indeed, madam, Isympathise with you. This war has cast many people homeless and inneed throughout the country. I sympathize with you, _indeed_ I do, "and he looked on her in the most benevolent manner possible. 

"Well, sir, what is the price charged for the rent of one of yourrooms?" asked Mrs. Wentworth after a few moments' silence. 

"Well, ah--well, ah--you see, my dear madam, the price of everythinghas gone up immensely, " he replied. 

"And what do you charge for the room?" she asked. 

"Well, ah, I think sixteen dollars per month as cheap as I couldpossible rent it, " he answered finally. 

"I will take it, then, by the month, " she answered, rising, "and willgo into possession to-day. "

"Well, ah, my dear madam, it is a rule I have always made, only torent my houses for the money, paid in advance--not that I have the_least_ apprehension of your inability to pay me, but you see it neverdoes any good to deviate from fixed rules. "

"I am perfectly filling to pay you in advance, " she replied, takingher port-moni� from her pocket and handing him the advance pay for onemonth's rent. 

Calling a clerk, Mr. Elder handed him the money, and ordered a receiptto be made out; then turning to Mrs. Wentworth, he said:

"There is another thing, I desire to have you understand, madam, andagree to. The fall of New Orleans has occasioned the inflation of allkinds of real estate in price, and this, added to the rapid manner inwhich Confederate notes are depreciating in value, may compel me toraise the price of rent. I would, therefore, like you to agree, thatin no way am I bound for any time longer than the month you have paidfor, to take the present price; and another thing I desire is, thatyou agree not to take advantage of the stay law, in the event ofnon-payment, or refusal to pay any additional price I may charge. Inmaking these conditions, madam, " he continued, "I must not beunderstood to say that the contingencies mentioned are at all likelyto occur, as I trust and hope they will not; but at the same time, Ionly desire to avoid all deviation from my usual course of doingbusiness. "

"Any terms you may desire I will agree to, " she replied in an absentmanner, "as I wish to remove from the hotel, the charges there beingabove my means. "

"Very well, madam, very well, " he responded. 

After the clerk had brought the receipt for the months rent, Mr. Elderrose from his chair, and, requesting Mrs. Wentworth to remain seatedfor a few minutes, left the apartment. He shortly after returned witha printed document in his hand, which he requested her to sign. Without reading the paper, she obeyed his request, and, receiving thekey of the room she had just rented, requested that Mr. Elder wouldhave her shown where it was situated. Calling a negro boy, who waslounging at the door, he directed him to accompany Mrs. Wentworth to---- street and show her the rooms. With that he made a low bow, andshe left following the boy. 

"Humph!" said Mr. Elder, half aloud, as soon as she had left. "I donot care much about hiring my rooms to such tenants. Refugees arecertainly becoming as thick as locusts in the State, and are nearlyall as poor as Job. However, I have made myself secure against anyexcuse for pay on the ground of poverty, by the paper she signed, " andwith these reflections, that worthy gentleman re-entered his room, andwas soon deeply interested in his newspaper. 

CHAPTER TENTH. 

THE NEW HOME. 

Mrs. Wentworth followed the boy till he arrived in front of series ofwretched looking rooms, situated on one of the miserable lanes withwhich Jackson abounds. Stopping in front of one of them, he pointed toit, and with no other words than "Dem is de room, ma'm, " walked off. Taking the key, which Mr. Elder had previously given her, she openedthe door and entered. 

Mrs. Wentworth's heart sank within her as she viewed the wretchedlooking apartment. The interior of the room was exceedingly dirty, while the faded paper, which once gaudily adorned it, now hung inshreds from the walls. The fireplace was broken up, and disgustingwords were written in every part of the room. It had been, in fact, the lodging of a woman of dissolute character, who had been accustomedto gather a crowd of debauched characters in her apartment nightly, but who, from a failure to pay her rent, had been turned out by Mr. Elder. The other apartments were still occupied by abandoned women;but of this fact Mrs. Wentworth was not aware. 

As she looked at the room a feeling of indescribable sadness creptover her, and a sigh of bitterness burst from her throbbing bosom. Itwas, however, not to be helped; she had already paid the rent, and wascompelled to keep it for the month. Sadly she left the room, andlocking it after her, repaired to a store to purchase a few necessaryarticles of furniture. 

On entering a store, the first person she saw was Mr. Swartz, who had, by this time, risen from the lowly position of a grocer to that of a"General wholesale and retail merchant, " as the sign over his doorvery pompously announced. 

Mr. Swartz remained on his seat at her entrance, barely raising hiseyes to sec who had entered. She stood for a few moments, when, seeingthat no one appeared to notice her presence, she walked up to him andinformed him that she wished to purchase a few pieces of furniture. 

"Vot kind do you vant?" he inquired, without moving from his seat. 

"A small bedstead, three or four chairs, a table and a washstand, " sheanswered. 

"Look at them and see vich you like te best, " he said, "and I villtell you te brice. "

After a little search, Mrs. Wentworth selected the plainest and mosthomely she could find of all the articles she desired, and, turning tohim, inquired what the price would be. 

"Te pedstead is forty tollars; te chairs is three tollars apiece; tetaple is twenty tollars; and to washstand is fourteen, " he replied. 

"And how much will that amount to, altogether?" she asked. 

"Eighty-six tollars, " he responded. 

"Can you take no less, sir?" she asked. 

"No, ma'am, " he answered. "I have put one brice, and if you don't vantto pay it you can leave it. "

Taking out the desired amount, she paid him without making any furtherremark, and requested that they would be sent after her. Calling adrayman, Mr. Swartz told him to follow her with the furniture, and hereturned to his seat, satisfied with having made sixty dollars on theeighty-six, received from Mrs. Wentworth, the furniture having beenbought at sheriff's sale for a mere trifle. 

Having purchased a few other household utensils, Mrs. Wentworthproceeded to the Bowman House, from which, after paying her bill, sheremoved her children, and, followed by the dray with her furniture, proceeded to the wretched hovel site had rented. Her stock of moneyhad now been reduced to less than sixty dollars, and with this sheembarked upon the world with two tender children. 

After paying the drayman, who was a kind-hearted negro, and gettinghim to erect the bedstead, he departed, and a feeling of desolationand loneliness spread its dark shadows over the heart of Mrs. Wentworth. Seating herself on a chair, with her two children clingingto her knees, the long pent up fountain of grief burst forth, andtears bedewed the cheeks of the Soldier's Wife; tears, such as onlythose who have felt the change of fortune, can shed; tears, which, like the last despairing cry of the desolate, can only be answered inheaven!

CHAPTER ELEVENTH. 

THE ATTEMPTED ESCAPE. 

We must now return to Alfred, whom we left in a disconsolate mood atCamp Douglas, with his friend trying to cheer his spirits. But hecould think of nothing else but his absent wife, until at last hedetermined to attempt an escape. The idea once in his mind could notbe dismissed. He, therefore, informed Harry of his intention, andasked if he thought it feasible, or likely to result in success. 

"So far as the feasibility of the attempt is concerned, " observedHarry, as soon as Alfred had concluded, "I think it could beattempted. But about the result, you will have to trust to luck. "

"I am aware of that, " he replied. "But I do not know how the attemptcan possibly be made. The camp is so well guarded, that an attempt toescape is almost hopeless of success. "

"Pshaw! If you are determined to go, I see nothing to prevent yourmaking the attempt. If it even fails, the most that will be done toyou by the Federals is closer confinement. "

"I do not care much about that risk, " he replied. "My desire is toform some plan of escape. Can you devise one by which I can get away?"

"That is a difficult task, " said Harry. "But as we are of the samedesire, I suppose something must be done. What do you say aboutdigging a tunnel, and escaping by that route?"

"That is a very good idea; but it will take too long, " replied Alfred. "Besides which, what are we to do with the dirt that is dug up?"

"I never thought of that, " he answered. "But now that you havereminded me of it, I do not believe the plan will suit. Some othermust be devised, but what it is to be, I cannot, for the life of me, imagine. "

"What do you say to scaling the walls?" asked Alfred. 

"A very good idea it would be, if we had anything to scale them with, "he replied. 

"Suppose we tear up our blankets and make a rope of them. "

"How will you attach the rope to the wall?" asked Harry. 

"We can easily get a hook of wire and throw it over. It will becertain to catch, " he replied. 

"Very likely, " observed Harry, drily, "and make such confounded noise, that the first thing we heard after, it would be a Minie ballwhistling past our ears; or should it catch without making any noise, the chances are that, when one of us ascends, it will be to meet theburly form of some Dutch sentinel traversing the walk. The idea is notfeasible; so we must think of something else. "

"I do not know what to think, " replied Alfred; "and the probabilityis, that if I even did, you would find some objection to itsperformance. "

"That is true, " answered Harry, laughing, "and I accept the reproachin the spirit it is given. It will never do for us to be raisingobjections to every plan offered, for that will not hasten ourescape. "

"Then think of something else, and I will acquiesce, no matter howextravagant it may be, " said Alfred. "I am tired of this cursedprison, and intend to get away by some means or other. "

"It is all very good to talk about getting away, " said Harry. "For thematter of that, I am as anxious to leave as you are, but in the nameof wonder, how are we going to manage it?"

"That is the very thing I desire to consult you about. We certainlywill never escape, unless we make the attempt; but in what manner weare to attempt it, is exactly what I desire to know. "

"What do you say to bribing one of the sentinels?" asked Harry. 

"Where will we get the means from?" inquired Alfred. "I have someConfederate Treasury notes, but they will not be any temptation to aYankee. "

"Leave me to find the means, " replied Harry. "I have a fine goldwatch, and about seventy dollars in gold. These will be sufficient, Ithink, to attempt the cupidity of any Dutchman in the Yankee army. "

"And how do you propose offering the bribe?" Alfred inquired. 

"I shall look out for the first chance to speak to the sentinel at thegate, some time during the day, and will make the necessarypreparations to escape to-night, if the Yankee will accept my offer. "

"That will do very well, " observed Alfred, "There is one thing, however, I must remind you of. It will not do to offer the sentinelall your gold, for we will require money to pay our way intoTennessee. "

"Do you never fear that, " replied Harry. "I will be certain to reserveenough funds for our expenses. It does not cost much at any time totravel through these Northern States. "

"Well, I trust to you to make all the necessary arrangements, " repliedAlfred. "I am determined not to remain in this place, with my mind sodisturbed about my wife and children. If I can only reach theConfederate lines safely, I will have no difficulty in hearing fromNew Orleans. "

"I will make every effort to facilitate an escape, " remarked Harry;"and if my penetrating qualities do not deceive me, there is asentinel at the gate to-day, who would not be averse to taking abribe, even if it permits a "rebel" to escape. Cheer up, my friend, "he continued. "I will guarantee that your wife and children are allwell and happy, except a natural anxiety on your account. "

Alfred made no reply, and the two friends shortly after separated. 

Harry kept an assiduous watch for an opportunity to speak with thesentinel. The time for the man to remain on guard expired, however, without any favorable chance presenting itself. He was, therefore, compelled to wait until the evening, when the same sentinel would beagain on guard, before he could attempt to bribe him. At four o'clockhe was posted, and after some hesitation, Harry determined to addresshim. Walking up as soon as he perceived no one near the man, he calledout to him. 

"Vot to deuce do you vant? you rebel, " asked the sentinel in a broadDutch accent. 

"Will you let me come a little nearer?" Harry inquired, perceivingthat the distance between the guard and himself too great for aconversation. 

"Vot do you vant to come a leetle nearer for?" asked the sentinel. 

"I want to talk to you, " he replied, making a motion of his hand toindicate that he wished to converse in secret. 

The sentinel, looking carefully around to be certain that no one wasnear at hand who could perceive him, beckoned to Harry to approach. The young man went forward cautiously, as the numerous sentinelsaround the wall were likely to perceive him, and would not hesitate tofire if they imagined he was about to attempt an escape. As soon as hereached the sentinel, he made known his wishes, and ended by offeringthe man his watch and forty dollars in gold if he would permit himselfand his friend to pass the gate at night. At the same time he promisedthe man he would take all the responsibility in the event of detectionor re-capture. 

The sentinel listened attentively, and at first appeared unwilling toreceive the bribe, but upon Harry representing to him that there wasno chance of his agency in the escape being discovered, he finallyconsented to receive it. It was, therefore, arranged between them, that at twelve o'clock that night the two prisoners should start. Thesignal was to be a faint whistle, which would ultimate to the guardthat they were there, if it was answered they should advance, but ifnot they should return, as his silence would either indicate that hewas not alone, or that he was not on his post. Everything having beenamicably arranged between them, Harry promised to pay the bribe assoon as they had reached the gate. This the fellow demurred to atfirst, but as Harry was determined, not to pay over the watch andforty dollars, until the hour of their departure, he was compelled toassent. 

On Harry's return to his tent, he found Alfred reading a Yankeepictorial newspaper. 

"Well, " he remarked, looking up from his paper as soon as Harryentered. 

"Everything progresses finely, " replied Harry. 

"Have you been able to speak to the sentinel?" he asked. 

"I have seen him, and made all the necessary arrangements, " Harryreplied. 

"And when will we leave, " Alfred asked. 

"To-night at twelve is the time fixed between us, " he replied. "Thefellow appeared unwilling at first, but a little persuasion with asight at the watch and money, was too much for his nature, and heyielded to my wishes. "

"Then everything goes on well, if the fellow does not play us false, "Alfred remarked. 

"That is a risk we are bound to run, " replied Harry. "I think thefellow means to be honest, if a man can be honest who agrees to allowa prisoner to escape, who is placed under his charge. "

"Did you inform him there were two of us who desired to leave, " askedAlfred. 

"Yes, " was the reply; "I would never have bothered to escape and runthe risk of re-capture and harsh treatment, did not you desire toleave this place, and the trip could as well be made with you asotherwise. "

Alfred pressed his friend's hand warmly, as he replied. "Thank you, Harry, I trust I will be able to return the kindness you have shownme, at some future and more favorable time. "

"Poh, poh!" he replied. "Don't speak of it. The kindness has been paidfor long ago, " pointing to his wound as he spoke. 

"I expect we may as well make preparations to leave, " remarked Alfred, after a moment's pause. 

"Preparations!" echoed his friend, "What in the name of all that isglorious, do you require any preparations for?" and then, he addeddryly, "there is one thing certain, my trunk (?) is already packed, although I don't know if yours is. "

"A truce to joking about trunks, " replied Alfred, "but seriously youmust be aware that we cannot leave here without being dressed incitizens clothes. "

"The thunder!" exclaimed Harry, "are you going to raise any moreobjections?"

"No, " he replied, "but it is absolutely necessary that we shall beapparelled in different clothes to those of a soldier. "

"I think we can get a couple of suits to borrow from the officers, buthow I will get them, without their knowing our intention to escape, isa matter of much difficulty. If they should once know it, the wholecrowd will desire to leave with us. "

"That would be unreasonable on their part, " replied Alfred. "They mustbe aware that every man cannot get away at the same time, and todesire or attempt such a thing would be to ensure the re-capture ofevery man. "

"Well, I will start now on the borrowing expedition, and by somesubterfuge, be saved the necessity of informing any person of ourintention. "

Having moved off as he spoke, and proceeding to the tent of a brotherofficer, succeeded in borrowing a citizens' coat and pants withoutexciting any suspicion of his intended escape. At the next place hewent to, a few remarks were made, but upon his informing the Captainto whom he applied, that he desired to have his uniform renovated, andhad no change of clothing while that was being done. The citizens'clothes were cordially loaned, and he returned to Alfred with a joyousheart. 

"What luck have you had?" enquired Alfred as soon as he returned. 

"See for yourself, " was the reply of Harry, as he threw down the coatsand pants. 

"Then everything needed is procured, " he observed. 

"Yes, " replied Harry. "We must now mix with the other prisoners, as ifnothing was transpiring in our minds, like an attempt to escape. Itwill be no use keeping away from them, as it is likely to excitesuspicion. "

The two friends left the tent and proceeded to where a group ofprisoners were seated. Their appearance was greeted with cheers, asHarry was a universal favorite among both officers and men, on accountof his lively and genial temper, combined with a fine voice formusic--an accomplishment that with soldiers endears, and makes afavorite of any person possessing it. He was soon called upon for asong, and in accordance with the request commenced a song, and soonthe rich and clear voice of the young man rang out on the air of thesoft twilight. He sang of home, and as each word fell withdistinctness on the ears of the soldiers, who grouped around him, eachheart throbbed with emotion, and each mind wandered back to thedistant land, where, in the mansion, or in the little cottage, lovedones there dwelt, pining for those who were now prisoners in a foreigncountry. 

The hour of nine having arrived, the soldiers dispersed to theirrespective quarters, and soon after the command "lights out" wasuttered in stentorian notes. Long and anxiously the two friendsremained lying on their bunks in the tent, awaiting the hour oftwelve. Each moment seemed an hour to Alfred Wentworth, whose mind waswrought up to a pitch of excitement, almost unendurable. Several timeshe rose from his bed and paced the tent. At last the long wished forhour arrived. Harry who had been smoking all the night, looked at hiswatch by the faint light the fire of his segar emitted, and perceivedthat it was only five minutes for twelve. Crossing over to the bunk onwhich Alfred was lying, he whispered: "It is time. " Silently they puton the citizens clothes borrowed in the evening, and left the tent. The night had changed from the pleasant, starry evening to a black anddismal gloom. Heavy clouds covered the skies, giving every indicationof rain. The night was just such a one for an escape, and although thedarkness was so intense, that it was impossible for the eye topenetrate a distance of five paces, both felt that their chance ofescape was accelerated. 

"Give me your hand, " whispered Harry, as soon as they had left thetent. 

"Do you know the direct way to the gate, " asked Alfred, "Yes, " he replied, "cease speaking now and follow me. The leastwhisper may be heard, and then our attempt will be foiled. "

Grasping the hand of his friend, Alfred followed him, and they movedwith noiseless tread toward the gate. As soon as he descried the faintlight of the sentinel's lamp near him, Harry stopped, and stoopingdown gave a faint whistle. For some time no answer was returned. Thetwo friends remained in almost breathless suspense awaiting thesignal. At last it was returned, and moving forward, they reached thegate. 

"Here, " whispered Harry to the sentinel, as he handed him the watchand money. 

The man raised the little lantern near him, and looked at the bribe tosee that it was all right. "Pass on, " he said. 

As Harry and his friend passed the gate, the former perceived severalforms flit across the darkness, and a suspicion of treachery instantlyflashed through his mind. 

"We are betrayed, " he whispered to Alfred. 

"No matter, let us push boldly forward, " was the reply. 

They had not moved ten paces before the command "Halt" given. 

"Push on!" exclaimed Alfred, darting forward. 

The two friends moved on at a rapid run, when a volley of musketry wasfired at them. Harry escaped unhurt and continued running at the topof his speed, and not until he had gone a considerable distance, didhe discover that his friend was not with him. It was, however, toolate for him to turn back, and entering Chicago, he made his waythrough the city, and continued his journey. 

At the fire of the Federals, Alfred received four wounds; and sunkwithout a word to the ground. The enemy shortly after coming up foundhim insensible, and conveyed his inanimate body to the hospital. Hewas dangerously wounded, and the physicians declared there was butlittle hope of his recovery. 

Two weeks after this unfortunate occurrence, a cartel for the exchangeof prisoners was agreed upon between the Federal and Confederateauthorities, and the prisoners at Camp Douglas were transported toVicksburg. The doctors declared that Alfred was not in a state to beremoved, and was left at the hospital. His condition at that time wasvery precarious. One of the balls that had entered his body could notbe found, and the wound was kept open with the view to discoveringwhere it had lodged. His agony of mind at the failure of his attemptto escape had retarded his recovery in a great degree, and when theinformation came that the prisoners were about to be exchanged, and hewas declared unable to be removed, it added further to his detriment. A fever seized him, and for many days he remained on his bed, hoveringbetween life and death. 

CHAPTER TWELFTH. 

THE STARVING CHILDREN. 

Long weeks rolled on, and the small sum possessed by Mrs. Wentworth, had been entirely exhausted. She had, however, by sewing, contrived tosupply herself and children with food. It was the same old tale ofsleepless nights of toil. Often the grey streak which heralds themorning, would find her still pouring over her work, while her twochildren were sleeping on the bed in one corner of the room. At timesshe would cease her work, and think for long hours on the lovedhusband, now a prisoner in the hands of the Federals. In those hours, tears would course her cheeks, as the stern reality of her positionpresented itself; to know that he was absent, while she was leading alife of penury and toil. Still she struggled on. When at times despairrose up before her like a demon, and she felt herself about to succumbto it, the memory of her absent husband, and the sight of her lovedchildren, would nerve the soldier's wife to bear with fortitude themisery to which she had been reduced. 

And thus she toiled on, until the last source of support had vanished. The Quartermaster from whom she received work, having completed allthe clothing he required, had no further use for her services, and shethen saw nothing but a blank and dreary prospect, looming up beforeher. She had no means of purchasing food for her children. Piece bypiece her furniture was sold to supply their wants, until nothing wasleft in the room but a solitary bedstead. Starvation in its worst formstared her in the face, until at last she sold what clothing she hadbrought out from New Orleans. This relieved her necessities but ashort time, and then her last resource was gone. 

If her present was dark, the future seemed but one black cloud ofdespair. Hope, that _ignis fatuus_, which deceives so many on earth, left the soldier's wife, and she was indeed wretched. The bloomingwoman had become a haggard and care-worn mother. She had no thoughtfor herself. It was for her children alone she felt solicitous, andwhen the day arrived that saw her without the means of purchasingbread, her long filling cup of misery overflowed, and she wept. 

Yes, she wept. Wept as if her whole life had been changed in a moment, from one of joy and happiness, to that of sadness and misery. 

Her children in that dark hour clustered around her. _They_ could notcry. A fast of over twenty-four hours had dried all tears within them. They only wondered for awhile, until the sharp pangs of hungerreminded them of another and greater woe. They too had been changed. The bloom of youth had departed from their little cheeks, while in theeyes of the oldest an unnatural light burned. She was fast sinking tothe grave, but the mother knew it not. Knew not that her darling childhad contracted a disease, which would shortly take her to Heaven, forthe little Eva spoke no word of complaint. Young, as she was, she sawher mother's agony of soul, and though the little lips were parchedand dry, she told not her ailing. 

The tears continued to flow from Mrs. Wentworth, and still thechildren gazed on in wonderment. They knew not what they meant. 

"Mother, " at last said her little infant, "why do you cry?"

She took her on her knees. "Nothing, my darling, " she replied. 

"Then stop crying, " he said, pressing his little hand on Mrs. Wentworth's cheek. "It makes me feel bad. "

"I will stop crying, darling, " she replied, drying her tears andsmiling. 

Smiles are not always the reply of the heart. We have seen men smilewhoso whole life was a scene of misfortune, and yet this emblem ofhappiness has lit their features. It is outward show--a fruit, whosesurface presents a tempting appearance to the eye, but which isblasted and withered within. Smiles are often like the fruit calledthe _Guava_. It is a beautiful looking fruit which grows in the WestIndies, and to the taste is very luscious, but when examined through amicroscope, it presents the appearance of a moving mass of worms. Itsbeauty is deceptive, nothing but a wretched view presents itself, "Like dead sea fruit, that tempts the eye, And falls to ashes on the lips. "

The child saw her mother smile, and the little heart forgot itshunger, and for a moment beat with joy. The gleam of sunshine thatspread itself over him, did not last, for soon after the face of themother assumed the same sad and cheerless expression, it had worn formany weeks. The child saw it, and again felt his hunger. 

"Mother, " she said, "give me a piece of bread. "

"I will get some for you to-morrow, " she replied. "There is no breadin the house this evening. "

"I am _so_ hungry, " remarked the child. "Why is there no bread?"

"Mother has got no money to buy any, " she replied. 

The other child had remained quiet all the while. She still nestled toher mother's side and looked long and earnestly into her face. She wasnot thinking, for one of her years knew nothing of thought, butdivined that all was not right with her mother. 

"Eva, my child, " the mother said, speaking to her for the first time, "go to the grocer's, and ask him if he will let me have a loaf ofbread on credit. "

"I am so glad you have sent for bread, " exclaimed the infant on herknees, as he clapped his hand joyfully together. 

Eva left the room, and in a few minutes returned empty handed. 

"Has he refused to let you have it?" asked Mrs. Wentworth. 

"Yes, mother, " replied the child sadly. "He says he will not givecredit to anybody. "

"I thought as much, " Mrs. Wentworth remarked. 

"Then I won't get any bread?" asked the child on her knees. 

"No, my darling, " Mrs. Wentworth answered, "you must wait untilto-morrow. "

"I hav'nt eaten so long, mother, " he said. "Why aint you got anybread?"

"Because mother is poor and without any money, " she replied. 

"But I feel so hungry, " again the child remarked. 

"I know it, my sweet boy, " replied his mother, "but wait a littlelonger and I will give you something to eat. "

Her heart was wrung with agony at the complaint of the child and hiscall for bread; but she knew not how to evade his questions or toprocure food. The thought of asking charity had never once entered hermind, for those with whom she had daily intercourse, were too muchengaged in self-interest to make her hope that any appeal for helpwould touch their sordid hearts; and yet food must be had, but how sheknew not. Her promise to give her child food, on the next day, wasmade only to silence his call for bread. There was no prospect ofreceiving any money, and she could not see her children starve. Butone recourse was left. She must sell the bed--the last piece offurniture remaining in the room--no matter that in so doing herwretchedness increased instead of diminished. 

The child was not satisfied with her promise. The pangs he enduredwere too much for one of his age, and again he uttered his call forbread. 

"There is no bread, Willy, " said Eva, speaking for the first time. "Don't ask for any bread. It makes mamma sad. "

The child opened his large blue eyes enquiringly upon his sister. 

"My sweet, darling child, " exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, clasping thelittle Ella to her heart, and then bursting into tears at this proofof her child's fortitude, she continued: "Are you not hungry, too?"

"Yes, mother, " she replied, "but"--Here the little girl ceased tospeak as if desirous of sparing her mother pain. 

"But what?" asked Mrs. Wentworth. 

"Mother, " exclaimed the child, throwing her arms round her mother'sneck, and evading the question, "father will come back to us, and thenwe will not want bread. "

The word "father, " brought to Mrs. Wentworth's mind her absenthusband. She thought of the agony he would endure if he knew that hiswife and children were suffering for food. A swelling of her bosomtold of the emotion raging within her, and again the tears started toher eyes. 

"Come, my sweet boy, " she said, dashing away the tears, as they camelike dewdrops from her eyelids, and speaking to the infant on herknee, "it is time to go to bed. "

"Aint I to get some bread before I go to bed?" he asked. 

"There is none, darling, " she answered hastily. "Wait until to-morrowand you will get some. "

"But I am so hungry, " again repeated the child, and again a pang ofwretchedness shot through the mother's breast. 

"Never mind, " she observed, kissing him fondly, "if you love me, letme put you to bed like a good child. "

"I love you!" he said, looking up into her eyes with all that deeplove that instinct gives to children. 

She undressed and put him to bed, where the little Ella followed himsoon after. Mrs. Wentworth sat by the bedside until they had fallenasleep. 

"I love you, mother, but I am so hungry, " were the last words theinfant murmured as he closed his eyes in sleep, and in that slumberforgot his agonizing pangs for awhile. 

As soon as they were asleep, Mrs. Wentworth removed from the bedsideand seated herself at the window, which she opened. There she sat, looking at the clouds as they floated by, dark as her own prospectswere. The morning dawned and saw her still there. It was a beautifulmorning, but the warble of the bird in a tree near by, as he pouredforth his morning song, awoke no echo in the heart of the soldier'swife. All was cheerless within her. The brightness of the morning onlyacted like a gleam of light at the mouth of a cavern. It made thedarkness of her thoughts more dismal. 

CHAPTER THIRTEENTH. 

THE APPEAL FOR CREDIT

The first call of the little boy, when he awoke in the morning, wasfor bread. He was doubly hungry now. Thirty-six hours had passed sincehe had eaten the last mouthful of food that remained in the room. Mrs. Wentworth on that night of vigils, had determined to make an appealfor help to the man she had purchased the furniture from, on herarrival at Jackson, and in the event of his refusing to assist her, tosell the bed on which her children were wont to sleep. Thisdetermination had not been arrived at without a struggle in the heartof the soldier's wife. For the first time in her life she was about tosue for help from a stranger, and the blood rushed to her cheeks, asshe thought of the humiliation that poverty entails upon mortal. It istrue, she was not about to ask for charity, as her object was only toprocure credit for a small quantity of provisions to feed her childrenwith. The debt would be paid, she knew well enough, but still it wasasking a favor, and the idea of being obligated to a stranger, wasgalling to her proud and sensitive nature. 

"Mother, " exclaimed the child, as he rose from his bed, "it is morningnow; aint I going to get some bread?"

"Yes, " she replied, "I will go out to the shop directly and get yousome. "

About an hour afterwards she left the room, and bidding Ella to takecare Of her brother, while she was absent, bending her steps towardsthe store of Mr. Swartz. This gentleman had become, in a few shortweeks, possessed of three or four times the wealth he owned when wefirst introduced him to our readers. The spirit of speculation hadseized him among the vast number of the southern people, who weredrawn into its vortex, and created untold suffering among the poorerclasses of the people. The difference with Mr. Swartz and the greatmajority of southern speculators, was the depth to which he descendedfor the purpose of making money. No article of trade, however petty, that he thought himself able to make a few dollars by, was passedaside unnoticed, while he would sell from the paltry amount of a poundof flour to the largest quantity of merchandize required. Like allpersons who are suddenly elevated, from comparative dependence, towealth, he had become purse proud and ostentatious, as he was humbleand cringing before the war. In this display of the mushroom, could beeasily discovered the vulgar and uneducated favorite of friklefortune. Even these displays could have been overlooked and pardoned, had he shown any charity to the suffering poor. But his heart was ashard as the flinty rocks against which wash the billows of theAtlantic. The cry of hunger never reached the inside of his breast. Itwas guarded with a covering of iron, impenetrable to the voice ofmisery. 

And it was to this man that Mrs. Wentworth, in her hour of bitter needapplied. She entered his store and enquired of the clerk for Mr. Swartz. 

"You, will find him in that room, " he replied, pointing to a chamberin the rear of the store. 

Mrs. Wentworth entered the room, and found Mr. Swartz seated before adesk. The office, for it was his private office, was most elegantlyfurnished, and exhibited marks of the proprietor's wealth. 

Mr. Swartz elevated his brows with surprise, as he looked at thecare-worn expression and needy attire of the woman before him. 

"Vot can I do for you my coot voman, " he enquired, without evenextending the courtesy of offering her a seat. 

Mrs. Wentworth remained for a moment without replying. She wasembarrassed at the uncourteous reception Mr. Swartz gave her. She didnot recollect her altered outward appearance, but thought only of thefact that she was a lady. Her intention to appeal to him for credit, wavered for awhile, but the gaunt skeleton, WANT, rose up andheld her two children before her, and she determined to subdue pride, and ask the obligation. 

"I do not know if you recollect me, " she replied at last, and thenadded, "I am the lady who purchased a lot of furniture from you a fewweeks ago. "

"I do not remember, " Mr. Swartz observed, with a look of surprise. "But vot can I to for you dis morning?"

"I am a soldier's wife, " Mrs. Wentworth commenced hesitatingly. "Myhusband is now a prisoner in the North, and I am here, a refugee fromNew Orleans, with two small children. Until a short time ago I hadsucceeded in supporting my little family by working on soldiers'clothing, but the Quartermaster's department having ceased tomanufacture clothing, I have been for several days without work. " Hereshe paused. It pained her to continue. 

Mr. Swartz looked at her with surprise, and the idea came into hismind that she was an applicant for charity. 

"Vell, vot has dat got to do vid your pisness, " he observed in a coldtone of voice, determined that she should see no hope in his face. 

"This much, " she replied. "For over twenty-four hours my two littlechildren and myself have been without food, and I have not a dollar topurchase it. "

"I can't do anything for you, " Mr. Swartz said with a frown. 

"Dere is scarce a day but some peoples or anoder vants charity andI--"

"I do not come to ask for charity, " she interrupted hastily. "I haveonly come to ask you a favor. "

"Vat is it?" he enquired. 

"As I told you before, my children and myself are nearly starving, "she replied. "I have not the means of buying food at present, butthink it more than likely I will procure work in a few days. I havecalled to ask if you would give me credit for a few articles of fooduntil then, by which I will be able to sustain my family. "

"I thought it vas something like charity you vanted, " he observed, "but I cannot do vat you vish. It is te same ting every tay mit tesogers' families. Dey comes here and asks for charity and credit, shust as if a man vas made of monish. --Gootness gracious! I don'tpelieve dat te peoples who comes here every tay is as pad off as teyvish to appear. "

"You are mistaken, sir, " Mrs. Wentworth replied, "if you think I havecome here without being actually in want of the food, I ask you to letme have on credit. Necessity, and dire necessity alone, has promptedme to seek an obligation of you, and if you require it I am willing topay double the amount you charge, so that my poor children are savedfrom starvation. "

"I reckon you vill, " Mr. Swartz said, "but ven you vill pay ish tequestion. "

"I could not name any precise day to you, " answered Mrs. Wentworth. "Ican only promise that the debt will be paid. If I cannot even pay itmyself, as soon as my husband is exchanged he will pay whatever youcharge. "

"Dat ish a very doubtful vay of doing pisness, " he remarked. "I cannotdo as you ask. "

"Consider, sir, " she replied. "The amount I ask you to credit me foris but small, and even if you should not get paid (which I am certainyou will) the loss cannot be felt by a man of your wealth. "

"Dat makes no differenish. I can't give you credit. It ish against myrules, and if I proke tem for you I vill have to do so for everybody. "

Mrs. Wentworth's heart sank within her at the determined manner inwhich he expressed his refusal. Without replying she moved towards thedoor, and was about to leave the room when she thought of thebedstead, on the sale of which she now depended. He may loan money onit she thought, and she returned to the side of his desk. He looked upat her impatiently. 

"Vell, " he remarked, frowning as he uttered the single word. 

"As you won't give me credit, " said Mrs. Wentworth, "I thought you maybe willing to loan me some money if I gave a security for itspayment. "

"Vat kind of security?" he enquired. 

"I have, at my room, a bedstead I purchased from you some time ago, "she replied. "Will you lend a small sum of money on it?"

"No" he answered. "I am not a pawnbroker. "

"But you might accommodate a destitute mother, " remarked Mrs. Wentworth. "You have refused to give me credit, and now I ask you toloan me a small sum of money, for the payment of which I offersecurity. "

"I cannot do it, " he answered. "Ven I says a ting I means it. "

"Will you buy the bedstead then?" asked Mrs. Wentworth in despair. 

"Vat can I do mit it?" he enquired. 

"Why you can sell again, " replied Mrs. Wentworth. "It will always finda purchaser, particularly now that the price of everything hasincreased so largely. "

"Veil, I vill puy te pedstead, " he said, and then enquired: "How muchmonish do you vant for it?"

"What will you give me?" she asked. 

"I vill give you forty tollars for it, " he replied. 

"It must be worth more than that, " she remarked. "The price ofeverything is so increased that it appears to me as if the bedsteadshould command a higher price than that offered by you. "

"Shust as you like, my goot voman, " Mr. Swartz remarked, shrugging hisshoulders. "If you vant at mine price, all veil and goot; if not, youcan leave it alone. I only puy te piece of furniture to accommodateyou, and you should pe tankful. "

"I suppose I will be obliged to take your price, " replied Mrs. Wentworth, "although I believe I could get more for it, did I know anyone in town who purchased such things. "

He made no reply, but calling his clerk ordered him to bring fortydollars from the safe. The clerk having brought the money retired, andleft them alone again. 

"Vere is te pedstead?" asked Swartz. 

"It is at home, " Mrs. Wentworth replied. 

"Den you must pring it round here before I can pay for it, " heobserved. 

"I am in want of the money now to buy bread, " she answered. "If youwill pay me and let your clerk follow with a dray, I would return homeimmediately and have the bedstead taken down and sent to you. "

Mr. Swartz called the clerk again, and ordered him to bring a dray tothe front of the store. The clerk did as he was requested, and soonafter returned with the intelligence that the dray was ready. 

"Do you follow dis voman to her house, and she vill give you apedstead. Bring it down here, " and then he added, speaking to theclerk who had not yet left the room: "Vat does te trayman sharge. "

"One dollar and a half, " was the reply. 

Taking up the forty dollars which had been previously brought to him, Mr. Swartz counted out thirty-eight and a half dollars, and handedthem to Mrs. Wentworth. 

"De von tollar and a half out ish to pay for te trayage, " he remarkedas she received the money. 

She made no reply, but left the room followed by the clerk, when, withthe drayman, they soon arrived at her room. The bedstead was soontaken down and removed to Mr. Swartz's store. 

"Sharge one huntred tollars for dat pedstead, " he remarked to hisclerk as soon as it had arrived. 

While he was rejoicing at the good speculation he had made, thesoldier's wife sat on a box in her room feeding her half famishedchildren. The room was now utterly destitute of furniture, but theheart of the mother rejoiced at the knowledge that for a couple ofweeks longer her children would have food. 

CHAPTER FOURTEENTH. 

DR. HUMPHRIES BUYS A SLAVE AND BRINGS HOME NEWS. 

A few days after Mrs. Wentworth had sold her last piece of furniture, Dr. Humphries was walking along one of the principal streets inJackson when he was stopped by a crowd that had gathered in front ofan auction mart. On walking up he learned that it was a sheriff's saleof a "likely young negro girl. " Remembering that Emma had requestedhim to purchase a girl as a waiting maid for her, he examined theslave and found her in all respects the kind of house servant hedesired. Going up to the auctioneer who had just mounted a bench forthe purpose of selling the slave, he enquired where she had come from. The auctioneer responded by handing the doctor a small hand billsetting forth the sale. After reading it he walked up to the slave andcommenced to question her. 

"What is your name?" he enquired. 

"Elsy, sir, " she replied. 

"You say that you come from New Orleans, " he continued. 

"Yes, sir, " she responded. 

"What was your master's name?" asked the doctor. 

"His name is Mr. Alfred Wentworth, " the negro answered. 

"Where is your master now?" he enquired, continuing his questions. 

"Massa is a prisner in de Yankee army, " she replied. 

"And what made you leave New Orleans?" was the next question. 

"My missis was turned away from de city, and I runaway from demYankees and come here to look for her. "

"Have you not been able to find your mistress?" asked Dr. Humphries. 

"No, sir. Jest as I came here de city police took me up and put me injail. "

"Excuse me, " interrupted the auctioneer, "but I must sell this girl atonce. Time is precious, so you must excuse me;" then turning to thecrowd he continued: "Here is the slave, gentlemen. She is anintelligent looking negro, says she understands all that appertains tothe duties of a house servant. What will you bid for her?"

"Seven hundred dollars, " exclaimed a voice in the crowd. 

"Thank you, sir; seven hundred dollars; going at seven hundreddollars. Look at the girl, gentlemen, going at seven hundred dollars. Can I get another bid?" exclaimed the auctioneer in the rapid voicepeculiar to his class. 

"Seven hundred and twenty-five, " was the next bid. 

"Seven hundred and fifty, " Dr. Humphries cried out, having made up hismind to purchase her. 

In a few minutes the slave was "knocked down" to the doctor for elevenhundred dollars, and after the proper form was gone through and themoney paid, he ordered her to follow him, and retraced his stepshomeward. 

As our readers must have recognized already, Elsy was no other thanthe slave who was left at New Orleans by Mrs. Wentworth, and whodeclared that she would follow her mistress into the Confederatelines. After making several ineffectual attempts she had succeeded inreaching Baton Rouge, the capital of Louisiana, at which place sheeluded the Federal pickets, and made her way to Jackson. The firstpart of her journey being through the country she passed unnoticed, until on her arrival at Jackson she was stopped by the police, whodemanded her papers. Not having any she was confined in the countyjail, and after due notice in the papers, calling for the owner tocome and take her away, she was sold at auction according to law. Thegirl was very much grieved at her failure to find her mistress, butbeing of a good disposition soon became contented with her lot. Accordingly, when Dr. Humphries purchased her, she followed him homewith a cheerful step. 

On entering his house the doctor presented the negro to Emma. 

"Here, Emma, " he observed, "is a girl I have bought for you to-day. "

"Thank you, " she answered, looking at Elsy. "This is really a nicelooking girl. Who did you buy her from?"

"She says she is from New Orleans. Her master is a prisoner in thehands of the Yankees, and her mistress being turned out of her home byButler, is now somewhere in the Confederacy, but where, the girlcannot tell. When her mistress left New Orleans, the Yankees would notpermit the slave to leave with her, but she succeeded in escaping fromtheir lines, and came to Jackson, where she was arrested, and as noowner claimed her, she was sold to me at auction this morningaccording to law. "

"Then we will not be doing justice to the owner of the girl, if wekeep her constantly. Perhaps her mistress is some poor soldier's wifewho would be glad to get the money you have expended, or may requireher services. "

"I have thought of that before I purchased her, but as she seemshonest, I did not make the thought prevent me from getting her. I havealso made up my mind to give her up should her owner at any time claimher, and he is a poor man. "

"I am glad you have so decided, " Emily replied, "for I should not haveliked the idea of depriving any Confederate soldier of his slave, particularly if he is a poor man. And now, " she continued, speaking toElsy, "do you go in the next room and wait there until I come in. "

Making a curtesy, Elsy left the parlor, and entered the room pointedout by Emily. 

"I have some news for you, Emily, " remarked the Doctor as soon as thenegro had left the room. 

"What is it about, " she enquired. 

"Something that will interest you considerably, " he answered. 

"If it will interest me, let me know what it is, " she remarked. 

"I have received a telegraphic dispatch from Harry, " Dr. Humphriesreplied. 

"Why, how could he have arrived in our lines?" she enquired, as asmile of joy illumined her features. 

"Here is what the dispatch says:" "I arrived here this morning, havingescaped from prison. Will be in Jackson on to-morrow's train. Showthis to Emily. "

"I am so glad, " exclaimed Emily joyfully, as soon as her father hadconcluded reading the dispatch, "for, " she continued, "I was beginningto be afraid that our unfortunate prisoners in the hands of theYankees, would never be exchanged. "

"You need not have labored under any such fear, " Dr. Humphriesobserved. "The papers of this morning announce that a cartel has beenarranged, and the prisoners held on both sides will be shortlyexchanged. "

"Nevertheless, I am glad that Harry has made his escape, for it willbring him to us sooner than we anticipated. Besides which, it isgratifying to know that he had no occasion to wait for an exchange. "

"That is very true" replied her father, "and as he has safely escaped, you can rejoice, but the dangers which must have, necessarilypresented themselves in the attempt, were of such a nature, that youwould not have desired him to make the effort had you known them. "

"He is safe, and we can well afford to laugh at them, " she answered, "all I hope is that he may never be taken prisoner again. "

"I do not believe he will relish the idea, much less the reality ofsuch a thing again occurring, " observed Dr. Humphries. "However, " hecontinued, "he will be here to-morrow, and the little cloud that hiscapture had sent over our happiness, will have been removed, and allwill again be bright. "

As he concluded speaking, a servant entered with a letter containing asummons to attend a patient, and Dr. Humphries kissing his daughteronce more, left the house. 

CHAPTER FIFTEENTH. 

ARRIVAL OF HARRY. 

The next day Emily prepared herself to welcome the return of herlover, while Dr. Humphries proceeded to the railroad depot to meethim. In the meantime, we will give our readers a brief account ofHarry's escape. 

After leaving Chicago, Harry made his way through the country towardsthe Tennessee river. His journey was a dangerous one, for the peopleof Illinois where then highly elated at the successes which hadattended the Yankee arms, and the few sympathisers that the South hadin their midst, were afraid to express their sympathies. He, luckily, however, succeeded in finding out a worthy gentleman, who not onlybefriended him, but furnished the necessary means for his journey, andprocured a passport for him to visit Nashville. Prepared for acontinuation of his travel, Harry, who had been staying at theresidence of his noble hearted host for three days, bade him adieu, and started on his way to Nashville. On arriving at Frankfort, Kentucky, he met with a man he had become acquainted with inMississippi, but who, on account of his strong Union proclivities, wascompelled to leave the South at the commencement of the war. Thiscreature immediately recognized Harry, and knowing that he had alwaysbeen an ardent Secessionist, conjectured that he was either a spy, oran escaped prisoner. Harry was accordingly arrested and carried beforethe military authorities, but his persistent denial of any knowledgeof the man who had caused his arrest, and the passport he had receivedfrom the generous Illinoisan, induced the Yankee officer by whom hewas examined, to release him, and permit his departure for Nashville. 

Harry had many hair breadth escapes from detection and capture, butsurmounting all the dangers which beset his path, he succeeded Inreaching the Confederate lines in safety, and immediately started forJackson. But one thing marred the joy he experienced at his daringlywon freedom, and that was his ignorance of Alfred's fate. Had not thelove of freedom been too strong in his breast, he would have returnedand endeavored to find his friend, but the success of his escape, andthe idea that Alfred may have pursued a different road, deterred himfrom so doing. He determined, however, to make enquiry on his returnto Jackson, whether his friend had arrived there, he having promisedHarry to call on Dr. Humphries after they should arrive in theConfederate lines. He was not aware of the wound his friend hadreceived, for though the Chicago papers made a notice of the attemptedescape, and wounding of one of the prisoners, the notice was neverseen by him, as he had no opportunity of getting a newspaper. 

On arriving at Jackson, the evening after he had forwarded histelegraphic dispatch, Harry found Dr. Humphries at the depot awaitinghis arrival. After they had exchanged hearty expressions of delight atmeeting each other again, they proceeded to the house where Emma wasanxiously looking out for her lover. 

The customary salutations between lovers who have been separated beingover, Harry proceeded to give an account of his escape, which waslistened to with great interest by his hearers. 

"By the way, " he remarked, as soon as he had concluded, "has a soldiergiving his name as Wentworth, and claiming to be a friend of mine, called here within the last ten days. "

"No one has called here of that name, " replied Dr. Humphries. 

"I am very anxious to receive some intelligence of him, " remarkedHarry, "He was the friend I mentioned, having made my escape with. "

"He may have taken a different road to the one you pursued, " Dr. Humphries observed. 

"If I were satisfied in my mind that he did escape safely, my fearswould be allayed, " he answered, "but, " he continued, "we left thegates of the prison together, and were not four yards apart when thetreachery of the guard was discovered. We both started at a full run, and almost instantaneously the Yankees, who lay in ambush for us, fired, their muskets in the direction we were going. The bulletswhistled harmless by me, and I continued my flight at the top of myspeed, nor did I discover the absence of my friend until some distancefrom the prison, when stopping to take breath, I called him by name, and receiving no answer found out that he was not with me. I am afraidhe might have been shot. "

"Did you hear no cry after the Yankees had fired, " enquired Dr. Humphries. 

"No, and that is the reason I feel anxious to learn his fate. Had heuttered any cry, I should be certain that he was wounded, but thesilence on his part may have been caused from instant death. "

"You would have, heard him fall at any rate; had he been struck by theYankee bullets, " remarked Dr. Humphries. 

"That is very doubtful, " he replied. "I was running at such a rapidrate, and the uproar made by the Yankees was sufficient to drown thesound that a fall is likely to create. "

"I really trust your friend is safe, " said Dr. Humphries. "Perhaps, after all, he did not make any attempt to escape, but surrenderedhimself to the Yankees. "

"There is not the slightest chance of his having done such a thing, "Harry answered. "He was determined to escape, and had told me that hewould rather be shot than be re-captured, after once leaving theprison. I shall never cease to regret the misfortune should he havefallen in our attempt to escape. His kindness to me at Fort Donelsonhad caused a warm friendship to spring up between us. Besides which, he has a wife and two small children in New Orleans, who were the solecause of his attempting to escape. He informed me that they were notin very good circumstances, and should Alfred Wentworth have beenkilled at Camp Douglas, God help his poor widow and orphans!"

"Did you say his name was Alfred Wentworth, " inquired Emma, for thefirst time joining in the conversation. 

"Yes, and do you know anything about him?" he asked. 

"No, " she replied, "I know nothing of the gentleman, but father boughta slave on yesterday, who stated that she has belonged to a gentlemanof New Orleans, of the name you mentioned just now. "

"By what means did you purchase her?" asked Harry addressing himselfto Dr. Humphries. 

The Doctor related to him the circumstances which occasioned thepurchase, as well as the statement of Elsy. Harry listenedattentively, for the friendship he felt for his friend naturally madehim interested in all that concerned Alfred, or his family. 

"Is there no way by which I can discover where Mrs. Wentworth isresiding at present?" he enquired, after a moment of thought. 

"None that I could devise, " answered Dr. Humphries. "I know nothing ofthe family personally, nor would I have known anything of theirexistence, had not chance carried me to the auction sale, at which Ipurchased Elsy. "

"Call the girl here for me, " Harry said: "I must learn something moreof the departure of Mrs. Wentworth and her children from New Orleans, and endeavor to obtain a clue to her whereabouts. It is a duty I oweto the man who saved my life, that everything I can do for his familyshall be performed. "

Emma left the room as he was speaking, and shortly after returned, followed by Elsy. 

"Here is the girl, " she said, as she entered. 

"So you belonged to Mr. Wentworth of New Orleans, did you?" Harrycommenced. 

"I used to belong to him, " replied Elsy. 

"What made Mrs. Wentworth leave New Orleans?" he asked, continuing hisquestions. 

Elsy gave a long account of the villainy of Awtry, in the usual styleadopted by negroes, but sufficiently intelligible for Harry tounderstand the cause of Mrs. Wentworth being compelled to abandon herhome, and take refuge in the Confederate lines. 

"Did not your mistress state where she was going, " he asked. 

"No, sah, " replied Elsy. "My mistis jest told me good bye when sheleft wid de children. I promised her I would get away from de Yankees, but she forgot to tell me whar she was gwine to lib. "

"Did she bring out plenty of money with her?" he enquired. 

"Yes, sah, " Elsy answered. She had seen the sum of money possessed byMrs. Wentworth, on her departure from New Orleans, and it being a muchlarger amount than she had ever beheld before, made the faithful girlbelieve that her mistress had left with quite a fortune. 

"Very well, you can go now, " remarked Harry. "It is a satisfaction, "he continued as Elsy left the room, "to know that Wentworth's wife iswell provided with money, although it does appear strange that sheshould have a plenty of funds, when her husband informed me, while inprison, that the money he left her with could not maintain his wifeand children for any great length of time. "

"She may have been furnished with money by some friend, who intendingto remain in the city, had no use for Confederate Treasury notes, " Dr. Humphries remarked. 

"That is very likely, and I trust it is so, " observed Harry, "However, " he continued, "I shall take steps on Monday next, to findout where Mrs. Wentworth is now residing. "

On Monday the following advertisement appeared in the evening papers:

 INFORMATION WANTED. 

 Any one knowing where Mrs. Eva Wentworth and her two children reside, will be liberally rewarded, by addressing the undersigned at this place. Mrs. Wentworth is a refugee from New Orleans, and the wife of a gallant soldier, now a prisoner of war. 

 Jackson, ----1862. H. SHACKLEFORD. 

It was too late. Extensively published as it was, Mrs. Wentworth neversaw it. Her hardships and trials had increased ten-fold; she was fastdrifting before the storm, with breakers before, threatening to wreckand sink into the grave the wife and children of Alfred Wentworth. 

CHAPTER SIXTEENTH. 

MR. ELDER DEMANDS HIS RENT. --NOTICE TO QUIT. 

The money received by Mrs. Wentworth from Mr. Swartz, proved but atemporary relief for her children and herself. A fatal day was fastarriving, and she knew not how to avert the impending storm. By agreat deal of labor and deprivation she had heretofore succeeded inpaying the rent of the room she occupied, although Mr. Elder had twiceadvanced the price. Now there was no hope of her being able to obtaina sufficient sum of money to meet the demand of that gentleman, whowould call on her the following day in person, did she not call at hisoffice and settle for at least one months rent in advance. The monthfor which she had paid expired in three days, and she was apprehensiveof being turned out, unless she could collect sufficient money to payhim. She knew not where to find the means. The room was stripped bareof furniture to supply the calls of nature; nothing but a mattress inone corner of the apartment, and a few cooking utensils remained. Shelabored day and night, to procure work, but all her efforts wereunavailing. It appeared to her as if the Almighty had forsaken herselfand children, and had left them to perish through want. 

It cannot be that God would place his image on earth, and willinglyleave them to perish from destitution. Many have been known to die ofstarvation, and the tales of wretchedness and woe with which thepublic ear is often filled attest the fact. Squalid forms andthreadbare garments are seen, alas! too often in this civilised world, and the grave of the pauper is often opened to receive some unhappymortal, whose life had been one scene of suffering and want. Philanthropy shudders and Christianity believes it to be a punishment, administered by the hand of God; that the haggard cause of the starvedcreature, who has thus miserably died, once contained the spirit of amortal undergoing the penalty of Him, who judges mankind on high, andexpiating through his heart-rending bodily agony, crimes committed inby-gone days. 

This is not so in all cases. What mercy could we attribute to God, didhe willingly entail misery upon the innocent, or punish them for thecrimes of the guilty? Why call it a dispensation of Divine justice, that would condemn to weeks, months and years of wretchedness, themortals he brought in the world himself? Who�hath seen the hovel ofthe pauper; beheld its wretched inmates, heard their tale of woe, heard them tell of days passing without their having a crumb of breadto satisfy the cravings of hunger, or seen them in that last stage ofdestitution, when hunger brings on despair, until the mind wandersfrom its seat, and madness takes its place; heard the raving of themaniac, his frenzied call for bread, and his abject desolation, untildeath came kindly to relieve his sufferings, and felt not that thehand of God had never worked so much ill for his people? Is itprofanity to say that the eye of God had wandered from them? Webelieve it; for the Book that teaches us of the Almighty, depicts himas a God of mercy and compassion. The eye of the Omnipotent is notupon the wretched. "He seeth all things, " but there are times when Hiseyes are turned from those who endure the storm of a cold andheartless world, and He knows not of their suffering, until the Angelof Death brings their spirit before the Judgment seat. 

God had not deserted the soldier's wife, but His eyes were turnedaway, and He saw not her condition. Thus was she left unaided by thehand of Providence. She felt her desolation, for as each day passedby, and her condition became worse, she knew that her prayers wereunanswered. They reached not the ear of the Almighty, and the innocentchildren were allowed to participate of that bitter cup, which thechances of worldly fortune had placed before the unhappy family. 

Three days sped away quickly, and the fatal morning arrived. She hadno money to pay the rent, and the day passed away without Mr. Elderreceiving a visit from her. She dared not to tell him of her position, but awaited patiently his arrival on the following day, for she wellknew he would be sure to come. 

The next morning saw him at her door, much annoyed at the trouble shegave him to call and collect the money. Mrs. Wentworth had nothing tosay, nor had she a dollar to satisfy his demands. 

"Good morning, madam, " he said, as she opened the door to admit him, "I was much surprised at your not calling to pay the rent at my officeon yesterday. I admire punctuality above everything else. "

He entered the room, and cast his eyes on its empty walls. They didnot satisfy him, for the absence of any furniture told the tale of thesoldier's wife in a more graphic manner than words could have done. 

"What does this mean?" he enquired. 

"It means that necessity has compelled a mother to sacrificeeverything to keep her children from starving, " Mrs. Wentworthreplied. 

"Humph, " said Mr. Elder. "This is singular. So I suppose, " hecontinued, addressing her, "you will say you have no money to pay yourmonth's rent in advance. "

"I have not a dollar this day to buy bread, " she answered. 

A frown gathered on Mr. Elder's brow, as he remarked: "I suppose yourecollect the arrangement made between us when you first hired theroom from me. "

"What arrangement was that?" she enquired in an absent manner. 

"That on you failing to pay the rent, I should have the power toresume possession of the room, without giving you notice to leave. "

"I recollect, " she said. 

"Well, in accordance with our arrangements, I shall require that youvacate the room to-day, as I can procure another tenant, who will beable to pay the rent promptly. "

"Do you mean that I must leave to-day, " she asked. 

"Yes, " he replied, "I desire to have the room renovated at once. "

"Where can I go to without money, " she enquired, in a tone more likeas if she was addressing herself than speaking to him. 

"I really cannot tell my good, woman, " he answered, "I am sorry foryour position, but cannot afford to lose the rent of my room, I amcompelled to pay my taxes, and support myself by the money I receivefrom rent. "

"I cannot leave to-day, " Mrs. Wentworth cried in a despairing tone. "Icannot leave to-day. Oh, sir! look at my child lying on that wretchedbed, and tell me, if you can have the heart to turn me out, homeless, friendless and alone. "

"My good Woman, " he answered. "I cannot help your misfortunes, nor canI do anything to assist you. If you can pay the rent, I have noobjection to your remaining, but if you can not, I will be compelledto get another tenant who will be able. "

"Sir, " she remarked, speaking slowly. "I am a woman with two children, alone in this State. My husband and protector is now pining in aYankee prison, a sacrifice on the altar of his country. Let me ask youas a man, and perhaps a father, to pause ere you turn a helpless womanfrom the shelter of your property. You appear wealthy, and the sumcharged for the rent would make but little difference to you, if itwas never paid. Oh! do not eject us from this room. My child liesthere parched with fever, and to remove her may be fatal. "

"There is no necessity for any appeals to me, " he replied. "If I wereto give way to such extravagant requests in your case, I should benecessitated to do so in others, and the result would be, that Ishould find myself sheltering all my tenants, without receiving anypay for house rent. The idea cannot be entertained for a moment. "

"Let your own heart speak, " she said, "and not the promptings ofworldly thoughts. All those who rent your houses are not situated as Iam. They are at home among friends, who will aid and succor them, ifever necessity overtook them. I am far away from home and friends. There is no one in this town that I can call upon for assistance, andeven now, my children are without food for want of funds to purchaseit. Do not add to my wretchedness by depriving them of shelter. Let meknow that if we are to die of starvation, a roof, at least, will coverour bodies. "

He looked at her with unchanged countenance. Not even the movement ofa muscle, denoted that his heart was touched at her pathetic appeal. His expression was as hard and cold as adamantine, nor did a singlefeeling of pity move him. He cared for nothing but money; she couldnot give him what he wanted, and too sentiment of commiseration, nospark of charity, no feeling of manly regret at her sufferings enteredhis bosom. 

"Be charitable, " she continued. "I have prayed night after night toGod to relieve my necessities; I have walked the town through andthrough in the effort to procure work, but my prayers have beenunanswered, and my efforts have proven unavailing. At times thethought of the maelstrom of woe into which I am plunged, has well nighdriven me to madness. My brain has seemed on fire, and the shrieks ofthe maniac would have been heard resounding through the walls of thisroom, but my children would come before me, and the light of reasonwould again return. But for their sake I should welcome death as aprecious boon. Life has but every charm for me. In the pale andalternated woman before you, none could recognize a once happy wife. Oh, sir!" she continued, with energy; "believe me when I tell you thatfor my children's sake alone, I now appeal. Hear me, and look withpity on a mother's pleadings. It is for them I plead. Were I alone, noword of supplication would you hear. I should leave here, and in thecold and turbid waters of Pearl river, find the rest I am denied onearth. "

"This is a very unaccountable thing to me, " said Mr. Elder. "You makean agreement to leave as soon as you fail to pay your rent, and nowthat that hour has arrived, instead of conforming to your agreement, Iam beset with a long supplication. My good woman, this effort of yoursto induce me to provide a home for your family at my expense, cannotbe successful. You have no claim upon my charity, and those who have, are sufficiently numerous already without my desiring to make anyaddition. As I mentioned before, you must either find money to pay therent, or vacate the room. "

"Give me time, " she said, speaking with an effort; "give me but twodays, and I will endeavor either to obtain the money, or to procuresomewhere to stay. "

Mr. Elder knit his brows again as he answered. "I cannot give you twodays, for I intend renting the room by to-morrow. You can, however, remain here until this evening, at which time you must either beprepared to leave, or find money to pay for the rent. "

"It is well, " she replied. "I will do as you say. "

"Then you may expect me here this evening at dusk, " he said, andturning towards the door left the room muttering; "when will I everget rid of this crowd of paupers, who, it is always my luck to rentrooms to. "

"God of Heaven aid me!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, as she closed thedoor in the receding form of Mr. Elder, and sank on her knees beforethe bed on which Ella lay in a high fever. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH. 

THE EJECTMENT

Mrs. Wentworth knew not where to go to procure money to pay the rent, and when she asked Mr. Elder to give her time to procure either themeans of paying him, or to procure another place to stay, she did soonly to avert the threatened ejectment for a brief period. Nor did sheknow where to procure another shelter. There was no one in the townthat she knew from whom she could have obtained a room to rent, unlessthe money was paid in advance. 

After Mr. Elder's departure, she fell on her knees and prayed forhelp, but she did so only from habit, not with the belief that anOmnipotent arm would be stretched out to aid her. There she knelt andprayed, until the thought of her sick child flashed across her brain, and rising, she stooped over and enquired how she felt. 

"The same way, " answered Ella. "I feel very hot, and my throat isquite parched. "

"You have got the fever, darling, " said Mrs. Wentworth. --"Is thereanything I can do for you?"

"Nothing, " replied Ella, "except, " she continued, "you could get mesomething sweet to take this bitter taste from my mouth. "

A pang shot through Mrs. Wentworth's heart as she replied, "I cannotget anything just now. You must wait until a little later in the day. "

She spoke sadly, for it was a deception that she was practicing uponher child, when she promised to gratify her wishes at a later hour. 

"Never mind, " observed Ella. "Do not trouble yourself, my dear mother, I do not want it very badly. "

The little girl defined the cause of her mother's not acceding to herrequest at that moment, and she had no desire to cause her additionalpain, by again asking for anything to moisten her parched lips, orremove the dry and bitter taste that the fever had caused. 

Mrs. Wentworth had at last found out that Ella was sick. --Not from anycomplaint of the child, for the little girl remained suffering insilence, and never hinted that she was unwell. --But she had become soweak that one morning, on endeavoring to rise from the bed, she fellback and fainted from exhaustion, and on her mother's chafing herforehead with water for the purpose of reviving her, discovered thatElla had a hot fever. She was very much alarmed, and would have calleda doctor, but knowing no medical man who would attend her childwithout remuneration, she was necessitated to content herself withwhat knowledge she had of sickness. This had caused the money she hadremaining in her possession to be quickly expended. 

The little girl bore her illness uncomplainingly, and although eachday she sunk lower and felt herself getting weaker, she concealed hercondition, and answered her mother's questions cheerfully. She was alittle angel that God had sent to Mrs. Wentworth. She was too young toappreciate the extent of her mother's wretchedness, but she saw thatsomething was wrong and kept silent, and she lay there that day sick. There was no hope for the child. Death had marked her as his prey, andnothing could stay or turn away his ruthless hand from this littleflower of earth. Stern fate had decreed that she should die. Theunalterable sentence had been registered in the book of Heaven, and anangel stood at her bedside ready to take her to God. 

The day passed over the wretched family. Ella lay on the bed insilence throughout, what appeared to her, the long and weary hours;the little boy called every few minutes for bread, and as his infantvoice uttered the call, the agony of Mrs. Wentworth increased. Thuswas the day passed, and as the dusk of evening spread its mantle overthe town, the soldier's wife prepared to receive her summons forejectment. She was not kept waiting long. No sooner had the darknessset in, than Mr. Elder, accompanied by another man, opened the doorand entered the room. 

"Well, " he said, "have you succeeded in procuring money to pay therent. "

"I have not, " Mrs. Wentworth answered. 

"I suppose you have made arrangements to go somewhere else then, " heremarked. 

"No, " she replied. "My child has been ill all day long, and I wascompelled to remain here and attend to her wants. "

"That is very unfortunate, " Mr. Elder remarked, "for this gentleman, "pointing to the stranger who accompanied him, "has made arrangementsto take the room, and will move into it to-night. ". 

"Will he not wait until the morning, " she enquired. 

"I do wot know, " he replied. "Will you, " he asked, speaking to theman, "be willing to wait until to-morrow before you take possession?"

"Bo jabers! I've got to leave my owld room to-night, and if I cannotgit this I must take another that I can get in town, " answered theman, who was a rough and uneducated son of the Emerald Isle. 

"That settles the matter, then, " observed Mr. Elder. "You will have toleave, " he continued, addressing Mrs. Wentworth. "You will perceivethat I cannot lose a tenant through your remaining in the roomto-night. "

"Och!" said the Irishman, "if the lady can't lave to-night, shure ah'I will take the other room, for be jabers I wouldn't have a womanturned out of doors for me. "

"You need not fear about that, my good friend, " remarked Mr. Elder. "Does the room suit you?"

"Yes! It does well enough for myself and my children, " was the answer. 

"Then you can consider yourself a tenant from to-night, " Mr. Eldersaid. "Go and bring your things here. By the time you return I shallhave the room vacated and ready for you. "

"Jist as you say, yer honor, " replied the man, as he bowed himselffrom the room. 

"And now, my good woman, " remarked Mr. Elder, "you will perceive thenecessity of removing your children and whatever articles you may havehere to some other place at once. I cannot be induced to grant anyfurther time, and lose tenants by the operation. "

"Great God, sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, "where am I to go to? Iknow of no place where I can find a shelter this night. You cannot, must not, force me to leave. "

"I trust you will not put me to the necessity of having you ejected byforce, " remarked Mr. Elder. "You are fully aware that by thearrangement entered into between us, when you first rented the room, that I am doing nothing illegal in requiring you to leave. You willsave me both trouble and pain by doing as I have requested. "

"I cannot, " she replied, pressing her hands to her forehead, and thenbursting into tears she exclaimed appealingly: "For the sake of Godhave pity, sir! Let not your heart be so hardened, but turn andbefriend a soldiers wretched wife. There is scarce a beast butcontains some touch of feeling, scarce a heart but vibrates in somedegree, and beats with a quicker pulsation at the sight of poverty andmisery. Let me hope that yours contains the same feeling, and beatswith the same sorrow at the miserable scene before you. Look aroundyou, sir, and see the destitution of my family; go to the side of thatlowly bed and press your hand upon the burning brow of my child; callthat little boy and ask him how long he has been without food, look ata wretched mother's tears, and lot a gracious God remove the hardnessfrom your heart, and drive us not homeless from this roof. Think notthat the ragged, woman who now stands before you, weeping andpleading, would have thus supplicated without a cause. There was atime when I never dreamed of experiencing such suffering and hardship, such bitter, bitter woe. Oh! sir, let pity reign dominant in yourheart. "

He was unmoved. Why should he care for the misery of strangers? Was henot of the world as man generally finds it? The exceptions to the ruleare not of this earth. They occupy a place in the celestial realms, for, if even they may have committed sins in early life, their deedsof charity blots out the record, and they enter Heaven welcomed by thehosts of angels who dwell there, while their absence from this createsa void not easily filled. 

Mr. Elder answered her not for several minutes. He stood there withhis arms folded, silently gazing upon the thin form of Mrs. Wentworth, who, with clasped hands and outstretched arms, anxiously awaited hisdecision. But he gave no promise of acquiescence, no hope of pity, nolook of charity in his features--they looked cold, stern, and vexed. 

There she stood the picture of grief, awaiting the words that wouldeither give her hope or plunge her forever into the fathomless depthsof despair. The eyes of the soldier's wife were turned on Mr. Elderwith a sad and supplicating look. In any other but the cold, calculating creature before her, their look might have moved to pity, but with him nothing availed; not even a struggle for mastery betweenhumanity and brutality could be seen, and as she gazed upon him shefelt that there was no chance of her wishes being gratified. 

Her little son clung to her dress half frightened at the attitude ofhis mother, and the stern and unforbidding aspect of Mr. Elder. Ellastrove to rise while her mother was speaking, but fell back on her bedunable to perform the effort. She was, therefore, content to be thereand listen to the conversation as it occurred between Mr. Elder andher mother. Her little heart was also tortured, for this had been thefirst time she had ever heard such passionate and earnest language aswas depicted in Mrs. Wentworth's words. 

At last Mr. Elder spoke, and his words were eagerly listened to byMrs. Wentworth. 

"This annoys me very much, " he said. "Your importunities are verydisagreeable to me, and I must insist that they shall cease. As I toldyou before, I cannot afford to lose tenants in an unnecessary act ofliberality, and through mistaken charity. The fact is, " he continuedin a firm and decisive tone, "you _must_ leave this room to-night. Iwill not listen to any more of your pleading. Your case is but therepetition of many others who fled from their homes and left all theyhad, under the impression that the people of other States would becompelled to support them. This is a mistaken idea, and the sooner itserror is made known the better it will be for the people of the South, whose homes are in the hands of the enemy. "

"Then you are determined that my children and myself shall be turnedfrom the shelter of this room to-night, " she enquired, dropping herhands by her side, and assuming a standing attitude. 

"You have heard what I have already said, my good woman, " he replied. "And let me repeat, that I will listen to no further supplications. "

"I shall supplicate to you no more, " she answered. "I see, alas! toowell, that I might sooner expect pity from the hands of an uncivilizedIndian than charity or aid from you. Nor will I give you any troubleto forcibly eject me. "

"I am very glad to hear it, " he rejoined. 

"Yes, " she continued, without noticing his words, "I shall leave of myown accord, and there, " she said, pointing to Ella, "lies my sickchild. Should exposure on this night cause her death, I shall let youknow of it that you may have some subject, accruing from yourheartless conduct, on which to ponder. "

Slowly she removed all the articles that were in the room, and placedthem on the sidewalk. There were but few things in the room, and hertask was soon completed. 

"Come, darling, " she said as she wrapped up Ella in a cover-lid andlifted the child in her arms, "come, and let us go. "

Mr. Elder still stood with folded arms looking on. 

"Farewell, sir, " she said, turning to him, "you have driven asoldier's helpless wife and children from the roof that covered theminto the open streets, with none other than skies above as a covering. May God pardon you as I do, " and speaking to the little boy who stillclung to her dress, she replied, "Come, darling, let us go. "

Go where? She knew not, thought not where. She only knew that she wasnow homeless. 

The clouds looked as serene, the stars twinkled as merrily as ever, and the moon shed as bright a light upon the form of the soldier'swife, as she walked out of that room, a wanderer upon the earth, as itdid on scenes of peace and happiness. The Ruler of the Universe sawnot the desolate mother and her children; thus there was no change inthe firmament, for had He gazed upon them at that moment, a blackcloud would have been sent to obscure the earth, and darkness wouldhave taken the place of light. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH. 

THE RESTING PLACE--ANOTHER VISIT TO MR. SWARTZ. 

The mother and her child walked on in silence. Mrs. Wentworth knew notwhere to go. From her heart the harrowing cry of desolation went out, and mingled with the evening air, filling it with the sound ofwretchedness, until it appeared dull and stifling. But she knew notthis, for to her it had never appeared pleasant. For weeks past hercup of misery had been filling, and as each drop of sorrow entered thegoblet of her life, so did all sense of what was happy and lovelydepart from her heart. She was, indeed, a breathing figure of all thatcould be conceived miserable and unhappy. The flowers that bloomed inthe Spring time of her happy years, had withered in the winter of herwretched weeks, and over the whole garden of her life, nothing but thedead and scentless petals remained, to tell of what was once aparadise of affection--a blooming image of love. 

As she walked on she discovered that the child she carried in her armshad fainted. She paused not for consideration, but observing a lightin a small cabin near by, she hurriedly bent her steps towards it, andentered through the half opened door. It was the home of an aged negrowoman, and who looked up much surprised at the intrusion. 

"Here, auntie, " Mrs. Wentworth said hastily, "give me some waterquickly, my child has fainted. "

"Goodness, gracious, what could ha' made you bring dem children to dispart of de town dis time o' night, " exclaimed the old negress, as shehastened to do the bidding of Mrs. Wentworth, who had already placedthe inanimate body of Ella on the negro's humble bed. 

The water being brought, Mrs. Wentworth sprinkled it upon the face ofthe child, but without avail. Ella still remained motionless, and toall appearances lifeless. 

"Great Heaven!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, "my child cannot be dead!"

"Top a bit, mistis, an' I will fix de little gal for you, " said theold negro, hobbling, to the bedside, with a small bottle filled withcamphor in her hand. "Dis stuff will bring her to. Don't be afeard, she ain't dead. "

Pouring out some of the stimulant in one hand, the kind-hearted oldwoman bathed Ella's face with it, and held the bottle to her nostrils, until a sigh from the child showed that she still lived. After a fewseconds she opened her eyes, and looked up to her mother, who was, bending with anxious countenance over her. 

"Dar now, " said the old negro in a tone of satisfaction, "did not Itell you dat de sweet little child was libbing. "

"Thank you, old woman, God in Heaven bless you!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, as she clapped the old woman's hand in her own. 

"Berry well, berry well, " was the answer of the negro, "you welcomemisses. "

There, in the cabin of that good old slave, the soldier's wife heardthe first voice of kindness that had greeted her ears for months. Fromthe hands of a servile race she had received the first act of charity, and in a land like this. In the performance of that kindness, the oldslave had done more to elevate herself than all the philanthropistsand abolitionists of the North could have done. Could the cursed race, whose war upon the South have seen this act, they would have concededto her people the justice of their right to slavery, when such a slaveas this existed. 

"What make you come to dis part ob town to-night, missis, " asked thenegro, after a few moments of silence. 

"Nothing, nothing, my good woman, " replied Mrs. Wentworth hastily. Shecould not let a slave know of her trials and misery. 

"Poh ting!" ejaculated the old woman in a compassionate tone, but toolow for Mrs. Wentworth to hear her. "I 'spec her husband been treatin'her bad. Dem men behave berry bad sometime, " and with a sigh sheresumed her silence. 

The soldier's wife sat by the bedside, on one of the rude chairs, thatformed a portion of the furniture, and remained plunged in thought. Adeep sleep had overtaken Ella, although her breathing was heavy, andthe fever raged with redoubled violence. 

"Mother can't I get something to eat?" asked her little son. His wordswoke his mother from her thoughts, but before she could reply, the oldnegro had forestalled. 

"Is it some ting you want to eat, my little darling, " she enquired, rising from her seat, and going to a little cupboard near the door ofthe room. 

"Yes granny, " he answered, "I am quite hungry. "

"Bress your little heart, " she remarked, giving him a large piece ofbread. "Here is some ting to eat. "

Taking the child on her knees, she watched him until he had completedeating the food, when putting him down, she opened a trunk, and pulledout a clean white sheet, which she placed on a little mattress nearthe bed. 

"Come now, " she said, "go to bed now like a good boy. "

The child obeyed her, and was soon enjoying a refreshing sleep. 

"Where will you sleep to-night, auntie, " asked Mrs. Wentworth, who hadbeen a silent observer of the old woman's proceedings. 

"I got some tings 'bout here; missis, dat will do for a bed, " sheanswered. 

"I am sorry I have to take away your bed to-night, " remarked Mrs. Wentworth, "but I hope I will be able to pay you for your kindnesssome time. "

"Dat's all right, " replied the old negress, and spreading a mass ofdifferent articles on the floor, she crept in among them, and shortlyafter fell asleep, leaving Mrs. Wentworth alone with her thoughts, watching over the sleeping forms of her children. 

The next morning the old woman woke up early, and lighting fire, madea frugal but amply sufficient breakfast, which, she placed before heruninvited guests. Mrs. Wentworth partook of the meal but slightly, andher little son ate heartily. Ella being still asleep, she was notdisturbed. Shortly after the meal was over, the old negro left thecabin, saying she would return some time during the day. 

About nine o'clock, Ella woke, and feebly called her mother. Mrs. Wentworth approached the bedside, and started back much shocked at theappearance of her child. The jaws of the little girl had sunk, hereyes were dull and expressiveless and her breath came thick andheavily. 

"What do you wish my darling, " enquired her mother. 

"I feel quite sick, mother, " said the little girl, speaking faintlyand with great difficulty. 

"What is the matter with you?" Mrs. Wentworth asked, her face turningas pale as her child's. 

"I cannot breathe, " she answered, "and my eyes feel dim. What can bethe matter?"

"Nothing much, my angel, " replied her mother. "You have only taken acold from exposure in the air last night. Bear up and you will soonget well again. "

"I feel so different now from what I did before, " she remarked. "Before I was so hot, and now I feel as cold as ice. "

Mrs. Wentworth put her hand upon the face of her child. It was indeedas cold as ice, and alarmed the mother exceedingly. She knew not howto act; she was alone in the cabin, and even had the old negro been athome, she had no money to purchase medicines with. She was determined, however, that something should be done for her child, and the thoughtof again appealing to Mr. Swartz for assistance came into her mind. 

"Perhaps, he will loan me a small sum of money when he learns howdestitute I am, and that my child is very ill, " she said musingly, andthen added: "At any rate I will try what I can do with him. "

Turning to Ella Mrs. Wentworth said: "Do you think you could remainhere with your brother until my return. I want to go out and getsomething for you to take. "

"Yes, mother, but do not be long, " she replied. "I will try and keepbrother by me while you are away. "

"Very well, " said Mrs. Wentworth, "I shall make haste and return. "

Admonishing her little son not to leave the room during her absence, Mrs. Wentworth was on the point of leaving the room when Ella calledto her: "Be sure to come back soon, mother, " she said. "I want youback early particularly. "

"Why, my darling?" enquired her mother. 

"Why, in case I should be going to--" Here her voice sunk to awhisper, and her mother failed to catch what she said. 

"In case you should be going to, what?" enquired Mrs. Wentworth. 

"Nothing, mother, " she replied. "I was only thinking, but make hasteand come back. "

"I will, " her mother answered, "I will come back immediately. "

Choking the sob that rose in her throat, Mrs. Wentworth left the roomand proceeded towards Mr. Swartz's office. Her visit was a hopelessone, but she determined to make the trial. She could not believe thatthe heart of every man was turned against the poor and helpless. 

What a world is this we live in! We view with calm indifference thedownfall of our fellow-mortals. We see them struggling in the billowsof adversity, and as our proud bark of wealth glides swiftly by, weextend no helping hand to the worn swimmer. And yet we can look uponour past life with complacency, can delight to recall the hours ofhappiness we have past, and if some scene of penury and grief isrecalled to our memory, we drive away the thought of what we thenbeheld and sought not to better. 

What is that that makes man's heart cold as the mountain tops ofKamtschatka? It is that cursed greed for gain--that all absorbingambition for fortune--that warps the heart and turns to adamant allthose attributes of gentleness with which God has made us. The haggardbeggar and the affluent man of the world, must eventually share thesame fate. No matter that on the grave of the first--"no storied urnrecords who rests below, " while on the grave of the other, we find insculptured marble long eulogies of those who rest beneath, telling us"not what he was, but what he should have been. " Their end is thesame, for beneath the same sod they "sleep the last sleep that knowsno waking, " and their spirits wing their flight to the same eternalrealms, there to be judged by their own merits, and not by the stationthey occupied below. 

If there are men in this world who cannot be changed by wealth, Swartzwas not of the number. What cared he for the sighs of the desolate, the appeals of the hungry, or the tears of the helpless? His duty wasbut to fill his coffers with money, and not to expend it in aimlessdeeds of charity. He looked upon the poor just as we would look upon areptile--something to be shunned. 

It was indeed a wild hallucination that induced Mrs. Wentworth to bendher steps towards his office. Could he have seen her as she wascoming, he would have left his room, for the sight of the mendicantfilled him with greater horror than a decree of God declaring that theend of the world had come. 

CHAPTER NINETEENTH. 

AN ACT OF DESPAIR. 

Mrs. Wentworth reached the store of Mr. Swartz and entered. The clerklooked at her in astonishment. She was unrecognizable. Her dress wasragged and dirty; the hands and face that once rivalled the Parianmarble in whiteness, were tanned by toil, and lay shrivelled anddried. Her hair was dishevelled and gathered up in an uncomely heap onthe back of her head. She looked like the beggar, she had become. 

"Some beggar, " the clerk said, in a contemptuous tone, as he advancedtowards her. 

"Is Mr. Swartz in?" enquired Mrs. Wentworth in a husky tone. 

"What do you want with him?" he demanded in a gruff voice. 

"I desire to see him privately, for a few moments, " she answered. 

"If it is charity you have come to beg, you may as well save yourselfthe trouble, " observed the clerk. "This house don't undertake tosupport all the beggars in Jackson. "

As his brutal words fell on her ear, a spark of womanly dignity filledher breast, and her eyes kindled with indignation. She looked at himfor a moment sternly and silently, until her gaze caused him to turnhis countenance from her, abashed at the mute rebuke she hadadministered. The pride of by-gone days had returned, with theunfeeling remarks of the clerk, and Mrs. Wentworth again felt all thebitterness of her position. 

"I did not say I was an applicant for charity, " she said at last "AllI desire to know is, if Mr. Swartz is in. "

"I believe he is, " replied the clerk. "Do you wish to see him, ma'am. "

His tone was more respectful. Even poverty can command respect attimes, and the threadbare garment be looked upon with as muchdifference as the gorgeous silken dress. It was so at this moment. 

"Yes, I desire to see him, " answered Mrs. Wentworth. "Be kind enoughto inform Mr. Swartz that a lady has called upon him. "

As she used the word "lady, " the clerk elevated his eyebrows, and asmile of pity stole over his features. Lady! Could the miserablelooking object, who stood before him have any claim to the title. Poorwoman! She knew not that the outward form of woman is the onlyrecognized title to the term. What though the mind be filled with theloftiest sentiment, and stored with the richest lore of learning. Whatthough the heart be purer than the snow which covers the mountaintops, can they ever claim a position among the favorites of fortune, when accompanied by beggary? Philanthropists, and philosophers tell usthey can, but the demon, Prejudice, has erected a banner, which cannever be pulled down, until man resumes the patriarchal life ofcenturies ago, and society, the mockery by which we claim civilizationwas built up, is removed from the earth, and mankind can mingle witheach other in free and unrestricted intercourse. 

That day will never come. 

But to return to our story. The clerk looked pityingly at Mrs. Wentworth for a moment, then walked to the door of Mr. Swartz'soffice, and knocked. 

The door was opened. 

"There is a _lady_ here who wants to see you on private business, " hesaid with emphasis. 

"Shust tell de lady I will see her in a few minutes, " replied thevoice of Mr. Swartz, from the interior of the room. 

The clerk withdrew, after closing the door, and advanced to where Mrs. Wentworth was standing. 

"Mr. Swartz will see you in a few moments, he said. "

"Go back for me, and tell him my business is urgent, and will admit ofno delay, " she answered. 

Her thoughts were of the little girl, who lay ill on the bed in thenegro's cabin, and to whom she had promised to return quickly. 

The clerk withdrew, and announced her wishes, to his employer. 

"Vell, " said Mr. Swartz. "Tell her to come in. "

She walked up to the door, and as she reached the threshold it openedand Mr. Elder, stood before her. She spoke not a word as he startedfrom surprise at her unexpected appearance. She only gazed upon himfor awhile with a calm and steady gaze. Hastily dropping his eyes tothe ground, Mr. Elder recovered his usual composure, and brushing pastthe soldier's wife left the store, while she entered the office whereMr. Swartz was. 

"Oot tam, " he muttered as she entered. "I shall give dat clerk tetevil for sending dis voman to me. Sum peggar I vill pet. "

"I have called on you again, Mr. Swartz, " Mrs. Wentworth began. 

Mr. Swartz looked at her as if trying to remember where they had metbefore, but he failed to recognize her features. 

"I don't know dat you vash here to see me pefore, " he replied. 

"You do not recognize me, " she remarked, and then added: "I am thelady who sold her last piece of furniture to you some time ago. "

He frowned as she reminded him who she was, for he then surmised whatthe object of her visit was. 

"Oh!" he answered, "I recollect you now, and vat do you vant?"

"I have come upon the same errand, " she replied. "I have come oncemore to ask you to aid me, but this time come barren of anything toinduce you to comply with my request. Nothing but the generouspromptings of your heart can I hold up before you to extend thecharity I now solicit. "

"You have come here to peg again, " he observed, "but I cannot give youanything. Gootness! ven vill te place pe rid of all te peggers?"

"I cannot help my position, " she said. "A cruel fortune has deprivedmy of him who used to support me, and I am now left alone with mychildren to eke out the wretched existence of a pauper. Last night Iwas turned out of my room by the man who left here a few seconds ago, because I could not pay for my rent. One of my children was sick, buthe cared not for that. I told him of my poverty, and he turned a deafear towards me. I was forced to leave, and my child has become worsefrom exposure in the night air. "

"And vot have I cot to do mit all dis, " he enquired. 

"You can give me the means of purchasing medicine for my sick child, "she replied. "The amount thus bestowed cannot cause you anyinconvenience, while it may be the means of saving life. "

"Dis never vill do, " Mr. Swartz said, interrupting her. "My gootwoman, you must go to somepody else, I can't give away my monish. "

"You have got a plenty, " she persisted, "you are rich. Oh, aid me! Ifyou believe there is a God above, who rewards the charitable, aid me, and receive the heartfelt blessings of a mother. Twenty dollars willbe enough to satisfy my present wants, and that sum will make butlittle difference to a man of your wealth. "

"Mine Cot!" he exclaimed, "If I make monish I work for it, and don'tgo about begging. "

"I know that, " she answered, "and it is to the rich that the poor mustappeal for assistance. This has made me come to you this day. Let mydesire be realized. Aid me in saving the life of my child who is nowlying ill, and destitute of medical attendance. "

He could not appreciate her appeal, and he again refused. 

"I can't give you any ding, " he answered. 

"There is a virtue which shines far more than all the gold youpossess, " replied Mrs. Wentworth. "It is in man what chastity is in awoman. An act of charity ennobles man more than all the fame bestowedupon him for any other merit, and his reward is always commensuratewith his works. Let this virtue move you. The ear of God cannot alwaysbe turned against my prayers to Him, and the hour must surely come, when my husband will be released from prison, and be enabled to repayany kindness you may show his wife and children. Let me have the moneyI have asked you for. " "Oh, sir!" she continued, falling on her kneesbefore him, "believe the words I speak to you, and save my child fromthe hands of death. But a short time ago I left her gasping forbreath, with cold drops of perspiration resting on her brow, perhapsthe marks of approaching dissolution. She is very ill, and can onlyrecover through proper treatment. Place it in my power to call aphysician and to procure medicines, and I shall never cease to blessyou. "

He moved uneasily in his chair, and averted his head from where shewas kneeling, not because he felt touched at her appeal, but becausehe felt annoyed at her importuning him for money. 

"Here my voman, " he said at last. "Here is von tollar pill, dat is allI can give you. "

She looked at the note in his extended hand, and felt the mockery. 

"It will not do, " she answered. "Let me have the amount I have askedyou for. You can spare it. Do not be hardened. Recollect it is toprovide medicine for the sick. "

"I can't do it, " he replied. "You should be shankful for what youget. "

His motive in offering her the dollar, was not from a charitablefeeling, it was only to get rid of a beggar. 

"Oh God!" she groaned, rising from her knees, and resting her elbow onan iron safe near by. "Have you a heart?" she exclaimed wildly, "Itell you my child is ill, perhaps at this moment dying, aid me! aidme! Do not turn away a miserable mother from your door to witness herchild die through destitution, when it is in your power to relieve itssufferings, and save it, so that it may live to be a blessing andsolace to me. If not for my sake, if not for the sake of the child, let me appeal to you for charity, for the sake of him, who is nowimprisoned in a foreign dungeon. He left me to defend you from theenemy--left his wife and children to starve and suffer, for thepurpose of aiding in that holy cause we are now engaged in conflictfor. For his sake, if for no other, give me the means of saving mychild. "

He did not reply to her passionate words, but simply rang a bell thatstood on the table before which he was seated. His clerk answered thesummons. 

"If you vont quit mithout my making you, " he observed to Mrs. Wentworth in a brutal tone, "I must send for a police officer to takeaway. Gootness, " he continued, speaking to himself, "I pelieve tevoman is mat. "

"Save yourself the trouble, " she replied, "I will leave. I am not yetmad, " she added. "But, oh, God! the hour is fast approaching whenmadness must hold possession of my mind. I go to my child--my poordying child. Oh, Heaven, help me!"

As she moved her hand from the safe, she perceived a small package ofmoney lying on it. She paused and looked around. The clerk hadwithdrawn at a sign from Mr. Swartz, while that gentleman was gazingintently at the open pages of a ledger, that lay before him. For amoment she hesitated and trembled from head to foot, while the warmblood rushed to her cheeks, until they were a deep crimson hue. Swiftly she extended her hand towards the package, and grasped it; inanother instant it was concealed in her dress, and the act of despairwas accomplished. 

"God pity me!" she exclaimed, as she left the room and departed fromthe scene of her involuntary crime. 

Despair had induced her to commit a theft, but no angel of God ispurer in mind than was the Soldier's Wife, when she did so. It was theresult of madness, and if the Recording Angel witnessed the act, herecorded not the transgression against her, for it was a sin only inthe eyes of man; above it was the child of despair, born of a pure andinnocent mind, and there is no punishment for such. 

"Thank God, I have the means of saving my darling child, " exclaimedMrs. Wentworth, as she bent her steps towards a druggist's store. Entering it, she purchased a few articles of medicine, and started forthe old negro's cabin, intending to send the old woman for aphysician, as soon as she could reach there. 

Swiftly she sped along the streets. Many passers by stopped and lookedwith surprise at her rapid walking. They knew not the sorrows of theSoldier's Wife. Many there were who gazed upon her threadbarehabiliments and haggard features, who could never surmise that thelight of joy had ceased to burn in her heart. Their life had been onelong dream of happiness, unmarred, save by those light clouds ofsorrow, which at times flit across the horrizon of man's career, butwhich are swiftly driven away by the sunshine of happiness, ordissipated by the gentle winds of life's joyous summer. 

And the crowds passed her in silence and surprise, but she heeded themnot. Her thoughts were of the angel daughter in the negro's lonelycabin. To her she carried life; at least she thought so, but theinevitable will of Death had been declared. Ella was dying. 

The eye of God was still turned from the widow and her children. Hesaw them not, but his Angels, whose duty it is to chronicle all thatoccurs on earth, looked down on that bright autumn day, and a tearfell from the etherial realms in which they dwelt, and rested upon theSoldier's Wife. 

It was the tear of pity, not of relief. 

CHAPTER TWENTIETH

THE DYING CHILD. 

After the departure of Mrs. Wentworth, the little girl lie still uponthe bed, while her little brother played about the room. Nearly onehour elapsed in silence. The breath of the child became shorter andharder drawn. Her little face became more pinched, while the colddrops of perspiration rose larger on her forehead. Instinct told hershe was dying, but young as she was, death created no terrors in herheart. She lay there, anxious for her mother's return, that she maydie in the arms of the one who gave her birth. Death seemed to her butthe advent to Heaven, that home in which we are told all is goodnessand happiness. She thought herself an Angel dwelling with the Maker, and in her childish trustfulness and faith almost wished herselfalready numbered among the Cherubs of Paradise. 

The old negro returned before Mrs. Wentworth, and walking to thebedside of the child, looked at her, and recognized the impress ofapproaching death. She felt alarmed, but could not remedy the evil. Looking at the child sorrowfully for a moment, she turned away. 

"Poh chile, " she muttered sadly, "she is dyin' sho' and her mammy isgone out. Da's a ting to take place in my room. "

"Granny, " said Ella feebly. 

"What do you want my darlin' chile, " answered the old woman, returningto the bedside. 

"See if mother is coming, " she requested. 

The old woman walked to the door, and looked down the street. Therewas no sign of Mrs. Wentworth. 

"No missy, " she said to Ella, "your mammy is not coming yet. "

"Oh, I do wish she would come, " remarked the little girl. 

"Lie still, darlin', " the old woman answered. "Your mammy will comeback directly. "

The child lay still for several minutes, but her mother came not andshe felt that before many hours she would cease to live. 

"Look again, granny, and see if mother is coming, " she againrequested, and in a fainter tone. 

The old woman looked out once more, but still there was no sign ofMrs. Wentworth. 

"Neber mind, darlin' your mammy will cum directly, " she said, and thenadded. "Let me know what you want and I will git it for you. "

"I don't want anything, granny, " Ella answered, and remained silentfor a moment, when she continued: "Granny aint I going to die?"

The old negro looked at her for a moment, and a tear stole down herwithered features. She could not answer, for ignorant and uneducatedas she was, the signs which betoken the parting of the soul from thebody, were too apparent, not to be easily recognized. 

"Poh chile, " she muttered, as she turned her head and brushed away thefalling tear. 

"Answer me, granny, " said Ella. "I am not afraid to die, but I wouldlike to bid mother good-bye, before I went to Heaven. "

"Don't tink of sich tings chile'" observed the old woman. "You is sicknow only; lie still and you will soon see your mother. "

The time sped swiftly, but to the dying child it seemed an age. Shelay there; her life breath ebbing fast, waiting for her mother, thatshe may die in her arms. Angels filled the lowly cabin, and held theiroutstretched arms to receive the spirit of a sinless babe, as soon asit would leave the mortal clay it animated. Soon, soon would it havebeen borne on high, for the rattle in the child's throat had almostcommenced, when a hurried footstep was heard at the door, and Mrs. Wentworth, pale and tired entered the room. 

The hand of Death was stayed for awhile, for the presence of themother started anew the arteries of life, and the blood once morerushed to the cheeks of the dying. Ella held out her arms as hermother approached her, with some medicine in her hand. As she gazedupon her child, Mrs. Wentworth started back, and uttered a faintexclamation of anguish. She saw the worst at a glance, and placingaside the medicine, she seized her child's extended hands, and bendingover her, pressed her darling daughter to her heart. 

"Here aunty, " she said, as soon us she had released Ella, "Here issome money, run and call a physician at once. "

The old negro took the money and moved off. 

"Tell him to come instantly, " she called out after the negro. "It is amatter of life and death, and there is no time to lose. "

"Too late, too late! poor people, " said the old woman, as she hurriedon her mission of mercy. 

It was too late. No science on earth could save Ella from death, andnone on high save the Infinite Power, but He knew not of it. His eyeswere still turned away from the Soldier's Wife and her children. 

Mrs. Wentworth remained silent, looking at her child as she gasped forbreath. Of what use was the money she had committed a crime to obtain?Of what avail were her supplications to God? It were thoughts likethese that passed rapidly through her mind, as she speechlessly gazedat the fast sinking form of her child. Ella saw her agony, and triedto soothe her mother. 

"Come nearer to me, mother, " she said. "Come near and speak to me. "Mrs. Wentworth drew near the bedside, and bent her face to the child. 

"What do you wish, darling?" she asked. 

"Mother, I am dying--I am going to Heaven, " Ella said, speaking withan effort. 

A smothered sob, was the only response she met with. 

"Don't cry mother, " continued the child. "I am going to a good place, and do not feel afraid to die. "

Shaking off her half maddened feeling, Mrs. Wentworth replied. "Don'tspeak that way, darling. You are not going to die. The physician willsoon be here, and he will give you some thing which will get youbetter. "

Ella smiled faintly. "No, mother, I cannot get better; I know I amgoing to die. Last night, while sleeping, an angel told me in mydream, that I would sleep with God to-night. "

"That was only a dream, darling, " Mrs. Wentworth replied, "you willget well and live a long time. "

As she spoke the old negro returned, accompanied by a physician. Hewas one of these old fashioned gentlemen, who never concern themselveswith another's business, and therefore, he did not enquire the causeof Mrs. Wentworth, and her family being in so poor a dwelling. Hisbusiness was to attend the sick, for which he expected to be paid; notthat he was hard-hearted, for, to the contrary, he was a verycharitable and generous man, but he expected that all persons whorequired his advice, should have the means of paying for the same, orgo to the public hospital, where they could be attended to free ofcharge. His notions were on a par with those of mankind in general, sowe cannot complain of him. 

Approaching Ella, he took her hand and felt the pulse which was thenfeebly beating. A significant shake of the head, told Mrs. Wentworththat there was no hope for her child's recovery. 

"Doctor, " she asked, "will my daughter recover?"

"Madam, " he replied, "your child is very, very ill, in fact, I fearshe has not many hours to live. "

"It cannot be, " she said. "Do not tell me there is no hope for mychild. "

"I cannot deceive you, madam, " he replied, "the child has beenneglected too long for science to triumph over her disease. When didyou first call in a medical practitioner?" he added. 

"Not until you were sent for, " she answered. 

"Then you are much to blame, madam, " he observed bluntly. "Had yousent for a physician three weeks ago, the life of your child wouldhave been saved, but your criminal neglect to do so, has sacrificedher life. "

Mrs. Wentworth did not reply to his candid remarks. She did not tellhim that for weeks past her children and herself had scarcely beenable to find bread to eat, much less to pay a doctor's bill. She didnot tell him that she was friendless and unknown; that her husband hadbeen taken prisoner while struggling for his country's rights; thatMr. Elder had turned herself and her children from a shelter, becauseshe had no money to pay him for the rent of the room; nor did she tellhim that the fee he had received, was obtained by theft--was the fruitof a transgression of God's commandments. 

She forgot all these. The reproach of the physician had fallen like athunderbolt from Heaven, in her bosom. Already in her heart sheaccused herself with being the murderess of her child. Already sheimagined, because her poverty had prevented her receiving medicaladvice, that the accusing Angel stood ready to prefer charges againsther for another and a greater crime, than any she had ever beforecommitted. 

"Dying! dying!" she uttered at last, her words issuing from her lips, as if they were mere utterances from some machine. "No hope--no hope!"

"Accept my commiseration, madam, " observed the physician, placing hishat on, and preparing to depart. "Could I save your child, I wouldgladly do so, but there is no hope. She may live until nightfall, buteven that is doubtful. "

Bowing to Mrs. Wentworth, he left the room, in ignorance of the agonyhis reproach had caused her, and returned to his office. Dr. Mallardwas the physician's name. They met again. 

Ella had listened attentively to the physicians words, but not theslightest emotion was manifested by her, when he announced that shewas dying. She listened calmly, and as the doctor had finishedinforming her mother of the hopelessness of her case, the little palelips moved slowly, and the prayer that had been taught her when allwas joy and happiness, was silently breathed by the dying child. 

"Mother, " she said, as soon as Dr. Mallard had left the room. "Comehere and speak to me before I die. "

"Ella! Ella!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth wildly. "Did you not hear whatthe physician said?"

"Yes, mother, " she answered, "but I knew it before. Do not look sosad, come and speak to me, and let me tell you that I am not afraid todie. "

"Ella, my darling child, " continued Mrs. Wentworth in the same strain. "Did you not hear the physician say it is my neglect that had causedyou to be dying?"

"I heard him mother, but he was not right, " she replied. 

"Come nearer, " she continued in an earnest tone. "Sit on the bed andlet me rest my head on your lap. "

Seating herself on the bed, Mrs. Wentworth lifted the body of thedying child in her arms, and pillowed her head on her breast. The oldnegro was standing at the foot of the bed, looking on quietly, whilethe tears poured down her aged cheeks. Mrs. Wentworth's little sonclimbed on the bed, and gazed in wonder at the sad aspect of hismother, and the dying features of his sister. 

"Mother, " said the child, "I am going to Heaven, say a prayer for me. "She essayed to pray, but could not, her lips moved, but utterance wasdenied to her. 

"I cannot pray, darling, " she replied, "prayer is denied to me. "

The child asked no more, for she saw her mother's inability to complywith her wishes. 

The little group remained in the same position until the setting sungleamed through the window, and shed a bright ray across the bed. Nota sound was heard, save the ticking of the old fashioned clock on themantle piece, as its hands slowly marked the fleeting minutes. Theeyes of the dying child had been closed at the time, but as thesunlight shot across her face she opened them, and looked up into hermother's face. 

"Open the window, granny, " she said. 

The old woman opened it, and as she did so, the round red glare of thesun was revealed, while the aroma of thousands wild flowers that grewbeneath the window, entered the room, and floated its perfume on theautumn air. 

"Mother, " said the dying child. 

Mrs. Wentworth looked down upon her child. 

"What is it darling, " she asked. 

"Let brother kiss me, " she requested. 

Her little brother was lifted up and held over her. She pressed a softkiss upon his lips. 

"Good-bye, granny, " she said, holding out her hand to the negro. 

The old woman seized it, and the tears fell faster, on the bed thanthey had hitherto done. Her humble heart was touched at the simple, yet unfearing conduct of the child. 

"Mother, kiss me, " she continued. "Do not be sad, " she added, observing her mother's pale and ghastly countenance. "I am going to aworld where no one is sick, and no one knows want. "

Stooping over her dying child, Mrs. Wentworth complied with Ella'srequest, and pressed her brow in a long and earnest kiss. She had notspoken a word from the time her child requested the old woman to openthe window, but she had never for an instant, ceased looking on thefeatures of her dying daughter, and she saw that the film was fastgathering on her eyes. 

After her mother had kissed her, Ella remained silent for severalminutes, when suddenly starting, she exclaimed: "I see them, mother! Isee them! See the Angels coming for me--Heaven--mother--Angels!" Abright smile lit her features, the half-opened eyes lit up with thelast fires of life; then as they faded away, her limbs relaxed, andstill gazing on her mother's face, the breath left the body. 

There was a rush as of wind through the window, but it was the Angels, who were bearing the child's spirit to a brighter and a better world. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST. 

THE INTRUSION. 

As soon as the breath had left her child's body, Mrs. Wentworthremoved the corpse from her lap and laid it on the bed; than standingaside of it, gazed upon all that remained of her little daughter. Nota tear, not a sigh, not a groan denoted that she felt any grief at herbereavement. Except a nervous twitching of her mouth, her featureswore a cold and rigid appearance, and her eye looked dull and glassy. She spoke not a word to those around her who yet lived. Her little boywas unnoticed, no other object but the dead body appeared to meet herview. 

There are moments when the fountains of grief become dried up. It wasso with Mrs. Wentworth. The sight of her dead child's face--beautifulin death--for it wore a calm and placid exterior, too life-like fordeath, too rigid for life, awoke no emotion in her bosom; nor did theknowledge that the infant would soon be placed in the grave, and beforever hidden from the gaze she now placed on it so steadfastly, cause a single tear drop to gather in her eye, nor a sigh to burstfrom her pale and firmly closed lips. And yet, there raged within herbreast a volcano, the violence of whose fire would soon exhaust, andleave her scarred and blasted forever. At that moment it kindled witha blaze, that scorched her heart, but she felt it not. Her whole beingwas transformed into a mass of ruin. She felt not the strain on thetendrils of her mind; that her overwrought brain was swaying betweenmadness and reason. She only saw the lifeless lineaments of herchild--the first pledge of her wedded affection--dead before her. 

It came to her like a wild dream, a mere hallucination--an imaginationof a distempered mind. She could not believe it. There, on that lowlybed, her child to die! It was something too horrible for her thoughts, and though the evidence lay before her, in all its solemn grandeur, there was something to her eye so unreal and impossible in its silentmagnificence that she doubted its truthfulness. 

The old negro saw her misery. She knew that the waters which run witha mild and silent surface, are often possessed of greater depth, thanthose which rush onward with a mighty noise. 

"Come missis, " she said, placing her hand on Mrs. Wentworth'sshoulder. "De Lord will be done. Nebber mind. He know better what todo dan we do, and we must all be satisfy wid his works. "

Mrs. Wentworth looked at the old woman for a moment, and a bittersmile swept across her countenance. What were words of consolation toher? They sounded like a mockery in her heart. She needed them not, for they brought not to life again the child whose spirit had wingedits flight to eternity, but a short time since. 

"Peace old woman, " she replied calmly, "you know not what you say. That, " she continued, pointing to the body of Ella, "that you tell menot to mourn, but to bend to the will of God. Pshaw! I mourn it not. Better for the child to die than lead a beggar's life on earth. "

"Shame, shame missis, " observed the old woman, very much shocked atwhat appeared to her the insensibility of Mrs. Wentworth. "You musn'ttalk dat way, it don't do any good. "

"You know not what I mean, auntie, " Mrs. Wentworth answered in amilder tone. "Why did I come here? Why did I bring my child ill anddying from a shelter, and carry her through the night air, until Ifound a home in your lonely cabin? Do you know why?" she continuedwith bitterness. "It was because I was a beggar, and could not pay thedemands of the rich. "

"Poh lady!" ejaculated the old woman. "Whar is your husband. "

"My husband?" she replied. "Ah! where is he? Oh, God!" she continuedwildly. "Where is he now while his child lies dead throughdestitution, and his wife feels the brand of the _thief_ imprintedupon her forehead? Why is he not here to succor the infant boy who yetremains, and who may soon follow his sister? Oh, God! Oh, God! that heshould be far away, and I be here gazing on the dead body of mychild--dead through my neglect to procure her proper medicalattendance; dead through the destitution of her mother. "

"Nebber mind, missis, " observed the old negro soothingly, "De chile isgone to heaben, whar it wont suffer any more. "

"Peace!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth passionately. "Do not talk to me ofHeaven. What has God done to aid me in my misery? Has he not sufferedme to feel the pangs of hunger, to see my children deprived of bread, to permit me to stain my whole existence with a crime? The child isgone to Heaven. Aye! there her sinlessness and innocence might giveher a welcome, and she may be happy, but the blank left in my heart, the darkness of my mind, the cheerless and unpropitious future thatunveils itself before my aching eyes, can never be obliterated until Iam laid in the grave beside her, and my spirit has winged its flightto the home where she now dwells. "

She spoke slowly and earnestly, but her words were of despair not ofgrief. Motioning to the old woman that she desired no furtherconversation, Mrs. Wentworth again fixed her gaze upon the deadfeatures of her child. On them she looked, until the tablet of hermemory contained but one impress, that of her daughter's face. Allrecords of past suffering, all anxiety for the present, all prayer forthe future, were driven away, and solitary and alone the image of thedead child filled their place, and in that lone thought wasconcentrated all that had transpired in her life for months past. Itwas the last remaining bulwark to her tottering mind, and though itstill held reason dominant, the foundation of sanity had been shakento such an extent that the slightest touch and the fabric would fallfrom its throne and crumble to dust at the feet of madness. But thiswas unknown to God. He who knoweth all things still kept his eyes awayfrom the mother and her children. 

"Dead! dead!" said, Mrs. Wentworth, swaying her body to and fro. "Myangel child dead! Oh, God!"' she continued, passing her hand acrossher brow. "That I should live to see this day, that this hour ofbereavement should ever be known to me. Oh! that this should be theresult of my sufferings, that this should be the only reward of mytoils and prayers. "

The blood rushed to her face, and her whole form trembled with anuncontrollable agitation; her bosom heaved with emotion, and thebeatings of her heart were heard as plain as the click of the clock onthe mantlepiece. Stooping over the dead body she clasped it in herarms, and pressed the bloodless and inanimate lips in a fond embrace. It was the promptings of a mother's heart. She had nursed the childwhen an infant, and had seen her grow up as beautiful as the fairiesso often described by the writers of fiction. She had looked forwardfor the day when the child would bloom into womanhood, and be ablessing and a comfort in her old age. All these were now foreverblighted. Not even the presence of her son awoke a thought within herthat the living remained to claim her care and affection. He was but alink in the chain of her paternal love, and the bonds having beenbroken she looked on the shattered fragment and sought not to unitewhat yet remained in an unhurt state. 

When she rose from her stooping posture her face had resumed its coldand rigid appearance. Turning to the old negro who was looking on insilent wonder and grief, she enquired in a calm tone: "Have you any ofthe money left that I gave you this morning?"

"Yes, missis, " she replied. "I got some left. "

"How much is it?" asked Mrs. Wentworth. 

"Twelve dollars, " she answered, counting the notes that she had takenfrom her pocket. 

"Will that be enough to pay for a coffin for my child?" Mrs. Wentworthenquired. 

"I don't know, but I spect it will do, " replied the old negro. 

"To make sure that it will be enough, " observed Mrs. Wentworth, "hereis some more money to pay for it. " As she spoke she handed severalnotes to the old woman. "And now, " she continued, "I want you to goout and order a coffin, as I want the child to be buried to-morrowmorning. "

"I spec I better get de parson to preach over de poor chile, " remarkedthe old woman, who was a strict member of the church, and verysuperstitious in relation to the evils that would accrue from adeparture from all that is laid down in religious tenets. 

"Yes, yes!" Mrs. Wentworth replied. "But there is no necessity ofgoing for him this evening, wait until early in the morning, that timewill do well enough. "

The old woman curtsied and moved out of the room. Arriving in town sheentered an undertaker's shop and enquired if he could furnish a coffinby the next morning. On his answering in the affirmative she paid himtwenty dollars, the amount charged, and hastened back to her cabin. The interest manifested by this old woman, was that usually shown toall persons in distress by the faithful slave of the South. She hadnot even learned Mrs. Wentworth's name, but the sight of her sad andhaggard features, as well as the death of Ella, had awaken a feelingof sympathy for the unfortunate family; thus we see her obeying theorders of her accidental guests, without making any objections. But toreturn to the dead. 

As soon as Mrs. Wentworth was left alone, her face assumed its naturalappearance, and the rigid expression it had hitherto worn wasdispelled. Opening a bundle she had brought front her room, she tookout a white dress. It was one of the few remaining articles ofclothing she possessed, and had only been saved at the earnestsolicitation of the little Ella. It was her bridal robe; in that shehad walked up to the altar and plighted her troth to the loved husbandwho was now a prisoner and far away. The first and last time she hadworn it was on that day, and as she gazed on it the memory of the pastrushed upon her. She thought of the hour when, as a blushing bride, she leaned on the proud form of her lover, as they walked together inthe sacred edifice to register those vows that bound them in anindissoluble tie, and unite their hearts in a stronger and holier lovethan their lover's vows had done. Then she know not what sorrow was. No gift of futurity had disclosed to her the wretchedness and penurythat after years had prepared for her. No, then all was joy andhappiness. As she stood by the side of her lover her maiden facesuffused with blushes, and her palpitating heart filled with mingledfelicity and anxiety as she looked down on the bridal dress thatcovered her form. No thought, no dream, not even a fear of what afteryears would bring to her, stirred the fountain of fear and caused hera single pang. And now--but why trouble the reader with any furtherremarks of the past? That is gone and forever. We have seen her treadthe paths in which all that is dismal and wretched abides; we haveseen herself and her children lead a life, the very thought of whichshould cause us to pray it may never be our lot. Words can avail butlittle. They only fill the brain with gladness for awhile to turn tohorror afterwards. We have but to write of the present. In it we findmisery enough, we find sorrow and wretchedness, without the hand ofcompassion being held forth to help the miserable from the deep andfearful gulf with which penury and want abound. 

The wedding dress was soiled and crumpled; the bunches of orangeblossoms with which it was adorned, lay crushed upon its folds--a fitappearance for the heart of the owner--It looked like a relic ofgrandeur shining in the midst of poverty, and as its once gaudy foldsrested against the counterpane in the bed, the manifest difference ofthe two appeared striking and significant. 

For a moment Mrs. Wentworth gazed upon this last momento of long pasthappiness, and a spasm of grief contracted her features. It passedaway, however, in an instant, and she laid the dress across the deadbody of her child. Drawing a chair to the bedside, she took from herpocket a spool of thread, some needles and her scissors. Selecting oneof the needles, she thread it, and pinning it in the body of herdress, removed the wedding gown from the body of her child, andprepared to make a shroud of it. Rapidly she worked at her task, andbefore darkness had set in, the burial garment was completed, and thebody of Ella was enclosed in the last robe she would wear on earth. 

The body of the dead child looked beautiful. The snowy folds of thedress were looped up with the orange blossoms which Mrs. Wentworth hadrestored to their natural beauty. On her cold, yet lovely brow, awreath of the same flowers was placed, while in her hand was placed atiny ivory cross, that Ella had worn around her neck while living. Thetransformation was complete. The dress of the young and blooming bridehad become the habiliments of the dead child, and the orange blossomsthat rested on its folds and on the brow of Ella, were not moreemblematical for the dead than they had been for the living. 

"Oh! how pretty sister looks, " exclaimed the little boy, who could notcomprehend why the dead body lie so motionless and stiff. "Wake herup, mother, " he continued, "she looks so pretty that I want her tostand up and see herself. "

Mrs. Wentworth smiled sorrowfully at her son's remarks, but she didnot remove her features from the dead. The saint-like expression ofher child, and the placid and beautiful face that lay before herdevoid of animation, had awoke the benumbed feelings of affectionwithin her. A bright light flashed across her brain, and the long pentup tears, were about to flow, when the door was widely opened, and adark shadow spread itself over the body of Ella. Checking her emotion, Mrs. Wentworth looked around and beheld the figure of Mr. Swartz, accompanied by two police officers. 

She spoke not a word at first, for in an instant the cause of hisvisit was known. One look she gave him, which sunk into the inmostdepths of his soul; then turning to the dead child, she slowlyextended her hand and pointed to it. 

"There, " she said at last. "Look there, " and her face again wore itsformer colorless and rigid aspect. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND. 

IMPRISONMENT OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 

We must now take a glance back at the time that Mrs. Wentworthcommitted her act of despair in taking the package of money from thesafe. Mr. Swartz, as we stated, was then gazing intently at the openpages of his ledger, and, in her leaving the room hurriedly, did nottake any other notice of her, than mere glance. He then resumed hiscalculations, nor did he rise from his seat for nearly three hoursafterwards, so intent was he on the books before him. Rising up atlast, he walked to the safe, and observing that the package of moneywas gone, called out to his clerk, who quickly answered the summonsand entered the room. 

"Vere is dat package of money I had on de safe dis morning?" heenquired, as soon as the clerk had entered. 

"I have not seen anything of it, since I gave it into your hands thismorning at nine o'clock, " the clerk replied. 

"Vell, I put it on top of dis safe, " observed Mr. Swartz, "and Iforgot to lock it up, ven Mr. Elder came in, and kept me talkingnearly two hours, den de beggar came in and remained for a long time. After dat I vas busy mit the ledger, and didn't think of it. "

"Perhaps you have placed it somewhere else, and cannot recollectwhere, " remarked the clerk, who was apprehensive that Mr. Swartz wouldcharge him with having stolen the money. 

"No, I didn't, " answered Mr. Swartz, "De monish vas put down on de topof the safe, for I remember putting it down here myself, " he added, pointing to the spot where the money had been. 

"You had better search about before you make certain of that, " saidthe clerk. "See if it is not in your pocket you may have placed itthere, and at the same time believe that you placed it on your safe. "

"Mine Cot!" answered Mr. Swartz, "I tell you I put the package on desafe. See here, " he continued, searching his pockets, and emptyingthem of whatever they contained. "Don't you see dat de monish is notin my pockets. It vas on de safe und unless somebody removed it, itnever could have gone away. "

"You should be certain, sir, before you insist that you placed it onthe safe, " remarked the clerk. "Look in the draw of your desk, it mayhave been placed there as well as any other place. "

With a gesture of impatience Mr. Swartz opened the drawers of thedesk, and removing everything they contained searched carefully amongthe large number of papers for the missing package. It was not therehowever, and turning to the clerk who was standing near by, he pointedto the table to indicate the fact of its absence among the papers hehad taken from the drawers. 

"I told you it vash not tere, " he remarked. "Somebody has taken temonish, and, py Cot! I vill find out who has got it. "

"Don't be so hasty in your conclusions, sir, " said the clerk. "Let ussearch the room carefully, and see whether it has not been mislaid byyou. It will never do, " he added, "to charge anybody with having takenthe money, when it may be lying about the room. "

"Vere can it pe lying?" asked Mr. Swartz angrily. "I tell you it vashon te safe, and tere ish no use looking any where else. "

"That maybe so, sir, " replied the clerk, "but if you will give mepermission I will search the room well before you take any furthersteps in the matter. "

"You can look if you like, " observed Mr. Swartz, "but I know tere ishno chance of your finding it, and it ish only giving yourself troublefor noting. "

"Never do you mind that, sir, " the clerk answered. "I am willing totake the trouble. "

Removing the books from the top of the safe he carefully shook themout, but the package was not among them. He then replaced them andturned the safe round, with the hope that the money might have fallenunder it. The same success, however, attended him, and he wascompelled to renew his efforts. Everything in the room was removedwithout the package being found. After a minute and diligent search hewas compelled to give up the work in despair, and ceasing he stoodtrembling before Mr. Swartz, who, he momentarily expected, wouldcharge him with having committed a theft. But for this fear he wouldnever have taken the trouble of upsetting and replacing everything inthe room, but would have been perfectly satisfied for his employer tosustain the loss. 

"Vell!" said Mr. Swartz. "I suppose you ish satisfied dat te monishain't here. "

"Its disappearance is very singular, " replied the clerk. "If, as yousay, the package was laid on the safe and never removed by you, somebody must have taken it away. "

"Of course, somepody tock it, " remarked Mr. Swartz. "How te tevilcould it go mitout it vash taken away py somepody?"

"Do you suspect any one of having stolen it, " asked the clerk, turningas white as the shirt he wore. 

"Did you ever come near de safe to-day, " asked Mr. Swartz, abruptly. 

"Me, sir?" said the now thoroughly frightened clerk. "No, I--Nosir--I--never came further than the door each time you called to me. "

"I can't say dat Mr. Elder vould take it, " observed Mr. Swartz, "andall I remember now dat you didn't come anyvere near de safe, I can'ttink who could have taken the monish. "

Assured by his manner that Mr. Swartz had dismissed all idea ofcharging him with the theft, the clerk's confidence returned, and heceased stuttering and trembling. 

"Do you think the woman who was here could have taken it?" heenquired, and then added: "The last time I entered this room while shewas here, I remember seeing her standing near the safe, with her elbowon the top. "

"By Cot!" exclaimed Mr. Swartz, striking the table with his hand. "Shemust be de very person. She vanted me to give her monish, and she musthave seen de package lying on the safe and taken it avay. "

"It is no use wasting any time then, " said the clerk, "you mustendeavor to find out where she stays, and have her arrested thisevening. "

"Vere can I find her house?" asked Mr. Swartz. 

"You will have to track her, " answered the clerk. "The first place youhad better go to is Elkin's drug store, for I saw the woman enterthere after leaving here. "

Mr. Swartz made no reply, but taking up his hat he walked out of hisoffice, and proceeded to the drug store. The druggist, who had noticedthe wild and haggard appearance of Mrs. Wentworth, informed him, inreply to his enquiries, that such a person as the one he described hadpurchased several descriptions of medicines from him, and on leavinghis store, she had walked up the street. This being the onlyinformation that the druggist could give, Mr. Swartz left the store, and after many enquiries discovered where Mrs. Wentworth resided. Heimmediately returned to his store, and mentioned his discovery to theclerk. 

"You had better go at once and take out a warrant against her forrobbery;" remarked the clerk, "and take a couple of policemen with youto arrest her. "

Starting to the City Hall, Mr. Swartz took out a warrant against Mrs. Wentworth for larceny, and procuring the assistance of two policemen, he started for the old negro's cabin, determined to prosecute thethief to the utmost extent of his power and the law. Having informedour readers of his conduct on discovering that his money had beenstolen, we will continue from where we left off at the close of thelast chapter. 

Mrs. Wentworth on perceiving Mr. Swartz and the two policemen, hadpointed to the dead body of her child, and pronounced the solitaryword, "there, " while her face became cold and expressiveless. 

Involuntarily looking in the direction pointed out by Mrs. Wentworth, the three men started with awe as their eyes fell upon the beautifulface of the dead child. One of the policemen, who was a devoutCatholic crossed himself, and withdrew from the entrance of the door, but the other policeman and Mr. Swartz quickly shook off all feelingsof fear that had passed over them. 

"Here is de voman, " said Mr. Swartz, pointing to Mrs. Wentworth. "Disis de voman who shtole mine monish. "

As he spoke she turned her face towards him, but the mute anguish ofthe mother did not cause a sentiment of regret to enter Mr. Swartz'sheart, at the part he was acting towards her. 

"Arrest her, " continued Mr. Swartz, "I vant you to take her to dejail, where she can be examined, and to-morrow morning I can have herup before de Mayor. "

"Not to-night, " exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth in a hollow voice. "Leave mewith the dead body of my child; after she is buried you can do as youplease with me. "

"I knows better tan to do dat, " observed Mr. Swartz, "by to-morrowmorning you vould be a pretty far avay from Shackson. "

"I will not move from this cabin an inch further than to the burialground, " replied Mrs. Wentworth, "but if you fear it is my intentionto escape, let one of your policemen remain here and watch me tonight. "

Mr. Swartz stepped to the threshold of the door, and consulted the twomen on the possibility of complying with her request, but one refusedthrough superstition, while the other declined in consequence of hisbeing on the night watch. 

"I can't agree to your vishes, " said Mr. Swartz, as soon as theconference was over, and he returned to the bedside. "De policemenvont remain here. "

"Then do you trust me, " she replied. "By the holy name of God, Iimplore you not to tear me from the body of my child, but if that namehas no weight with you, and as I perceive it is useless to appeal toyou by the sacred tenets of Christianity, let me pray you, that as aman, you will not descend to such brutality as to force me from thedead body that now lies before you, and deprive me of performing thelast sad rites over her. In the name of all that is humane, I plead toyou, and, oh, God! let my supplications be answered. "

"Dere is no use of you talking in dat vay to me, " said Mr. Swartz in acoarse and brutal tone. "It vas in de same sthyle dat you vent on dismorning, ven you vas begging me, and den you afterwards shtole mymonish. "

As he finished speaking, the old negro entered the cabin, andperceiving the intruders, enquired the cause of their presence. TheCatholic who was an Irishman, briefly explained the object of theirvisit to the astonished old woman, who never conceived for a momentthat Mrs. Wentworth had been guilty of theft. 

"De Lor!" she exclaimed, as soon as her informant had concluded hisremarks. "Who would'a believe it? Poh people, dey is really bad off, "and she hurried to Mrs. Wentworth's side. 

Mrs. Wentworth had paid no attention to the colloquy between the oldnegro and the policeman; she was engaged in appealing to Mr. Swartz, not to remove her to jail that night. 

"You must have some feelings of humanity within you, " she wasobserving. "You must have some touch of pity in your heart for mycondition. Do not send me to jail to-night, " she continued in anearnest tone. "If your own heart is steeled against the sorrows of ahelpless and wretched woman; if the sight of that dead face does notawaken a spark of manly pity within you, let me entreat you, by thememory of the mother you once had, not to tear me from the body of mychild. The hours of night will pass of rapidly, and by the dawn ofmorning my daughter shall be buried. "

This was the first touch of feeling she had manifested, and though notears bedewed her cheeks, the swelling of her bosom and the anguishedlook she wore, told of sorrow more terrible than if tears had come. 

The wretch was unmoved. He stood there, not thinking of the solemn andheart-rending scene before him, but of the money he had lost, and thechance of its being found on the person of Mrs. Wentworth. 

"Do your duty, policemen, " he said, without appearing as if he hadheard her remarks. 

"It is well, " she said, and walking up to the bedside of her deadchild, she lifted the body until it almost assumed a standingposition. "Farewell child, farewell forever!" she continued, coveringthe lifeless face with kisses. "See this!" she said, turning to themen, "see the result of beggary and starvation. Look upon it, you havehad it in your power to save me from this desolation, and rejoice inyour work. Here, take me, " she added, laying down the corpse. "Take mefrom the presence of the dead, for if I remain gazing at it muchlonger, I will indeed go mad. "

Walking up to the old woman, Mrs. Wentworth continued. "Auntie, Ileave my child's body with you. See that it is buried and mark thespot where it rests, for oh! I feel that the day is not far distantwhen my weary head will rest in peace at last, when that time arrives, I desire to be buried by the remains of her who now lies there. Forthe little boy who is here, keep him Auntie, until his father claimshim, and should his father never return, take him before some man highin position, and tell him that a wretched mother leaves him to thecare of his country, as a momento of one of the patriot band who diedin her service. "

The old negro fell upon her knees before the speaker, and burst intotears, while even the rude policemen were touched by her remarks, Mr. Swartz alone remained unmoved, the only feeling within him was adesire that the work of confining her in jail should be completed. 

"And now one last farewell, " continued Mrs. Wentworth, again embracingthe corpse. Another instant and she was out of the room followed bythe three men, and they proceeded in the direction of the jail. 

The old negro fell on her knees by the side of the bed, burying herhead in the folds of the counterpane, while the tears flowed freelyfrom her eyes. The little boy nestled by her side sobbing and callingfor his mother. 

"Don't cry chile, " said the old negro, endeavoring to console him. "Your mammy will come back one of dese days, " then recollecting thewords of Mrs. Wentworth in reference to him, she took him in her arms, and continued, "poh chile, I will take care ob you until your fathercome for you. "

Thus did the good hearted slave register her promise to take care ofthe child, and her action was but the result of the kind treatment shehad received from her owner. She had been taken care of when a childby the father of her present owner, who was no other than Dr. Humphries, and now that she had grown old and feeble, he had providedher with a home, and supported her in return for the long life offaithful service she had spent as his slave. 

The next morning at about nine o'clock, a hearse might have been seenin front of the old woman's cabin. Without any assistance the negrodriver lifted a little coffin from the chairs on which it rested inthe room, and conveyed it into the hearse. It then drove off slowly, followed by the old negro and the infant, and drove to the burialground. There a short and simple prayer was breathed over the coffin, and in a few moments a mound of earth covered it. Thus was buried thelittle angel girl, who we have seen suffer uncomplainingly, and diewith a trusting faith in her advent to Heaven. No long procession ofmortals followed her body, but the Angels of God were there, and theystrewed the wood with the flowers of Paradise, which though invisible, wafted a perfume into the soul sweeter than the choicest exotics ofearth. 

From the grave of the child we turn to the mother, to see if hersufferings died with the body of the Angel which had just been buried. They had not, for still the eye of God was turned from the Soldier'sWife, and he saw not the life of misery and degradation that she wasleading. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD. 

THE COMMITTAL. 

On the morning that Ella was buried, Mrs. Wentworth was carried beforethe Mayor, and charges preferred against her for robbery. The packagecontaining the remainder of the money had been found on her person thenight previous, and this evidence was brought forward against her. 

"What are your charges against this woman, Mr. Swartz, " began hisHonor. 

"Vell your Honor, " replied that individual, "I vill tell dem in butfew words. Dis voman called at my shtore yesterday, and begged me formonish. I gave her von tollar, but she vouldn't take it, and after sheleft de shtore I found out dat a package of monish, dat was on de safewas gone, I den called mine clerk, and I look for de monish, and helooked for de monish, but ve neider of us find de monish. Den I saydat certainly somepody must take dish monish, and he say so too; denve remember dat dis voman vas leaning against de safe, and he told meof it, and I remember too, and--"

"Explain your charges against the woman as briefly as possible, Mr. Swartz, " interrupted the Mayor. "I have not time to stay herelistening to a long round-about story. "

"Von minute your Honor, von minute, " replied the wretch. "I will soonfinish de account. As I vas saying, I remember dat dis voman vasstanding leaning by de safe and mine clerk tells me to go to de TrugShtore, as de voman vent in dere, and I goes in de Trug Shtore, andMr. Elkin he tells me dat de voman did come in dere and py some physicand dat she valk up de street, and I goes up de street and--"

"For goodness sake, Mr. Swartz, let me beg of you to conclude yourremarks as soon as possible and not detain the Court with unnecessarystatements, " again interrupted the Mayor, "I see no use for you torepeat all that you did. Just come to the point at once and I will beable to decide whether this woman is to be committed or not. "

"Shust von minute longer, your Honor, " Mr. Swartz answered, "I villfinish directly. Vell, you see, I vent in te street, and I goes up testreet, and I asks te beoples if tey see tis voman, and von of tem sayhe not see te voman, and I ask anoter and he not see te voman, and Iask anoter again and he not see te voman eider. "

"If you are going to continue this nonsense all day let me know, and Iwill prepare myself to listen, as well as to return the other prisonersto jail until to-morrow, " observed His Honor. "It appears as if you cannever get through your tale. Speak quickly and briefly, and do not keepme waiting. "

"Shust vait a little vile more nor not so musht, " replied Mr. Swartz, and continuing his story he said, "I ask everybody if tey sees disvoman and dey say dey not sees te voman, and after I ask everybody vonman tell me dat he sees dis voman valk up de shtreet, and I go up deshtreet von little more vay and--"

"In the name of Heaven cease your remarks, " exclaimed the Mayor, whohad become thoroughly exasperated at the narrative of Mr. Swartz. 

"Gootness, " observed that gentleman, "did you not shay I vas for totell vy I pring dis voman up?"

"Yea, " replied His Honor, "but I did not expect you to give me a longnarrative of all that occurred during the time while you were lookingfor where she lived. "

"Veil, I vill soon finish, " he remarked, "as I was saying, I goes upde shtreet von little more vays and I ask anoder man vere dis vomanvas, and he shust look on me and shay he vould not tell noting to vontam Tutchman, and I go to von oder man and he show me von little logcabin, and I goes up dere softly and I sees dis voman in dere. "

"All this has nothing to do with the charge you have preferred againsther, " the Mayor said, "let me know upon what grounds you prefer thecharge of robbery against her. "

"Vell, ven I sees her I valks pack to mine Shtore and I talks mit mineclerk, and he say I vas have to take out a varrant, and I comes to deCity Hall and I takes out de varrant, and I takes two policemen and Igoes to te cabin and finds dis voman dere, and she peg me not to takeher to jail, but I vouldn't pe pegged and I pring her to jail. "

"Mr. Swartz, if you don't conclude your remarks at once I will benecessitated to postpone your case until to-morrow; I I am tired ofhearing your remarks, every one of which has been to no purpose. Yousay the package of money that you lost was found on this woman, andthat she had been in your store the same day and had leaned againstthe safe on the top of which the money had been placed by you. "

"Dat's shust it, " replied Mr. Swartz. "Ven I go mit te voman to tejail te jail man search her and find te monish in her pocket, and itvas te same monish as I had stolen off te safe. --But te monish vas notall dere; over tirty tollars vas taken out of it, and dat vas vat disvoman sphent, and I--"

"That's enough, Mr. Swartz, " interrupted the Mayor. "You have saidenough on the subject, and I will now proceed with the accused. "

While Mr. Swartz was speaking Mrs. Wentworth remained as silent as ifshe had not heard a word he said. Her appearance was calm, nor wasthere anything remarkable about her except a strange unnaturalbrightness of the eye. 

"Well, my woman, " continued the Mayor, "what have you to say inextenuation of the charge. "

"Nothing, Sir, " she replied, "I have nothing to say in defense ofmyself. The money was found on my person, and would alone prove meguilty of the theft. Besides which, I have neither desire norintention to deny having taken the money. "

"What induced you to steal?" asked the Mayor. 

"A greater tempter than I had ever met before, " she replied. "It wasnecessity that prompted me to take that money. "

"And you sphent tirty-tree tollers of it, py gootness, " exclaimed Mr. Swartz, in an excited tone. 

"As you acknowledge the theft, " said the Mayor, "I am compelled tocommit you to prison until the meeting of the Superior Court, whichwill be in four days from this. "

Mrs. Wentworth was then committed back to prison, and Mr. Swartzreturned to his store. 

The spirit of the child had reached God and at that moment waspointing to her mother below. The day of rest is near. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH. 

RETURN OF ALFRED WENTWORTH--A STRANGER. 

After long weeks of pain and illness Alfred Wentworth became wellenough to return to the Confederacy. He was accordingly sent down bythe first flag of truce that went to Vicksburg after his recovery, andtwo days after the committal of his wife arrived at Jackson, where hewas warmly welcomed by Harry. 

"I am delighted to see you, my dear friend, " he exclaimed, shaking hishands warmly, "you have no idea the suspense I have been in since myescape, to learn whether you were re-captured. It would havereproached me to the last hour of my life had you been killed by thosecursed Yankees. "

"I came pretty near it, " replied Alfred, smiling at his friend'searnestness. 

"You were not hurt, were you?" enquired his friend. 

"The slight matter of a few minie balls, lodged in different parts ofmy body, is all the injury I received, " he answered. 

"I suppose that occasioned your not coming with the first lot ofprisoners, " Harry remarked. 

"Yes, " he replied, "when the cartel was arranged and orders were givenfor the prisoners to prepare for their departure from Camp Douglas, Iwas still suffering from my wound, and the doctors declared me unableto move for several days. An excited mind soon brought on fever, whichso prostrated me that the days extended to weeks before I was able toleave the hospital. "

"I am heartily glad to see you once more safe on Confederate soil, atany rate, " observed Harry, and he added, "as I will insist upon yourstaying at my house while you are here, let me know where your baggageis, that I may hate it removed. "

"I am staying at the Burman House, but what little baggage I possessis at Vicksburg. "

"Then take a walk with me to the residence of Dr. Humphries, " saidHarry, "and I will introduce you to my betrothed. "

"I thank you, " Alfred replied, "but the present state of my wardrobedoes not admit of my appearing before ladies. "

"Pshaw, " observed Harry, "that is the least part of the question. Letme know what you desire and I will get it for you directly. "

"I have about seven hundred dollars in Confederate money with me, "answered Alfred, "if you will show me some store where I can purchasea decent suit of clothes; that will be all I shall trouble you for. "

"Take a walk with me to Lemby's clothing store and you will find afine outfit there. "

Drawing Alfred's arm in his, Harry conducted him to Lemby's clothingstore, where a suit of clothing was bought. They then proceeded to theBowman House and entered Alfred's room. 

"My furlough is only for thirty days, " Alfred remarked, while engagedin dressing himself, "and how I am to send in a letter to New Orleansand receive an answer before that time expires I cannot conjecture. "

"What do you wish to write to New Orleans for, " asked Harry. 

"Why, to wife, " answered Alfred, "I think it is about time that sheshould hear from me. "

"My dear friend, " replied Harry, "your wife is not in New Orleans, sheis in the Confederate lines. "

"Where is she?" he enquired, eagerly. 

"I could not tell you that, " Harry answered, "but of one thing you maybe certain, she is not in New Orleans. "

"How do you know that?" he asked. 

"Dr. Humphries purchased a negro girl the day before I returned; shegave her name as Elsy, and said she was belonging to Mr. AlfredWentworth, of New Orleans. On being questioned why she had left thecity, the girl said that her mistress with your two children had beenforced to leave by Beast Butler, who would not allow her to go also, but that, being determined to follow your wife, she had ran theblockade and came into the Confederate lines. ". 

"And did my wife sell her to anybody else?" enquired Alfred. 

"Wait a moment, my dear friend, and I will tell you, " answered Harry. "The girl did not see her mistress at all, for she was arrested on herarrival in this city, and having no papers, as well as no owner, shewas sold according to law, and was purchased by Dr. Humphries, atwhose residence she is now. I would have told you this when we firstmet, but it slipped my memory completely. "

"But where could my wife have gone to?" remarked Alfred. "I do notknow of any person in the Confederate lines with whom she isacquainted, and where she can get the means to support herself andchildren I have not the least idea. "

"That she has been to Jackson I am certain, " Harry replied, "for nosooner did I hear what the girl had informed Dr. Humphries, than Iendeavored to find out where she resided. I searched the register ofboth the hotels in this city and found that she had been staying atthis hotel; but the clerk did not recollect anything about her, andcould not tell me where she went to on her departure from this city. Ialso advertised in several newspapers for her, but receiving noinformation, was compelled to give up my search in despair. "

"I thank you for your remembrance of me, " observed Alfred. "Thisintelligence, however, will compel me to apply for an extension of myfurlough, so that I may be enabled to find out where my wife andchildren are. I am very much alarmed at the news you have given me. "

"I hope your wife and children are comfortably situated, wherever theymay be; and could I have discovered their residence, I should havemade it my duty to see that they wanted for nothing. "

"I know it, I know it, " said Alfred, pressing his friend's hand, andhe continued, "you will favor me on our arriving at Dr. Humphries' byobtaining an interview for me with Elsy; I desire to know the cause ofmy wife's ejectment from New Orleans. "

"As soon as you are ready let me know and we will start for theDoctor's, " Harry answered, "where you will find the girl. Dr. Humphries told me that he intended returning her to you or your wifeas soon as he discovered either of you. So in the event of yourfinding out where Mrs. Wentworth lives, she will be promptly givenup. "

"No, no, " Alfred remarked, hurriedly, "the Doctor has purchased herand I do not desire the girl unless I can return the money he paid forher. If you are ready to go, " he added, "let us leave at once. "

The two friends left the hotel and soon arrived at the residence ofDr. Humphries. The Doctor was not at home, but Emma received them. After introducing Alfred to her, and engaging in a brief conversation, Harry requested her to call Elsy, as he desired her to speak with hisfriend. The fair girl complied with his request by ringing the bellthat lay on the table; her call was answered by the slave in person. 

On entering the room Elsy made a low curtsey to the gentlemen, andlooked at Alfred earnestly for a moment, but the soldier had become sosunburnt and altered in features that she failed to recognize him. 

"Do you not remember me, Elsy?" enquired Alfred, as soon as heperceived her. 

His voice was still the same, and running up to him, the girl seizedhis hand with joy. 

"I tought I knowed you, sah, " she exclaimed, "but you is so change Ididn't remember you. "

"I am indeed changed, Elsy, " he replied; "I have been sick for a longtime. And now that I am once more in the Confederacy, it is to find mywife and children driven from their homes, while God only knows ifthey are not wandering all over the South, homeless and friendless. Tell me Elsy, " he continued, "tell me what caused my wife to be turnedout of the city?"

In compliance with his request, the girl briefly told him of thevillainy of Awtry, and the infamous manner in which he had actedtowards Mrs. Wentworth. She then went on to relate that, failing toachieve his purpose, Awtry had succeeded in having her expelled fromNew Orleans. 

"Did your mistress--I beg pardon--I meant, did my wife tell you whereshe was going to?" enquired Alfred. 

"She told me to come to Jackson, after I told her I would be sure toget away from de city, " answered the girl; "but de police ketch me upbefore I could look for her; and since I been belonging to Dr. Humphries I has look for her ebery whar, but I can't find out whar sheam gone to. "

"That is enough, " observed Alfred, "you can go now, Elsy, if I shouldwant to see you again I will send for you. "

"I trust you may succeed in finding your wife, sir, " Emma said as thegirl left the parlor. 

"I sincerely hope so myself, Miss Humphries, " he answered, "but Heavenonly knows where I am to look for her. It will take me a much longertime than I can spare to travel over the Confederacy; in fact, I doubtwhether I can get an extension of my furlough, so that I may haveabout three months of time to search for her. "

"It is singular that she should have told Elsy to come here to her, and not to be in the city, " observed Emily. 

"I am afraid that my wife has, through prudence, gone into the countryto live; for, with the means I left her, she could not possibly haveafforded to reside in any part of the Confederacy where prices rule sohigh as they do here. It is this belief that makes my prospect offinding her very dim. Harry says he advertised for her in severalnewspapers, but that he received no information from any sourcerespecting where she lived. I am certain she would have seen theadvertisement had she been residing in any of our cities. "

"She may not have noticed the advertising column of the newspaper, "put in Harry, "if ever she did chance to have a copy of one thatcontained my notice to her. Ladies, as a general thing, never interestthemselves with advertisements. "

"You are right, " Alfred replied, "but it is singular that some personwho knew her did not see it and inform her; she surely must have madesome acquaintances since she arrived in our lines, and I am certainthat there are none who do not sympathize with the unfortunaterefugees who have been driven into exile by our fiendish enemy. "

"I am sorry to say that refugees are not as favorably thought of asthey deserve, " Emma remarked. "To the shame of the citizens of ourConfederacy, instead of receiving them as sufferers in a common cause, they are looked upon as intruders. There are some exceptions, as inall cases, but I fear they are very few. "

"Your statement will only increase my anxiety to find my wife, "answered Alfred; "for if the people act as unpatriotically as yourepresent, there is no telling if my unfortunate family are notreduced to dire necessity, although it is with surprise that I hearyour remarks on the conduct of our people. I had thought that theywould lose no opportunity to manifest their sympathy with those whoare now exiles from their homes, and that idea had made me feelsatisfied in my mind that my wife and children would, at least, beable to find shelter. "

"I do not think anyone would refuse to aid your family, my dearfriend, " Harry observed, "although I agree with Miss Emma, that ourpeople do not pay as much attention to refugees as they should; butthe unfortunate exile will always find a sympathizing heart among ourpeople. You may rest assured that, wherever your wife may be, she hasa home which, if not as comfortable as the one she was driven from, isat least home enough to keep herself and her children from want. "

Harry Shackleford judged others by the promptings of his own heart, and as he uttered these words of comfort to his friend, he littledreamed that Mrs. Wentworth was then the inmate of a prison, awaitingher trial for robbery, and that the crime had her committed throughthe very necessity he had so confidently asserted could never exist inthe country. 

"Will you take a walk to the hotel, " enquired Alfred, after a fewminutes of silence, "I desire to settle my bill with the clerk. "

"Certainly, " he replied, rising from his chair, "I desire to conductyou to my home. "

"Good evening to you Miss Humphries, " said Alfred, as he walked to thedoor with his friend. 

She extended her hand to him as she replied, "Good evening, sir--allowme to repeat my wishes for your success in finding your wife andchildren. "

Bowing to her in reply, he left the room, accompanied by Harry. 

"Do you know, Harry, " he observed, as they walked towards the BowmanHouse, "I have a strange presentiment that all is not well with myfamily. "

"Pshaw, " replied his friend, "you are as superstitious as any oldwoman of eighty. Why in the name of wonder will you continue to lookupon the dark side of the picture? It is more likely that your familyare now comfortably, if not happily situated. Depend upon it, my dearfriend, the world is not so cold and uncharitable as to refuse ashelter, or a meal to the unfortunate. "

Alfred made no reply, and they walked on in silence until the hotelwas reached. On entering the sitting room of the Bowman House, the twogentlemen were attracted by the loud talking of a group of menstanding in the centre of the room. 

"There stands an Englishman who lately run the blockade on a visit tothe Confederacy, " observed Harry as they approached the group; "let meintroduce him to you. "

Walking up to where the Englishman was, Harry touched him lightly onthe shoulder. 

"How are you Lieutenant Shackleford, " he said, as he turned andrecognized Harry. 

"Very well, Mr. Ellington, " answered Harry, and then added, "allow meto introduce my friend Mr. Wentworth to you--Mr. Wentworth, Mr. Ellington. "

As the name of Wentworth escaped Harry's lips the Englishman startedand changed color, but quickly resuming his composure, he extended hishand to Alfred. 

"I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir, " he observed, and thencontinued, "your features resemble those of a gentleman I have notseen for years--so much, indeed, that I could not repress a start asmy eyes fell upon your countenance. "

"I was rather surprised at seeing you start, " observed Harry, "for Iknew that you were not acquainted with my friend Mr. Wentworth. He wasa prisoner at Camp Douglas--the prison you have read so muchabout--when you arrived in this country, and has only returned to theConfederacy within the last few days. "

"A mere resemblance to one whose intercourse with me was not fraughtwith many pleasant recollections, " remarked Mr. Ellington. "Indeedyour friend is so much like him, both in form and features, that Ireally imagined that he was my old enemy standing before me!"

"A singular resemblance, " said Alfred, "and one which I am rejoiced toknow only exists in form and features. And now, " he continued, "allowme to ask you a question. "

Mr. Ellington bowed an assent. 

"Were you ever in this country before?" asked Alfred. 

"Yes, " replied Mr. Ellington, "I visited America a few years ago, butwhy do you ask?"

"Because your features are familiar to me, " he answered, and thenenquired, "Were you ever in New Orleans. "

"No, sir--no, " replied Mr. Ellington, coloring as he spoke, "I wasalways afraid of the climate. "

"The reason of my asking you, " observed Alfred, "is because youresemble a gentleman with whom I was only very slightly acquainted, but who, like the party you mistook me for, has done me an injurywhich neither time nor explanation can repair, but, " he added, "now Irecollect you cannot be the party to whom I refer, for he was aNorthern man, while you are an Englishman. "

Before the Englishman could reply, a gentleman at the further end ofthe room called him by name, and, bowing to the two friends, heapologized for leaving them so abruptly, and walked off to where thecall came from. 

As soon as he left them Alfred went up to the clerk's office and paidhis bill. The two friends then left the hotel and proceeded to Harry'sresidence. 

"Do you know, Harry, " observed Alfred, as they walked along, "I havean idea that Mr. Ellington is no Englishman, but that he is Awtry, thescoundrel who caused my wife and children to be driven from NewOrleans?"

"Why do you imagine such a thing?" asked Harry. 

"Only because his features are very much like those of Awtry; and thestart he gave when you pronounced my name half confirms my suspicion. "

"I feel certain you are mistaken, " Harry remarked. "He arrived atCharleston in a blockade runner a short time ago, and brought lettersof introduction to many prominent men in the South from some of thefirst characters in England. "

"That may be, " Alfred answered, "still I shall keep my eye on him, andcultivate his acquaintance. If I am mistaken it will make nodifference, for he shall never know my suspicions; but if I am rightin my surmise he shall answer me for his treatment of my wife andchildren. "

"That you can do, " said Harry, "but be cautious how you charge himwith being a Yankee spy, and have certain proof of his identity beforeyou intimate your suspicions to him. " As he spoke they reached theirdestination and the two friends entered the house. 

Horace Awtry, for the Englishman was none other than he, under anassumed name, had ventured to enter the Confederate lines as a spy forSherman, who was then getting up his expedition against Vicksburg. Hewould have left Jackson immediately after the meeting with Alfred, butupon enquiry he learned that Mrs. Wentworth's place of residence wasunknown, and his services being needed near Vicksburg decided him toremain. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH

THE TWO SLAVES--THE GLIMMER OF LIGHT. 

From the time of Mrs. Wentworth's arrest and imprisonment, the oldnegro had paid every attention to the little boy left under her care. Knowing that she would be likely to receive punishment for having awhite child living with her, she had made several efforts to see hermaster, but each time she called, both the Doctor and Emma wereabsent. She was thus compelled to wait until some opportunity offeredto turn the little boy over to her master, who she knew would promptlygive him a home while he remained unclaimed by his lawful guardians. In her visits to Dr. Humphries' house the old negro had met Elsy, andbeing pleased with the appearance of the girl, had contracted quite afriendship for her, and on every opportunity would hold a conversationwith her. Having called several times without seeing her master orEmma, Elsy enquired if she had anything of consequence to impart tothe Doctor, as, if she had, she would inform him on his return home. 

"Yes, gal, " replied the old woman, "I got a leetle boy at my cabin datwas lef dar by him mammy, and I want de boss to take him away and puthim in a better place den my room. "

"What chile is it, Auntie?" enquired Elsy. 

"I do' know what de name is, " answered the old woman, "but a lady cumto my cabin one night wid a berry sick gal chile and de leetle boy, and next day de gal die, and in de ebening some police come and takeaway de lady because 'she 'teal money, ' and dey lef de dead chile andde libing one wid me. "

"Goodness sakes, Auntie, " interrupted Elsy, "what did you do wid dedead chile?"

"Why, gal, I bury her next mornin, " replied the old woman, "and deleetle boy bin stayin wid me eber since; but I don't want to keep him, for dis nigger hab no right to hab white chile a keepin to herself. "

"You better see de Doctor, den, " Elsy observed. "When he come in Iwill tell him dat you want to see him patickler. "

"Dat's a good gal, " answered the old negro, "you tell him dat I wantto see him, but don't tell him what I want him for--I rader tell himdat mysef. "

"Berry well, Auntie, " she replied, "de Doctor will come in aboutdinner time, and as soon as he is done eatin I will talk to him aboutit. But do you tink he will bring de chile home, yah, and take care obhim?"

"Ob course he will, " said the old woman, "he neber see any body wantbut he get him plenty and take care ob him. "

"What kind a chile is de one you had at your cabin?" asked Elsy. 

"Jes de lubliest baby you eber seed in your life, " answered the oldnegro. "He is one ob de best children I eber had taking care ob. "

"Don't he cry none for his mudder, " enquired Elsy. 

"Ob course he cry plenty de first day, " she replied, "but aterwards hebehabe well, for I promise him dat he mammy will come back soon. He ama rale good chile, and I would lub to keep him wid me all time, but I'fraid de police will get ater me for habin him. "

"Dat's so, " remarked Elsy, "but you can take care ob him a'ter youtell de boss--you can come here and stay. "

"No, gal, " she answered, "I can't leab me old cabin; I been libbingdar dese twelve years, and I got so used to it dat I can't sleep outob it. "

"Den I will take care ob de chile for you, " said Elsy, "and you cancome ebery now and den and see him. "

"Dat's so, " she, replied. "But tell me, gal, " she continued, "whar youcome from?"

"I come from New Orleans, Auntie, " replied Elsy. 

"What bring you to Jackson?" continued the old woman. 

Elsy repeated the tale she had told Dr. Humphries and Alfred, andafter she had concluded, the old woman clasped her hands as sheexclaimed, "Sake alibe! what become ob your mistis and de childen?"

"I don't know, Auntie, but my New Orleans mass'r is here now, and I'sbeen looking for dem. "

"Why de lady and childen dat come to my cabin was from New Orleanstoo, " observed the old negro. 

"You say you don't know de name?" remarked Elsy. 

"No, I forget, " she answered; "but what name did your mistis hab?"

"Dey was name Wentworth, " she replied. 

"Wantworth--Wentworth, " repeated the old woman. "No, dat don't soundlike de name ob de lady, but may be I forget. What was de leetle galname?" she added. 

"Ella, " replied Elsy. 

"Dat's it, " exclaimed the old negro, "dat's de berry name!"

"Den it was my mistis and her childen, " answered Elsy, "and you say depolice take her to prison for stealin. "

"Yes, gal, " she answered, "dey take her away from de dead body ob herchile and take her to prison for stealin. "

"It ain't true, " said Elsy, "my mistis is a born lady, and shewouldn't steal for anyting. I don't beliebe a word ob it. "

"I don't beliebe neider, " replied the old woman, "but for all dat, deydid carry her to prison because dey say she steal money. "

"My poh mistis, " remarked Elsy, bursting into tears, "I knowed datsome bad ting would happen to her--and I was in town so long and nebereben sawed her. "

"Poh lady, " observed the old negro, "she look bery bad and sorrowfullike, aldough she didn't cry when de chile die; but she tan up by debedside and look 'pon de dead face widout sayin' a word--it made mefeel bad to see her. "

"I must tell my master, " said Elsy, "so dat he can go and take her outob prison. It am a shame dat a lady like dat should be locked up in aprison, and Mr. Wentworth will soon take her out. "

"You better not say anyting to your master about it, yet, " observedthe old woman. "See de Doctor and tell him; he will know what to do, and den he can tell de gemman all about it a'terwards. "

"But you certain it am my mistis?" said Elsy. 

"I ain't quite sure ob dat, " she answered, "for de name sounddifferent to de one I heard, and dats de reason I don't want you tosay noting 'bout it till de Doctor enquire into de matter and findout. I must go now, gal, " she added, "don't forget to tell de Doctorall 'bout it when he come home. "

"I won't, " replied Elsy. 

The old woman then left the house and returned to her cabin, where shefound the little boy amusing himself on the floor with some marbles. 

Dr. Humphries, accompanied by Harry, returned home at the usual hour. After dinner Elsy requested him to speak to her for a few minutes--arequest which he promptly complied with. 

"Well, my good, girl, what do you wish with me?" he enquired. 

"Oh! sir, " she replied, "I hab found out whar my mistis is. "

"You have, " answered Dr. Humphries, rather astonished at theintelligence, "where is she?" he added. 

"In prison, sah, " she replied. 

"In prison!" exclaimed the Doctor, "for what?"

"I don'no, sah, " she replied, "but I hear it is for stealing. "

"Who gave you the information?" asked Dr. Humphries. 

"It was your ole slave what libs in de cabin, up town, " answered Elsy. 

"And how did she learn anything about Mrs. Wentworth?" enquired Dr. Humphries. 

"My Mistis went dere wid her chil'en, sah, and her little daughterdied in de ole woman's cabin. "

"Good God!" exclaimed the Doctor, "and how was it that I have heardnothing about it until now?"

"It only was a few days ago, " replied Elsy, "and Auntie come hereebery day, but you and Miss Emma was not at home ebery time, and sheonly tole me about it dis mornin. "

"Are you certain that the woman who has been carried to jail is yourMistress?" asked Dr. Humphries. 

"No sah, " she answered, "Auntie say dat de name am different, but datde name ob de leetle gal am de same. "

"And the little boy you say has been under the care of the old womanever since, " remarked Dr. Humphries. 

"Yes sah, " Elsy replied, "but she want you to take him away from her, so dat he may be under a white pusson, and das de reason why she beenhere wantin' to see you bout it. "

"Very well, " said. Dr. Humphries, "I will attend to it this evening;in the meantime do you remain here and go with me to the cabin and seeif the child is your Mistress'. "

Elsy curtsied as she enquired, "Shall I tell my Master 'bout dis, sah?"

"No, no, " replied the Doctor, "he must know nothing about it until Ihave arranged everything for his wife and removed her from prison. Becertain, " he continued, walking to the door, "that you do not breathea word about this until I have seen your Mistress and learned thereason of her imprisonment. "

On returning to the parlor, where Harry and Emma were seated, Dr. Humphries called him aside and related what he had heard from Elsy. The young man listened attentively, and was very much shocked to hearof Mrs. Wentworth's being imprisoned for theft. He knew that Alfredwas the soul of honor, and he could not conceive that the wife of hisfriend would be guilty of such an offense. 

"It is impossible to believe such a thing, " he said, after Dr. Humphries had concluded, "I cannot believe that the wife of such a manas Alfred Wentworth would commit an offense of such a nature; it mustbe some one else, and not Mrs. Wentworth. "

"That we can find out this evening, " observed the Doctor. "Let usfirst call at the cabin of my old slave and find out whether the childin her keeping is one of Mrs. Wentworth's children. "

"How will we be able to discover, " asked Harry. "It appears by youraccount that the boy is a mere infant, and he could hardly be expectedto give an account of himself or his parents. "

"I have removed any difficulty of that nature, " replied Dr. Humphries, "Elsy will accompany us to the cabin, and she will easily recognizethe child if he is the son of your friend. "

"You are right, " Harry remarked; and then continued, "I trust he maynot be, for Alfred would almost go crazy at the knowledge that hiswife was the inmate of a prison on the charge of robbery. "

"I hope so myself, for the sake of your friend, " said DoctorHumphries, "Mr. Wentworth appears to be quite a gentleman, and Ishould greatly regret his finding his wife in such an unfortunateposition as the woman in prison is represented to be. "

"I know the spirit of the man, " remarked Harry, "he is sensitive todishonor, no matter in what form or shape it may come, and theknowledge that his wife was charged with robbery would be a fearfulblow to his pride, stern and unyielding as it is. "

"If it is his wife, and she has committed a theft, I pity her, indeed;for I am sure if she is the lady her husband represents, nothing butthe most dire necessity could have induced her to descend to crime. "

"Ah, sir, " replied Harry, "Heaven only knows if it is not throughwant. Alfred Wentworth feared that his wife was living in penury, forhe knew that she was without adequate means. If she has unfortunatelybeen allowed to suffer, and her children to want with her, whatgratification is it for him to know that he was proving his loyalty tothe South in a foreign prison while his wife and children were wantingbread to eat in our very midst?"

"It will indeed be a sad commentary on our patriotism, " remarked Dr. Humphries. "God only knows how willing I should have been to serve thepoor woman and her children had they applied to me for assistance. "

"And I fervently wish that every heart in the State beat with the samefeeling of benevolence that yours does, " replied Harry. "However, thisis no time to lament or regret what is inexorable; we must see thechild, and afterwards the mother, for, no matter whether they are thefamily of Alfred Wentworth or not, the fact of their being the wifeand child of a soldier entitles them to our assistance, and it is adebt we should always willingly pay to those who are defending ourcountry. "

"You are right, Harry, you are right, " observed the Doctor, "and it isa debt that we will pay, if no one else does it. Do you return toEmma, now, " he continued, "while I order the buggy to take us to thecabin. "

Leaving Harry, Dr. Humphries went to the stable and ordered the groomto put the horse in the buggy. He was very much moved at the idea of afriendless woman being necessitated to steal for the purpose offeeding her children, and in his heart he sincerely wished she wouldnot prove to be the wife of Alfred Wentworth. Harry's story of hisfriend's chivalrous conduct to him at Fort Donelson, as well as thehigh toned character evinced by Alfred during the few daysacquaintance he had with him, had combined to procure a favorableopinion of the soldier by Dr. Humphries; at the same time, he couldnot conceive how any one could be so friendless in a land famed forthe generous hospitalities of its people, as the South is; but he knewnot, or rather he had never observed, that there were times when theeye of benevolence and the hand of charity were strangers to theunfortunate. 

There are no people on the face of the earth so justly famed for theircharitable actions as that of the Confederate States. --Before theunfortunate war for separation commenced, every stranger who visitedtheir shores was received with a cordial welcome. The exile who hadbeen driven from his home on account of the tyranny of the rulers ofhis native land, always found a shelter and protection from the warmhearts and liberal hands of the people of this sunny land; and thoughoften times those who have received the aid and comfort of the South, shared its hospitalities, received protection from their enemies, andbeen esteemed as brothers, have turned like vipers and stung theirgenerous host, still it passed it heedlessly and was ever ready to doas much in the future as it had done in the past. As genial as theirnative clime, as generous as mortals could ever be, those who soughtthe assistance of the people of the South would find them ready toaccord to the deserving, all that they desired. It was indeed aglorious land; blooming with the loveliest blossoms of charity, flowing with the tears of pity for the unfortunate, and resplendentwith all the attributes of mortal's noblest impulses. Gazing on thepast, we find in the days of which we write no similitude with thedays of the war. A greater curse than had fallen on them when war waswaged on their soil, had fallen on the people of the South; all thosechivalrous ideas which had given to her people a confidence ofsuperiority over the North had vanished from the minds of those whohad not entered the Army. It was in the "tented field" that could befound those qualities which make man the true nobility of the world. It is true that among those who remained aloof from activeparticipation in the bloody contest were many men whose hearts beatwith as magnanimous a pulsation as could be found in those of thepatriots and braves of the battle-field; but they were only flowers ina garden of nature, filled with poisonous weeds that had twinedthemselves over the land and lifted up their heads above the purerplants, which, inhaling the tainted odor emitted by them, sickened anddied, or if by chance they remained and bloomed in the midst ofcontamination, and eventually rose above until they soared over theirpoisonous companions, their members were too few to make an Eden of adesert, and they were compelled to see the blossoms of humanity perishbefore them unrewarded and uncared for, surfeited in the nauseous andloathsome exhalations of a cold and heartless world, without the handof succor being extended or the pitying tear of earth's inhabitantsbeing shed upon their untimely graves. 

While they, the curse of the world, how was it with them? But onethought, one desire, filled their hearts; one object, one intention, was their aim. What of the speculator and extortioner of the South, Christian as well as Jew, Turk as well as Infidel! From the hour thatthe spirit of avarice swept through the hearts of the people, theSouth became a vast garden of corruption, in which the pure anduncorrupted were as pearls among rocks. From the hour that theirfearful work after gain commenced, charity fled weeping from the midstof the people, and the demons of avarice strode triumphant over theland, heedless of the cries of the poverty stricken, regardless of themoanings of hungry children, blind to the sufferings it had occasionedand indifferent to the woe and desolation it had brought on the poor. 

But all this was seen by God, and the voice of Eternity uttered acurse which will yet have effect. Even now as we write, the voice ofapproaching peace can be heard in the distance, for the waters onwhich our bark of State has been tossing for three years begins togrow calmer, while the haven of independence looms up before us, andas each mariner directs his gaze on the shore of liberty the mistwhich obscured it becomes dispelled, until the blessed resumption ofhappiness and prosperity once more presents itself, like a gleam ofsunshine on a dark and cheerless road of life. 

The eye of God is at last turned upon a suffering people. The pastyears of bloody warfare were not His work; He had no agency instirring up the baser passions of mankind and imbuing the hands of menin each others blood, nor did He knowingly permit the poor to die ofwant and privation. He saw not all these, for the Eye which "seeth allthings" was turned from the scene of our desolation, and fiendstriumphed where Eternity was not, Hell reigned supreme where Heavenruled not--Earth was but a plaything in the hands of Destiny. Philanthropy may deny it--Christianity will declare it heresy--manwill challenge its truth, but it is no less true than is the universea fact beyond doubt, and beyond the comprehension of mortals todiscover its secrets. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXTH. 

THE RECOGNITION. 

As soon as the groom had prepared the buggy, he announced to Dr. Humphries that it was in readiness. Calling Harry, who was againseated by the side of his betrothed, indulging in secret conversation, the Doctor went into the street where the buggy was. 

"I will drive myself this morning, John, " he remarked to the groom, "Mr. Harry will go with me. "

"Berry well, sah, " replied the groom, moving off. 

Stepping into the buggy, followed by Harry, the Doctor took the reinsin his hands and was about to drive off. 

"Wait a moment, " observed Harry, "has Elsy gone to the cabin?"

"No, I forgot all about her, " answered the Doctor, "and I am glad youreminded me. "

"You had better send for her at once, and give her orders to proceedimmediately to the cabin, " said Harry, "for without her we would beunable to know whether the child is that of Alfred Wentworth or ofsome other unfortunate soldier. "

"Here, John!" called out Dr. Humphries after the retreating form ofthe groom, "come here to me. "

The boy turned back and returned to the side of the buggy. 

"Tell Elsy to come here at once, " said the Doctor. 

The boy moved off to comply with his master's order, and in a fewmoments returned, accompanied by Elsy. 

"Do you go to the old woman's cabin, " said Dr. Humphries, as soon asshe had reached the side of the buggy, "and wait there until I arrive. There is no necessity to mention what I am going there for. "

"Yes sah, " replied Elsy, as she turned away to do her master'sbidding. 

"And now, " remarked the Doctor, "we will go on and find out who thesepeople are. But before we go, I had better purchase a few things thatwill relieve the necessities of the child. "

With these words the Doctor drove off, and on arriving in front of astore, drew in the reins and, alighting, shortly after returned withseveral packages, which he placed in the buggy and, re-entering it, hedrove to the cabin of the old slave. On arriving there the Doctor andHarry found the old woman and the child seated in the room talking. The boy appeared quite contented, now that his grief at the loss ofhis sister and departure of his mother had subsided, and was laughingmerrily when they entered. He was dressed very cleanly and neatly bythe old slave, who had expended all her savings in purchasing suitablecloths for him, and his appearance excited the remark of the Doctorand his companion the moment they entered the threshold of the roomand saw him. 

"Good day sah, " said the old negro, rising and curtseying as soon asthe two gentlemen entered. 

"God day, Auntie, " said the doctor, "how are you getting on. "

"Berry well, " answered the old woman, and then added, "I'm mighty gladyou come here dis day, for I want to talk wid you 'bout dis herechile. "

"I have heard all about him, Auntie, " said the Doctor, "and have comehere expressly for the purpose of learning something about hisparents. "

"'Spose dat gal Elsy tell you, " observed the old woman, snappishly, nettled because she had not the opportunity of telling her master thetale of Mrs. Wentworth and her children. 

"Yes, Auntie, " he replied, "Elsy told me, but not before I had askedher all about those unfortunate people, so you must not be mad withher. "

"She might ha' waited till you see me befo' she say anyting about it, "remarked the old woman. 

"Never mind that, Auntie, " replied the Doctor, who knew the oldwoman's jealous disposition and wanted to pacify her. "Has Elsy beenhere yet?"

"No sah, " she replied, "I aint seen her since mornin'. "

"She will be here directly, then, " he remarked, and seating himselfthe Doctor waited the arrival of Elsy. 

"Come here my little man, " said Harry, who had been sitting on the bedduring the dialogue between the old slave and her master. 

The child walked up to him and placed his arms on Harry's knees. 

"What is your name, " enquired the young man, lifting the child up onhis knees. 

"My name is Alf, " he replied. 

"Alf what?" asked Harry. 

The child looked at him enquiringly, not understanding the question. 

"What is your mother's name, " continued Harry, perceiving that the boywas unable to answer his question. 

"My ma's name is Eva, " he answered. 

"And your sister's?" asked Harry. 

"My sister is named Ella, " replied the child, and then added, mournfully, "but she is gone from here; they took her out in a littlebox and put her in the ground, and Granny says she is gone to heaven;and my ma, " he continued, "some bad men carried away, but Granny saysshe will soon come back--wont she?" and his innocent face looked upconfidingly in Harry's. 

"Yes, my boy, " he answered, "your ma will soon come back to you. "

"There appears no doubt of the identity of this family, " remarkedHarry to Dr. Humphries, after a short pause, "everything we have yetdiscovered indicates that Alfred Wentworth's wife and children havepassed a fearful life since their expulsion from New Orleans. "

"Poor woman and children, " observed the Doctor, dashing away a tear, "could I have known their penury, I should have been only glad torelieve them, and even now, it is not too late for us to benefit thischild and his mother. As soon as Elsy arrives here I shall remove theboy to my house and visit the mother in jail. "

"I do not think it advisable to move the child until you havesucceeded in obtaining the release of Mrs. Wentworth, " answered Harry. "His father may chance to see him, and, under the circumstances, woulddiscover where his wife was; which discovery I desire to avoid as longas possible. The best thing that you can do is to leave the boy herefor twenty-four hours longer, by which time bail can be procured forhis mother, and I shall endeavor to silence the charge, so that theremay be no necessity for a trial. "

"May not Mr. Wentworth see the child and recognise him before we haveaccomplished his mother's release, " enquired the Doctor. 

"I do not think it likely, " he replied, "Alfred will not visit soremote a vicinity, and the child need not be carried into the businessportion of the city. "

"I shall leave him here, then, as you think it advisable, " remarkedthe Doctor; "it cannot injure him to remain in this cabin for a daylonger, while it might lead to unpleasant discoveries should he beremoved. "

Harry and the old gentleman remained silent for some time, when Elsyentered the room. No sooner did the girl see the boy than sherecognized her master's child, and taking him in her arms caressed himwith all the exhibitions of affection the negro is capable of. 

"Dis am Mas Alfred own chile" she exclaimed to Harry and the oldgentleman, "and who would thought dat him would be libin' here. "

"I supposed it was your master's child, my good girl, " observed theDoctor, and then added, as he rose from his seat, "you can stay herewith him until dark, when you had better return home; meanwhile, I donot wish you to let Mr. Wentworth know that his wife and child are inthis city, nor do I wish you to take him out of this cabin. ComeHarry, " he continued, "let us go now and see the mother; she will beable to give us full details of her unfortunate life and to inform usof the cause for which she is in prison. "

Leaving the cabin, the two gentlemen re-entered the buggy and drove tothe Mayor's office. Finding him absent, they proceeded to hisresidence, and, after briefly narrating the tale of Mrs. Wentworth andher family, requested permission to visit her. 

"Certainly, my dear sirs, " replied Mr. Manship, such being the name ofthe Mayor, "take a seat while I write you an order of admittance. "

In a few minutes the order to admit Dr. Humphries and his companion inthe female's ward of the prison was written. Returning thanks to theMayor, the two gentlemen started for the prison, and on showing thepermit, were ushered into the cell occupied by Mrs. Wentworth. 

"Good God!" exclaimed Harry, as he looked upon the squalid and haggardform of the broken hearted woman, "this surely cannot be the wife ofAlfred Wentworth. "

Mrs. Wentworth had paid no attention to the visitors when they firstentered, but on hearing her husband's name pronounced, rose from hercrouching position and confronted the speaker. The name of the one sheloved had awoke the slumbering faculties of the woman, and, like aflash of electricity on a rod of steel, her waning reason flared upfor a moment. 

"You spoke my husband's name, " she said in a hoarse tone, "what ofhim?"

"He is my friend, madam, " replied Harry, "and as such I have called tosee you, so that you may be removed from this place. "

"Thank you, " she answered; "yours is the first voice of charity I havelistened to since I left New Orleans. But it is too late; I havenothing now to live for. Adversity has visited me until nothing butdisgrace and degradation is left of a woman who was once looked uponas a lady. "

"There is no necessity for despondency, my good madam, " observed Dr. Humphries. "The misfortunes which have attended you are such as allwho were thrown in your situation are subject to. Our object in cominghere, " he continued, "is to learn the true cause of your being in thiswretched place. Disguise nothing, but speak truthfully, for there aretimes when crimes in some become necessity in others. "

"My tale is briefly told, " she answered. "Forced by the cruelty of avillain to leave my comfortable home in New Orleans, I sought refugein the Confederate lines. I anticipated that refugees would meet witha welcome from the more fortunate people of the South. In that I wasdisappointed; for when my means gave out, and every endeavor toprocure work to feed my children had failed--when I had not a dollarto purchase bread for my innocent babes, I applied for assistance. None but the most dire necessity would have prompted me to such astep, and, Oh, God! when it was refused--when the paltry pittance Iasked for was refused, the hope which I had clung so despairingly to, vanished, and I felt myself indeed a miserable woman. Piece afterpiece of furniture went, until all was gone--my clothing was nextsold to purchase bread. The miserable life I led, the hours spent withmy children around me crying for bread--the agonizing pangs which rentmy mother's heart when I felt I could not comply with theirdemand--all--all combined to make me an object of abject misery. Butwhy describe my sufferings? The balance of my tale is short. I wasforced out of the shelter I occupied because I could not pay the ownerhis rent. My oldest child was then ill, and in the bleak night wind, canopied by heaven alone, I was thrust, homeless, from a shelter ownedby a man whose wealth should have made him pause ere he performed suchan act. With my sick child in my arms I wandered, I knew not where, until I found she had fainted. Hurrying to a small cabin on the road, I entered and there discovered an old negro woman. From the lips of aslave I first heard words of kindness, and for the first time aid wasextended to me. Applying restoratives, my child revived and I waiteduntil next morning, when I returned once more to ask for aid. A paltrysum was handed to me, more for the sake of getting rid of themendicant than to relieve my distress. I felt that the sum offered wasinsufficient to supply the demands of my sick daughter and my starvingboy. I was turning in despair away when my eye lit upon a package ofmoney resting on the safe. For a moment I hesitated, but the thoughtof my children rose uppermost in my mind, and, seizing the package Ihurried from the store. "

"So you did take the money, " said Harry. 

"Yes, " she replied, "but it did me little good, for when the doctorwas called he pronounced my daughter beyond medical skill. She diedthat evening, and all the use to which the money was appropriated, wasthe purchase of a coffin. "

"Then the--the--" said Harry, hesitating to use the word theft, "then, it was not discovered that you had taken the money until your childwas dead and buried. "

"No, " she said, "listen--my child lay enrobed in her garment of death, and the sun was fast declining in the west, when Mr. Swartz and twoconstables entered the room and arrested me. On my bended knees Iappealed to him not to tear me from the body of my child. Yes, " shecontinued, excitedly, "I prayed to him in the most abject manner toleave me until my child was buried. My prayers were unavailing, andfrom the window of this cell I witnessed a lonely hearse pass by, followed by none other than my infant boy and the kind old negro. OhGod! Oh God!" she went on, bursting into tears and throwing herself onthe wretched pallet in the cell, "my cup of misery was then full, andI had drained it to the very dregs. I have nothing more to live fornow, and the few days longer I have to spend on earth can be passed aswell in a prison as in a mansion. "

"Not so, " interrupted Dr. Humphries, "I trust you will live many, manyyears longer, to be a guardian to your child and a comfort to yourhusband. "

"It cannot be, " she answered sadly. "The brain, overwrought, will soongive way to madness, and then a welcome death will spare me the lifeof a maniac. I do not speak idly, " she continued, observing the lookthey cast upon her; "from the depths of my mind, a voice whispers thatmy troubles on earth will soon be o'er. I have one desire, however, and should like to see it granted. "

"Let me know what that is, " remarked Dr. Humphries, "and if it lies inmy power it shall be accorded to you with pleasure. "

"Your companion spoke of my husband as his friend; does he know wherehe is at present, and if so, can I not see him?"

"I promise that you shall see your husband before many days. Until youare removed from this place I do not think it advisable, but, "continued Harry, "I shall, on leaving this place, endeavor to secureyour release. "

Mrs. Wentworth made no answer, and, speaking a few words ofconsolation and hope to her, the two gentlemen left the prison. Thenext morning Harry called on the Mayor and asked if Mrs. Wentworthcould be bailed, but on his honor mentioning that her trial would comeoff the next day, the court having met that evening, he determined toawait the trial, confident that she would be acquitted when the factsof the case were made known to the jury. On the same day he met AlfredWentworth, who informed him that he was more strongly impressed thanever in the belief that the pretended Englishman was a spy. 

"I will inform you of a plan that will prove whether you are right ornot, " observed Harry, when he had concluded. "Tomorrow at about threeo'clock in the evening persuade him to visit the Court House. I willbe present, and if he is really the spy you imagine, will have fullevidence against him. "

"What evidence?" enquired Alfred. 

"Never do you mind, " he replied, "just bring him and there will beplenty of evidence found to convict him if he is a spy. By the way, "he continued, "you said you suspected him to be the same man whocaused your wife to be turned out of New Orleans?"

"Yes, " Alfred answered, "but why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing in particular, " he replied, "only in the event his beingAwtry, you will have a double motive in finding out whether he is aspy or not. "

"You are right, " observed Alfred, "but whether he is Awtry or not, Ishould deem it my duty to the Government to ferret out the true statusof that man, and to have him brought to justice if he is really a spy. Your request to carry him to the Court House is a strange one, and Iwill cheerfully comply with it, although I cannot see how his beingthere will enable us to make the discovery. "

"Leave that to me, " answered Harry, "and content yourself withbelieving that I am certain it will prove whether he is an Englishmanor a Yankee. "

With that the two friends departed and Harry returned home muchperplexed at the manner he had arranged for the husband and wife tomeet. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENTH. 

TRIAL OF MRS. WENTWORTH--THE ADVOCATE. 

The morning for the trial of Mrs. Wentworth arrived, and at the hourof ten she appeared in the court. Her appearance was changed since welast saw her. The kind hearted daughter of Dr. Humphries had visitedher the day before with a supply of clothing, and though her featuresretained their haggard and care-worn expression, none who looked uponher as she entered the court room could have failed to perceive thatshe was a lady and unlike a majority of females brought before a juryto answer grave charges. Her case did not excite any notice until sheappeared, when the pinched and sharp face presented to the spectators, and the evidence her lady-like demeanor gave of her being a differentsubject from that usually presented, awoke a feeling of interest inthe crowd, and many enquiries were made of the nature of the chargemade against her. None, however, could inform the inquisitors, andthey awaited the reading of the charges. 

As Mrs. Wentworth entered the room she cast a look at the jury box, and a shudder came over her as she perceived Mr. Elder sitting amongthe jurymen. She knew that he would not favor the dismissal of thecase; but a gleam of hope presented itself in the person of Dr. Mallard, who she believed to be a good man, notwithstanding his abruptand true remarks at the bedside of her dying child. These were theonly two persons present she knew, save and except Mr. Swartz, whostood near by, ready to give his evidence against her. But from himshe expected nothing; nor did she intend to ask one word of favor ormercy. There was no disposition within her to sue for mercy, nor didshe purpose denying or palliating her having taken the money. 

After the usual delay, Mrs. Wentworth was placed in the prisoners'stand and the charges preferred against her. In his usual style Mr. Swartz proceeded to narrate his business connection with the accused, and stated that he had done everything he possibly could for her, butthat, not satisfied with receiving his bounty, she had stolen hismoney. His story was given in a conclusive and plausible manner, andon his clerk certifying to what his employer had said, the chances forthe accused appeared very dim. What added more to the evidence againsther, was the conduct of Mr. Elder, who, rising from his seat brieflystated that, from his intercourse with her, he believed Mrs. Wentworthto be an unprincipled and dishonest woman. 

"On what ground do you make that assertion, Mr. Elder?" enquired theJudge. 

"As I stated before, in my intercourse with her, " he replied. 

"And may I ask of what nature your intercourse was?" asked the Judge. 

"It would delay the court were I to state what business transactionshave taken place between this woman and myself, " answered Mr. Elder. "When I arose, it was simply to state my belief in her dishonesty. "

"You should have appeared on the witness' box, if you desired to giveevidence against the accused, " remarked the Judge. "As it stands, yourassertions cannot be taken as evidence against her. If you desire toappear as a witness for the accuser, say so, and I will then beprepared to hear what you may have to say. "

"I have no such desire, " replied Mr. Elder, seating himself. 

"And now my good woman, " said the Judge, turning to Mrs. Wentworth, who had remained a silent listener to all that had been said againsther, "let me know what you may have to say against the charges broughtagainst you. By your appearance and general demeanor you have seenbetter days, and it is a source of regret that I should see any onebearing evidence of once living in a different sphere from the one younow occupy, brought before me on a charge of robbery. Let me now knowwhat you have to say on this charge. "

"I can say nothing, " she replied. 

"Well, then, do you plead guilty, or not guilty?" asked the Judge. 

"Not Guilty!" thundered Harry, in an excited manner. He had beenunavoidably delayed from accompanying Mrs. Wentworth to the CourtHouse, and had just arrived. "Not guilty! I repeat, and, as counselfor the accused, I beg leave to make a few remarks. "

"Certainly, Lieutenant Shackleford, " answered the Judge, who knewHarry well. 

The remarks of Harry, and his excited manner, awoke the waninginterest in the case, and the crowd clustered closer round therailings. 

"Your honor, and gentlemen of the Jury, " began Harry, as soon as hehad become calm enough to speak: "It is now nearly two years since Iappeared in a civil capacity before a court of justice, and I hadthought that while this war lasted my services would have been solelyon the battle-fields of my country, and not in the halls where law isdispensed. But the case which I have appeared to defend, is so unlikethose you ordinarily have before your honorable body, that I have, fora while, thrown off the armor of the soldier, and once more appear asthe lawyer. You will pardon my apparent digression from the subject atissue, but as I see many looks of surprise at my seemingly strangeconduct, I deem it but justice to myself that I should explain mymotive for so acting. 

"It is now nearly two years ago that a soldier in a happy andcomfortable home in New Orleans bade adieu to a fond wife and twopromising children. As the tear-drop trickled down the cheek of hislovely and blooming wife, he whispered a word of comfort and solace toher, and bade her be cheerful, for the dark cloud which covered thepolitical horizon of his country would soon be dispelled by the brightsunshine of liberty. But the tear that fell on her cheek was not ofregret; for she felt that in leaving her he obeyed the call of hiscountry, and was but performing a duty he owed to his native South. The tear was brushed away, and she smiled in his face at the glowingwords of hope and comfort he spoke to her. They were full of promise, and as each syllable fell on her ear, they awoke an echo in her heart, until the love of the wife paled before the enthusiastic patriotism ofthe Southern woman, and the dangers of the battle-field became hiddenbefore the vision of the honor and glory which awaited the patriothero. Then she bade him adieu with a smile, and they departed, full oflove and hope. --Oh! gentlemen, let me take a glance back at the homeand household war had then severed. Before our treacherous enemy hadproclaimed war against us, this soldier's home was a model of earthlyjoy and felicity. It is true, there was no wealth to be found there, but there was a bright and more glorious gift than wealth can command;there was happiness, and this, combined with the love borne by thissoldier for his wife, served to make them pass their years of weddedlife in comfortable union. Years pass over their heads, and twochildren are sent to bless them, and they were cherished as pricelessgifts. When the call to arms resounded through the South, thishusband, like thousands of others, ceased his civil pursuits, andenlisted under the banner of his country. None but the purest andloftiest motives of patriotism, and a sense of duty, prompted him tothe step; and though he knew that in so doing he would leave his wifedeprived of her natural protector, and subject to privations, hethought, and with every right, that those who remained at home wouldshield a soldier's wife from danger, and he trusted on the means athis disposal to keep her from penury and destitution. After makingpreparation for his wife and children, he bade them adieu, as I havedescribed already, and departed for Virginia, whose soil had alreadybeen invaded by the vandals of the North. 

"And now, gentlemen, lest you should think by my intimating that thissoldier was not wealthy, I meant he was also poor in society, I willstate that he and his wife held as high a position in the socialcircle of New Orleans as the most favored of fortune. His wife, thisunfortunate lady, who now stands before you charged with theft, is thedaughter of one who was once wealthy, but on whom adversity fellshortly before her marriage. Think not that the haggard and care-wornfeatures before you were always such. There was a time, not longdistant, when the bloom of youth and beauty could be seen in thatsunken cheek and that sharpened face; but adversity has reduced one ofGod's fairest works to the wretched and unfortunate condition she isnow in. Pardon my digression, for the tale I have to tell cannot bebriefly recited; it is necessary that I shall speak in full, andthough I may tire you by my lengthy remarks, you must hear them withpatience, for they are necessary in this defence, and are equallyneeded to hold up to the scorn and contempt of every patriotic spiritin the land, two men who have disgraced their sex and entailed misery, aye, and degradation, on an unfortunate woman. "

"If his honor, the judge, will permit me, " interrupted Mr. Elder, "Ishould like to decline serving as a juryman on this case. "

"Silence!" exclaimed Harry, before the judge could reply. "You arealready sworn in, and I desire that you shall remain where you are. "

"I cannot possibly excuse you, Mr. Elder, " remarked the judge, in atone of surprise, "the case has progressed too far already for anyexcuse. Continue, Lieutenant Shackleford, " he continued, speaking toHarry. 

"As I was observing, " Harry went on, "this soldier departed forVirginia, and shortly after his departure, a villain, who hadaddressed his wife in former years and been rejected, assumed thesheep's garb and resumed his acquaintance with her. Many were thekindnesses he extended towards her, and the delicate manner in whichhe performed those little acts of courtesy, that lend a charm tosociety, disarmed any suspicion of his sincerity of purpose. But underthe guise of friendship, the villain designed to overcome a lonelywoman. With that subtlety and deception which every _roue_ possesses, he ingratiated himself in her confidence and favor until she began toregard him in the light of a brother. But the hour approached when themask he had worn so long would be thrown aside and his unhalloweddesires be avowed. The soldier was taken prisoner at Fort Donelson, and within four months after, New Orleans fell. Then the persecutionsof the unprincipled villain commenced. A Northern man, he did not atthe commencement of the war avow his sympathies to be with the peopleof his section, but, pretending friendship for the South, remained inour midst until Butler and his infamous cohorts had gained possessionof the city, when he proclaimed himself a Unionist, and gaining thefavor of that disgrace to the name of man, was soon able to intimidatethe cowardly or beggar the brave. One of his first attempts was tocompel this lady to yield to his hellish passions. With contempt shespurned his offers and ordered him never more to cross the thresholdof her house. Swearing vengeance against her, he left, and on thefollowing morning she received an order to leave the limits of thecity, that day, and prepare to enter the Confederate lines. Thedangers which then threatened her, she deemed vanished, for she fearedmore to remain in the midst of our enemies than to enter our lines. The order was therefore received with joy, and she prepared to depart. Though a pang of sorrow may have filled her heart at being compelledto relinquish her comfortable home, though she saw before her days, weeks, months, perhaps years of hardship, not one feeling of remorseat having rejected the offers of a libertine, ever entered the mind ofthe soldier's wife. The time at length arrived for her to depart, andwith her two children, a few articles of clothing, and a small sum ofmoney, she was placed within our lines, far from any human habitation, and left to find a shelter as best she could. 

"To this city she bent her footsteps, and here she anticipated findingan asylum for herself and children. Gentlemen, we all well know that, unfortunately for our cause and country, the evils Speculation andExtortion, had spread their leprous wings and covered our land withdestitution. To a man of this city, who, before the world's eye, appeared the Christian and the man of benevolence, but who in hisdealings with his fellow-men, was as vile an extortioner as the mostheartless; to this man she went and hired a room in which to find ashelter. Finding she was a refugee and fearing an evil day, he boundher down by law to suffer ejectment the moment she could no longer paythe rent. Ignorant of the weapon she placed in his hands, she signedthe deed, and after paying a portion of the rent in advance, left himand assumed possession. Mark well, gentlemen, what I have said. In hisaction we find no Christianity--no benevolence; nothing but the spiritof the extortioner is here manifested. There is no feeling of sorrowshown at her unfortunate position, no disposition evinced to shieldthe helpless mother and her babes. No! we find his actions narroweddown to the sordidness of the miser, the avariciousness of theextortioner. A feeling of surprise at such conduct may flit acrossyour bosoms, gentlemen, and you may perchance doubt that I can show aman of this city, so bereft of charity, so utterly oblivious to allthe better feelings of humanity, but I shall before long call hisname, and give such evidence of the truth of my assertions, as will bebeyond contradiction or doubt. 

"To another man the soldier's wife went for the purpose of purchasinga few articles of furniture. Of him I have little to say at present. It is true that without caring who and what she was, his merchandizewas sold to her at the _speculator's_ price. But he had the right tocharge whatever he pleased, and therefore I have nothing to sayagainst him for that. 

"Weeks passed on, and the soldier's wife found herself without themeans of purchasing food for her children. The hour had at lastarrived when she was utterly destitute. In the meantime her husbandlay in a foreign prison, ignorant of the unhappy fate his wife wasundergoing. Many are the nights we have walked to and fro on thegrounds of Camp Douglas, and often has he spoken to me of his absentwife and children. I know him, gentlemen, and never in the breast ofman beat a heart truer than his, nor in the minds of God's mortalswere there ever finer and nobler impulses. While he was thus sufferingconfinement for his country's sake, his wife and children werehere--in our very midst, _starving_! Aye, starving! Think of it, gentlemen--that in the midst of those who were supposed to befriends--the wife and children of a patriot were allowed to starve. Great God! is there on earth a spectacle so fearful to behold as_starvation_? And is it not enough to evoke the wrath of the Infinite, when men, surrounded by all that wealth can afford, refuse to aid andsuccor their starving fellow creatures?

"You may think that no man can be found who would refuse, but I tellyou, gentlemen, that that man who now stands before you, was appealedto by this lady, the accused, after she had disposed of every piece offurniture in the room, save and except the bed on which her childrenslept. The appeal was rejected, and, despairing of help, she offeredand sold to him the last remaining article of furniture. Here now isthe picture. He could not lend or give her a paltry pittance; and why, forsooth? Because the money would not yield him a profit, and therewas a chance of his losing it. But the moment she offered to disposeof the bed, he purchased it, for in it did the profit of thespeculator lie hidden, and on it could he get his money doubled. Thinknot, gentlemen, that the tale you have listened to from him is thetrue one. It is a varnished and highly colored evidence, beneath whicha wide extent of corruption can be seen, the moment its curtain isremoved. 

"The pittance thus obtained serves but a short time, and they are againreduced to want. The eldest child--a lovely daughter, is taken ill, andwhile lying on a heap of rags in a corner of the room, the man calls anddemands his rent. The poor woman has no money to satisfy his demands andhe orders her to leave. She appeals to him, points to her ill child; buther prayers are unavailing--and in the hour of night she is thrust fromthe room, homeless, penniless, friendless! Yes! he--that man who nowsits in the jury-box--he--Mr. Elder, the so-called _Christian_ and manof CHARITY--he, ejected this helpless woman from the shelter and forcedher to wander in the night air with her sick child--her starving babes. He--the _extortioner_"--continued Harry, with every feature expressingthe utmost scorn, "turned her from the wretched home she had found here, and left her to die on the sidewalks, like the veriest beggar. No touchof pity for the child, no feeling of sorrow for the innocent angel, nothought of the patriot lingering in prison, ever entered the mind of theextortioner. There was nothing but _self_ then, nothing but thepromptings of his own avarice, which could view with indifference themiseries of others, so long as they should redound to his own benefitand aggrandizement. I tell you that man dare not deny a word I utter. Heknows that every one is true, and if my language could wither him withshame, could make him the detestation of the world, I would speak yetstronger, for pity to him is but contempt for those he has injured. 

"Thus thrust out of home and shelter, the helpless mother conveyed herfainting child to a negro's cabin and there revived it. The nextmorning she once more called upon her accuser and petitioned him forhelp. He again refused to aid her, although informed that the moneywas intended to procure medical aid for her sick child, until at last, wearied of her importunities, he handed her the pitiful sum of _onedollar_! This was not sufficient for the purpose she desired, and shewas about turning away in despair when her eye lit on a package ofnotes lying on the safe. Remember, gentlemen, what I have told you. She was penniless and friendless. Her child was ill and she had nomeans to procure medical aid. Her appeal for charity had beenrejected, and can we blame her if she yielded to the tempter and tookthe money lying before her? We cannot. Look not on the act, gaze onlyon the provocation. If in hearts there dwells a shade of pity, an acmeof sympathy, you cannot return a verdict of guilty. She is not guiltyof theft! I unhesitatingly assert, that if to act as she has, andunder the circumstances she acted, be theft, then such a thief would Ibecome to-morrow; and in my own conscience, of the opinions of theworld and confident in the forgiveness of an Almighty Father, would Icommit such a theft as she has--just such an offence. I pleaded 'notguilty, ' and it may surprise you that in the face of such a plea, Ishould acknowledge that she took the money. Again I repeat my plea. She is not guilty of theft, and to you who have hearts to you whosympathize with the sufferings of a soldier's wife--to you, whosewives and children may to-morrow be placed in a similar position--toyou, I leave a verdict. But one word yet ere I am done. 

"The money which she took, to what use was, it placed? To purchase a_coffin_ for her child! To place the lifeless body of her daughter inits last home ere it is covered by the dust--this, and this only, wasthe good which accrued from it. And, gentlemen, he--Mr. Elder--is theMURDERER of that child. As such I charge him, and as such Ibrand him to be. But for his brutality--but for his avarice andselfish lust for gain, the mouldering corpse might now have been ablooming and happy child. And yet another word. When the so-calledtheft was discovered, and the accuser sought the accused, he found herby the bedside on which the dead child lay clothed in its last earthlygarments. Disregarding her entreaties, she was torn from the corpse, thrust into prison, and the humble and servile hands of the negro wereleft to perform those sad rites which affection is ever the first todo. This is my tale, and--"

Here the excitement grew intense, and a strong feeling of indignationwas manifested by the soldiers present against Mr. Swartz and Mr. Elder, and many threats were made to hang them. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTH. 

THE VERDICT--THE HUSBAND AND WIFE--ARREST OF AWTRY. 

It was some time before the police could restore order and quiet theexcitement. At length complete silence was restored, and Harrycontinued:

"Such, " he continued, "is the tale of this unfortunate woman, and theposition in which she found herself placed should excite, a feeling ofsympathy, and not induce you to punish her for an act which may bedeplored but cannot be condemned. That she took the money isundeniable, but why did she take it? I have told you it was to saveher child's life, and though that class of philosophers and ultramoralists who believe that there are no causes sufficient to justifyher act, may declare her guilty of theft, let the promptings of yourown hearts decide whether her position did not excuse, if it does notrender her conduct undeserving of condemnation by a jury. But inclaiming from you a verdict in favor of my client, I must takeoccasion to say, that your acquittal will not restore this lady tothat position she formerly occupied, or remove from her mind theimpress left there by an act which necessity, and necessity alone, caused her to perform. It will not restore to her the innocent childnow lying mouldering in the grave, it will not reunite the brokenlinks of affection, it will not ease the agony of the soldier when hediscovers that his wife was the inmate of a prison, nor will itreplace on its former firm base the mind of this unfortunate lady, which, like the pillars of some ancient edifice, totters beneath aweight of agonizing thought, soon, alas! I fear, to fall, a mass ofruin, in the vortex of insanity. The patriot soldier must return tofind his daughter dead, his wife a maniac, and his only remainingchild a dependent on the bounty of strangers. But one thing remains;he must turn from the spectacle thus presented and return to thebattle-field a heart-broken and unhappy man. The spirit with which heformerly contended for the liberty of his country will have vanishedand fled, for the remembrance of his family's fate must ever remainuppermost in his mind, and the reflections they will produce mustleave a blighting scar, which no future kindness can remove, sympathyeradicate, or consolation destroy. I am done. On your good judgmentand the strength of my assertions, which can be proven, if necessary, I rely for the acquittal of this lady. "

As he concluded, the building shook with applause from the crowd, andMr. Swartz and Mr. Elder trembled for their safety. Harry felt thatthe acquittal of Mrs. Wentworth was now secure, for the jury itself, sharing the popular feeling, gave expressions of approbation in manyremarks. If the language of Harry had been simple, it had carriedconviction to every soul, and all present, as they looked upon theaccused, felt that her offense was fully atoned for by the chain ofharrowing circumstances with which she had been bound. 

And for her--the soldier's wife? She had remained a passive spectatorof all that occurred. When the voice of her defender first broke onher ear, she turned and looked at him for a moment, then, as ifindifferent whether his defense was successful or not, she turned herhead away and listlessly gazed at the crowd. She cared not now forfreedom and acquittal; she felt that the chords of reason were on thepoint of breaking, and but one thought, one desire, filled her mind, before they broke and madness held sway over her. It was to see thatloved form, to gaze once more on those loved features, to be claspedonce again in her HUSBAND'S arms. This was the sole thought, the only desire. All "fond records, " all recollection of past years, all hope for future happiness, were obliterated, and nothing remainedbefore her mind's eye but the soldier who had parted from her in NewOrleans. Even the memory of her dead and of her living child hadvanished, and if they were for a while brought to her mind, it wasonly in connection with the single desire which kept the chains ofsanity united. The lineaments of every soldier in the crowd wereclosely and eagerly scanned, but there were none there who bore theslightest resemblance to him for whom she yearned. But still shepeered into the assemblage, regardless of the efforts being made inher behalf, and it was not until the interruption narrated in the lastchapter took place, that she manifested any interest in theproceedings of the court, and then it was merely by a gesture ofsurprise at the uproar. When Harry concluded and sat down, she againevinced astonishment, but not a syllable escaped from her lips. 

After a few minutes the shouts of the crowd subsided, and at therequest of the judge, silence was restored. His honor then addressedthe jury. 

"Gentlemen of the jury, " he began, "the case before your notice hasbecome, from one of apparent insignificance, one of intense interestand importance. A merchant of this city, well known to you all, bothby his wealth and his long residence in your midst, appears beforethis court and accuses a woman of theft. She is arrested and everyevidence of her guilt is found on her person; she does not deny theact, and is accordingly brought before you to be tried and sentenced, or acquitted, as you may, in your good judgment think best. "

"Overwhelming evidence is brought against her to-day, and no doubt ofher having committed the theft exists. There appears little more foryou to do than to find her guilty, and for me to pass the sentence. But before doing these, it is necessary that the accused shall have adefense. She is questioned, but informs the court she has nothing tosay. At this stage of the proceedings, a gentleman well known to youas a rising lawyer of this place before the war commenced, and betterknown since then as a gallant and meritorious officer, appears as herdefendant. You have heard his defense. The act of taking the money isnot denied, but in his defense he claims that it was committed throughdire necessity. It is true that a defense of this nature is a somewhatextraordinary one, and is new in the annals of criminal law. Still hehas given you a tale of hardships and privations which he claimsoccurred in this city, and which, coming from any other source, maywell be doubted. It is left for you to decide whether his claim for anacquittal shall be granted or not. In my remarks I do not intend tobias you one way or the other. What my opinions are will be givenafter your decision is announced. To you I look for that decision. "

"If your honor will permit me, " said Dr. Mallard, rising, "I will makea few remarks before the jury retires. The tale told by Lieut. Shackleford is correct so far as I know of it. I was called upon toattend on the sick girl mentioned in the defense, and found her in anold cabin, almost at the point of death. At the time it did not strikeme as singular that a white family should be found living in such ahovel, but the tale I have just heard narrated has made me reproachmyself for my blindness in not discovering that the unfortunate familywere of greater respectability than can be found in the residents oflog cabins. Impressed, therefore, with a firm belief in thetruthfulness of the tale I have heard, I shall act accordingly. "

With these remarks he resumed his seat, and in a few minutes the juryretired to decide on their verdict. Mr. Elder followed reluctantly, but had made up his mind to give consent to anything the majorityshould decide on. He was already apprehensive for his personal safetyand was anxious to be at home again. 

After a short absence the jury returned and announced they had decidedon a verdict. 

"What is that verdict, gentlemen?" inquired the judge. "Do you findthis lady guilty or not guilty?"

"Taking all the circumstances into consideration, " replied theforeman, "we find the prisoner NOT GUILTY of the charge. "

For a moment the building shook to the very foundation, from theprolonged cheers of the spectators. It was not rejoicing at the escapefrom punishment of the guilty, that they applauded, but it was throughheartfelt exultation at the acquittal of an unfortunate woman. It wasthe spontaneous outburst of Southern hearts, bleeding with sympathyfor the oppressed and poverty-stricken soldier's wife, and swellingwith indignation at the brutal and unfeeling conduct of Mr. Elder andMr. Swartz. 

Harry's eye moistened as he heard the shouts of applause, and afeeling of grateful emotion swept over him. He felt no gratificationat his success in gaining her acquittal which did not spring from theloftiest and most disinterested motives. He rejoiced on account ofMrs. Wentworth and her child and the gallant soldier he had so proudlycalled his friend. He rejoiced to know that the fair fame of thesoldier's wife stood untarnished, and that he could restore her to thearms of her husband, not as the inmate of a penitentiary, but as theacquitted accused, who had committed the act she was accused of, butwas still considered by all who had heard of the case, free fromcrime, and pure and unstained as before the blighting handy of penuryand suffering were stretched across her sorrow-beaten path. 

"Madam, " said the judge, when the cheering had ceased, "you have heardthe verdict of the jury, acquitting you of the charge made against youby Mr. Swartz, although in your defense, it is acknowledged you didtake the money, and the jury is cognizant of the fact. While youracquittal, in face of the evidence given, and your own acknowledgmentas well as the acknowledgment of your counsel, may be somewhatdeviating from the letter of the law, it is nevertheless in strictaccordance with its spirit, and with pleasure I inform you that beingacquitted you are no longer held a prisoner, but are free to go whereyou will. But before you leave, let me make a few remarks on thiscase, which in my judgment are called for by the circumstances, andwhich may appear again, in consequence of many parties being similarlysituated. Although the jury has acquitted you, such acquittal must notbe considered a license for others to go and do likewise. Where yourcase is one of necessity, another of a like nature may be causedthrough dishonesty. Your act is not applauded by thinking minds, nordid the jury intend to convey the impression that in acquitting youthey considered you had performed a very meritorious act. To thecontrary, they deplore the performance of a deed which cannot bethought of but with regret; at the same time they took intoconsideration the deplorable position into which you were placed, anddeclare you innocent of _theft_. 

"Before closing my remarks, " he continued, "I would call the attentionof those present, as well as the people in general, to this case. Likethis unfortunate lady, many refugees are sojourning in our midst. Theyshould be received with welcome by those who are fortunate enough tolive in peace and quiet in their happy homes. But such, I fear, is notalways the case. Many respectable families who had been accustomed toall that wealth could afford, are now living, if not in absolutenecessity, in very poor circumstances, and could have their positionmaterially improved if the people of this State would offer them thatassistance they need. It is not an act of charity to lend a helpinghand to the refugee. We are bound together by a sympathy formed on thebattle-field by the gallant men of every State now struggling side byside for our independence, and it is a matter of duty that the wivesand children of the soldier shall not suffer during his absence. It isa sordid spirit that refuses to aid a helpless woman because shehappens to be a refugee. This Confederacy is a home for all its sonsand daughters, and when they abandon their native State, and, fleeingfrom a brutal enemy, come into our midst for safety and protection, weshould welcome them as suffering patriots and cherish, them as theydeserve. It is a hard struggle for a woman to abandon a home, surrounded by all the luxuries of life and in which happiness reignsdominant, to incur hardships and privations. In doing so herpatriotism is severely tested, and nothing but the most exalteddevotion to our country triumphs over her fears. 

"There is yet another subject I will speak on. The two men who havefigured so conspicuously in this case as the cause of this lady'ssufferings, cannot be allowed to pass unnoticed. Mr. Elder is a wellknown gentleman of this city and has hitherto borne an irreproachablecharacter. Did he not stand silent when accused of inhuman conducttowards this lady, I should hesitate to believe him guilty of such anatrocity. But as his silence is indicative of guilt, the horriblenature of his act comes before us with great force, and we shudder tothink that any one wearing the form of humanity could so far debasethe mind as to turn a helpless woman and dying child from a shelterbecause she had not the means of paying her debt. In so doing, Mr. Elder has displayed the spirit of the extortioner, and must feel allthe stings of conscience which haunt the mind of a murderer, shouldhis heart be not too much hardened already. He has acted a worse partthan a murderer, for the assassin kills his victim through revenge, orat the worst, for pay. Here, Mr. Elder--a possessor of wealth and notneeding the money--turns a tenant from his roof because she ispenniless. I say nothing against him for doing so, for it was anindisputable right of his, but when we view the brutality of theact--when we think of the hardness of the heart that could notcommiserate with the situation of Mrs. Wentworth--that was deaf to theappeals of a mother--blind to the illness of her child--the soulsickens with horror at the knowledge that a mortal so debased--soutterly devoid of the instincts of humanity which govern abrute--should exist on the earth. But the mask of religion is now tornfrom his face, and we see his own lineaments. Henceforth the scorn ofall generous, minds will he receive, and turned from the respectableposition he once held, must reflect on the inevitable exposure of thehypocrite some day, sooner or later. I shall leave him to the scornand indignation of all good men. From them he will receive thatpunishment which his brutality, caused from his extorting spirit, deserves. 

"And for Mr. Swartz, the accuser of this lady, I can see but little inextenuation of his conduct. If his business is even illegitimate, there are so many speculators in the South that it should not causesurprise that his refusal to aid this woman necessitated her takinghis money. The speculator cannot be expected to have a heart tenderenough to perform a charitable act. The man who will speculate on thenecessities of the people, is not likely to feed the hungry. It is tootrue that many good men have been drawn into the vortex ofspeculation, but these are few in number and are isolated cases. 

"Mr. Swartz has been among us long enough to imbibe the spirit andsentiments of our people, but from his action towards this lady, hedoes not seem to have profited by their example. A foreigner by birth, he has cast a stigma on his nation, for, with all their faults, I donot believe there is a more charitable people than the German. I havefound it so, in many years of familiar intercourse with them. But hislast act is the one deserving unqualified condemnation. To tear amother from the bedside of her dead child--to incarcerate her in aprison, while the hands of strangers were performing the last sadrites over the dead, is an act that Christianity could never believe, were the evidence not before us, too forcible for denial, too truthfulfor contradiction. It is an act that calls for withering rebuke, butwe dismiss him with the belief that on the coming of that inevitable_Hereafter_, he will receive the punishment he so well merits. 

"My remarks are now concluded, and the prisoner is discharged fromcustody. "

There was deep silence for several minutes, during which Harry lookedanxiously in the crowd for his friend; but Alfred was nowhere to beseen. Mrs. Wentworth retained her passive look of indifference, andtook no further notice of the curious crowd, which gazed upon her withhearts full of pity and commiseration. Once or twice she slowly raisedher hand and pressed her forehead with it, as if it ached. But shespoke no word of complaint, nor did she give any other indication ofsuffering. 

Harry was about to remove her from the court, when there was a bustlein the crowd, and the voice of Alfred was heard calling on thosearound him to give way. He was followed by Awtry, perfectlyunconscious of the cause of his companions agitation. 

"Make room there, for God's sake, " asked Alfred, pressing through thedense mass of men and women. "Follow me, " he continued, speaking toAwtry. 

The men nearest to him, perceiving his excitement, generally surmisedthe truth, and a low murmur ran through the room that it was theprisoner's husband, and a passage was quickly made to where Mrs. Wentworth was sitting. 

Awtry heard the words, "it is her husband, " and turned back with theintention of leaving, but his arm was quickly seized by Alfred, who, still concealing his intention, simply said, "Come on; I will find apassage for us. " He hesitated an instant, but, believing hisappearance sufficiently disguised to prevent Mrs. Wentworth fromrecognizing him, he determined to risk proceeding, in the hope ofescaping discovery. 

At last Alfred was by the side of his wife--the soldier had met her heloved for the first time in nearly two years. Silently and sadly hegazed at her changed appearance, and the briny tears slowly trickleddown the soldier's cheeks as he noted her sunken features. At last hespoke. 

"Eva!" he said, in a voice that trembled with emotion, "my wife! mydarling wife! do you not know me?"

His voice, full of love, sounded in her ear like the sweetest musicever played by the angels of God. At the sound of her name she turnedround and looked anxiously in his face--a moment more, and he hadscarcely finished speaking, before she had thrown herself in his arms. 

"Alfred! my husband!" she murmured, as she pillowed her head in hisbosom, "at last--at last!"

"Oh, Heavenly Father!" exclaimed Alfred, raising her head and gazingfondly at the wan and emaciated features of his wife "_is this_ all Ifind?"

His words were those of anguish, wrung out from a tortured heart. Itwas not so he expected to meet his wife. 

"Rise, darling, " he continued, "rise, and let us leave this place--letus go where friends are. " She rose up, and leaning on his arm, movedoff, when he suddenly confronted Awtry, who had stood with anxious andpalpitating heart for the closing of the scene. "Stay awhile, dearest, " Alfred went on, as soon as he perceived Awtry, "Look at thisman--do you know him?"

Mrs. Wentworth looked at him for some time, but failed to recognizeAwtry. "I do not know him, " she said, shaking her head. 

"This is very strange conduct on your part, Mr. Wentworth, " said Awtry, believing himself safe. 

"Ha!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, "it is his voice. It is Awtry--therehe is--I know him now, " and she fainted in her husband's arms. 

"Seize that man!" thundered Harry, who was standing near Alfred, "heis a spy. "

In an instant, Awtry was secured and hurried of to prison. Mrs. Wentworth was conducted by Harry and her husband to Dr. Humphries', where we leave them for awhile. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINTH. 

THE EYE OF GOD--THE MANIAC WIFE. 

Pardon us, kind reader, for digressing for awhile from the sad tale ithas been our lot to give you, to remark on the strange fancies whichgovern the minds of a large majority. So inscrutable do the works ofthe Almighty appear, that we believe all the ills of this world areevoked by Him for some good end. In a measure this is correct. Whensinful mortals are burdened with sorrow and affliction, we canrecognize in them the chastening hand of God, for under such weight ofsuffering the soul is apt to pass through purified of the blacknessand corruption which darkened and rendered it odious to the good. Herewe see the benefits accruing from trouble and distress. We behold thesinner being punished for his transgression, and to the righteous andgood, these afflictions are welcomed as the saving of one more soulfrom the grasp of hell. But how is it when the innocent suffer? It isnot the work of the Eternal. High up in the celestial realms, His eyesare turned towards earth to punish the guilty and reward the innocent, and in His works we find no instance where the hands of adversity andsuffering have fallen upon those who deserved reward. Where theguiltless are found suffering, He relieves their necessities, andbrings them once more that happiness which they deserve on earth. 

Why shall it be always said that when a home of happiness is in aninstant hurled from the summit of earthly felicity and buried in thedark gulf of adversity, that such is the work of God? If that home iscontaminated by grievous sins, there is justice in the claim, butwhere the transgressions are not heavier than those good men commit, it cannot be, for the God who reigns above seeks to build up, and notto destroy, unless there is no other way of punishing the sinner butby the infliction of the heaviest penalties. We have painted asoldier's wife, if not free from sin, at least innocent of crimeswhich are calculated to bear upon the conscience and cause remorse orfear; we have pictured her two children, pure and unsinful, for itcannot be said that mortal can sin in infancy. We have shown themplunged in direst misfortunes, and is there not force in the questionwhen we ask if their months of penury and suffering were the works ofthe God of Mercy and Righteousness?

It cannot be. The innocent do not suffer by the hands of God, whilethe guilty revel in all the wealth and affluence that this earthbestows. How many men are there who live in ease and comfort, whiletheir souls are burdened with sins? The hypocrite, the liar, thethief, the murderer; all, and by hundreds they can be counted, appearto the world

 "A combination and a form, indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal, "

but in whose souls the fires of hell rage with remorseless fury. Buttheir afflictions are not known to man. The eyes of the world gaze noton them, when the mind is racked by the conflict of sin. We see nottheir sufferings; we know not the pangs they feel; we only recognizethem by the outward appearance. They live, surrounded with all thatcan make mortal happy, save the happiness of a clear conscience. Inthis world they prosper, and many gain the applause and commendationof their fellow mortals. What are their sufferings? They are unknownto man, though remembered by God. And if punishment comes at last, itis just and merited, nor do we regret that sin is scourged by theavenging hand of a Savior. 

But while we witness the guilty revelling in wealth and affluence, howoften are the innocent plunged in want? Aye, myriads of times. We knownot of them, but over the land there are hundreds of our fellowmortals whose days are but a repetition of suffering. Famine andsickness have stalked in the midst of hundreds who are innocent ofcrime, and reduced them to the last brink of despair. Is this the workof God? Forbid it, Heaven! that the charge should be made. There is noground on which to assert that the Ruler of the Universe--the God ofRighteousness--the Lord of Mercy, would thrust the innocent intowoe--would blast their earthly prospects--would dash the cup ofhappiness from their lips, and leave them to perish through Famine andDisease--while men steeped in crime, whose consciences, if read, wouldshow an appalling blackness of guilt--while they, we say, escaped fromearthly punishment and enjoyed all the good of this world! On Earth, as in Heaven and Hell, man is divided into two bodies, Angels andFiends. Both are known to the Almighty, and it is only when His eyesare turned from the good that Fiends triumph. Only then--it is not Hiswork--it cannot and can never be. 

And now, kind reader, you may think that the writer is either alunatic or a madman to advance a doctrine which claims that God--theInfinite--the Everlasting--the Omnipotent--the Inscrutable, would turnawhile from the good and survey them not--allow them to suffer. We areneither the one nor the other. Perchance our doctrine is a merevagary; still, as we glance over our country and see the scenes dailyenacted, we cannot believe they are the work of an Almighty Father. When our maidens are ravished by the hated foe and despoiled of thatVirtue held sacred in Heaven, is it the work of God? When the creepingbabe is immolated by the savages of the North, is it a dispensation ofProvidence? When the homesteads of the people are given to the flamesand the cursed army of Abolitionists exult at their demolition, doesthe hand of our Heavenly Father direct the work of destruction? Whenour temples are profaned by the bacchanalian orgies of the Northernhordes, does the Infinite invite them to desecrate His altars? Theyare not His works--they never were. These acts which the Christianworld shudders at, are the machinations and promptings of Hell, andthe Fiends who dwell therein triumph for awhile where the Eye of Godis not. 

But the Eye of God is not always turned away from His sufferingpeople. The cry of the wretched is borne to His ear by the angels, andMercy, Charity and Goodness descend to Earth and sweep away theincarnate spirits infesting it. In this we behold the Greatness andRighteousness of God, for though He may see not our hardships forawhile, the cry of the Innocent will ascend to Heaven; theirsufferings will be obliterated, and if even on earth they gain nothappiness, in those realms where sinless Angels abide, all past woes, all past years of want, all former wretchedness, are removed andforgotten, in an eternity of peace and celestial felicity. 

And so it was with the soldier's wife whose sad trials we arenarrating to the reader. The spirit of the angel daughter had wingedits flight to the Savior, and the little invisible hand pointed to itsmother on earth below, and the Son of God supplicated the Father torelieve the miseries of the innocent. We have shown how this was done. The good of earth was the medium of salvation, and her trials are atan end. 

Yes, they are at an end! But with them, when she fell fainting in herhusband's arms on recognizing Awtry, the light of reason expired, andthe soldier's wife was a maniac. 

They bore her gently to the residence of Dr. Humphries, and there allthat medical science could perform was done, and every attention waslavished upon her. But it was of no avail; madness had seized the mindof Mrs. Wentworth, and the doctor shook his head sadly as he gazedupon her. Days passed on, and still she continued in this state. 

"I fear she will only recover her reason to die, " observed Dr. Humphries to Harry. "Could her constitution sustain the frenziedexcitement she now labors under, I would have some hope, but themonths of wretchedness she has passed through, has so weakened herframe that nothing remains but a wreck of what was once a healthywoman. "

"This is bad news, " remarked Harry, "and I fear it will have a sadeffect upon Alfred. I have been overcome with sympathy at observinghis silent grief at the bedside of his raving wife, and several timesI have heard him mutter, 'never mind, my darling, you will soonrecover, and then we will be happy. ' Unfortunate man! Could there bethe slightest possibility of saving his wife, I am certain you wouldnot despair. "

"I do not yet despair, " replied the doctor, "although I fear very muchher case is hopeless. I have sent for Dr. Mallard and Dr. Purtell;when they have seen Mrs. Wentworth, we will have a consultation, and Itrust some good will accrue from it. By the way, " he continued, changing the conversation, "have you heard what has become of thesupposed spy arrested in the court house?"

"I heard on yesterday that his trunks had been searched, but nothinghad been discovered in them, beyond the fact that he was Mr. Awtry, and not an Englishman, as he pretended to be. "

"Have they discharged him?" inquired the doctor. 

"Oh no;" Harry replied, "the fact of his assuming a false characterwas deemed sufficient evidence to keep him in prison until furtherdiscoveries are made. "

"It is very likely, then, that he will eventually pay the penalty ofhis crimes, " observed the doctor. 

"Yes; and I trust it will not be long before he suffers death, " Harryanswered, and then added: "I am not bloodthirsty, nor do I favor thehoisting of the black flag, as so many appear desirous of doing. Butfor a wretch like Awtry, I have not the slightest pity, and would hearof his execution with pleasure. If even there is no proof discoveredof his being a spy, his brutality to Mrs. Wentworth merits punishment, and if only for that, I should desire to see him hung or shot. However, I have no fear but that the fact of his being a spy will bediscovered, for several of the most expert detectives in the serviceare on the search for the necessary evidence to convict him. "

"And which evidence I trust they will soon discover, " remarked thedoctor. "Like you, I am averse to a war of extermination, but wheninstances like the one before us are brought to our notice, anoutraged and indignant people demand satisfaction and should have itaccorded to them. "

"Ah! my dear sir, " replied Harry, "while Awtry's outrage on Mrs. Wentworth deserves condemnation and punishment, he is not solely theguilty cause of her sufferings. From the moment she reached our lines, it was the duty of the people of this city to aid and succor her. Hadthis been done, her daughter may have been alive this day. Unfortunately the philanthropic and charitable were idle and waiteduntil such cases came to their notice. Had they looked for them, Mrs. Wentworth never would have fallen into the hands of unprincipledspeculators and extortioners, and would have been spared the load ofaffliction which has now periled her life. "

"You are right, Harry, " said Dr. Humphries. "It is our duty to searchfor the unfortunate poor, and not to wait until they appeal forassistance. There are many destitute women and children in our midstwho have been driven from their once happy and prosperous homes by thehated Yankees. Among them are many high-toned and respectablefamilies, whose pride shrinks from begging for bread, and who now livea life of penury and starvation rather than become the mendicant. Andif even they bury delicacy at the mandate of stern Want, they are soapt to be refused assistance by the heartless, that they imagine allof our people alike, and fearing further refusal, shrink with naturalhorror from a second rejection. "

"This can be prevented, " observed Harry. "Let the benevolent make it abusiness to find out the suffering who are worthy of assistance, andlet such aid be given, not as charity, but as a duty we owe those whohave remained faithful to our cause, and abandoned their homes ratherthan submit to the enemy. By so doing, we not only alleviatehardships, but we render the soldier happy and contented to serve hiscountry. The knowledge that his family is protected by those at home, and supplied with all that is necessary, will remove from his mind allanxiety for their welfare. It will, besides, grasp them from theclutches of the wretches who are speculating and extorting, and willnot only be an act of everlasting honor to those who perform this goodwork, but will aid our cause as much as if the parties were serving inthe field. Many a man who now lies in the deserter's dishonored grave, would have been this day sharing the glory of his country and beenlooked upon as a patriot, had not his starving wife and childrenforced him in an evil hour to abandon his post and go to them. It istrue, there is no excuse for the deserter, but where the humanaffections are concerned, it is but natural that the soldier will feelsolicitous for the comfort of his wife and children. "

"Something of that sort should, indeed, be done, " remarked the doctor, "and I believe there are many in our midst who would cheerfully aid inthis good work. I cannot believe that the majority of our people aresuch inhuman characters as Elder and Swartz. It is true that these menhave a monopoly in our midst, so far as wealth is concerned, but itwould be wrong to blame the majority for the crimes of a few. "

"The majority, if even good and charitable, are to blame, " repliedHarry, firmly, "for if they outnumber the miserable creatures whosesole thought is to amass wealth from the sufferings of our country, itis their duty to thwart such desires by every possible means, and itcould be done were the proper steps taken. But they have heretoforedisplayed an indifference almost criminal, and appear to participatein the unworthy prejudice against refugees. Forgetful that they mayto-morrow be similarly situated, they lend a moral, if not an activeaid, in the oppression of this unfortunate portion of our people, andare perfectly careless whether want and misery overtake them or not. We must not forget that these refugees are as much entitled to a homein this as in their own State. Their husbands, fathers and brothersare fighting to protect us from subjugation, and if we are unmindfulof the comfort of their relatives, it not only entails disgrace uponour name, but renders us deserving of a similar fate, and worsetreatment. "

"I agree with you, " said the doctor, "and so far as I am concerned, everything that can be done for them shall be performed, and--"

Here a knock at the door interrupted the conversation. Harry openedit, and Drs. Mallard and Purtell were announced. 

"Good morning to you, gentlemen, " said Dr. Humphries, as soon as theyentered. "I am very glad you have answered my call so promptly. Thecase I desire you to see is one of great seriousness, but I withholdany opinion until you have seen the patient and expressed your ideasabout it. "

"I Suppose it is the lady who was accused of theft, " said Dr. Mallard. 

"Yes sir, " answered Harry, "it is the same person. "

"I observed her features very attentively during the trial, " remarkedDr. Mallard, "and so convinced was I that she would soon be insane, that I determined, in the event of her being found guilty, to have herreleased and placed under my care on that plea. Is she raving?" headded inquiringly of Dr. Humphries. 

"Yes, " replied that gentleman, "but in her ravings she makes noallusion whatever to her wretched life of the past few months. Shefancies herself at home in New Orleans again, and as all was thenhappiness with her, so does everything appear to her mind the reflexof her past days. "

"We had better see her now, " said Dr. Purtell, "for the soonersomething is done towards restoring her reason the better. "

"Certainly, " answered Dr. Humphries, "walk this way, " he continued, leading them toward Mrs. Wentworth's chamber. 

At the door he was met by Emma, who had been watching by the bedsideof the maniac all the morning. 

"Walk easily, " she whispered as the three gentlemen appeared at thedoor. "She is now calmer than ever, but the slightest noise willexcite her again. "

The medical gentlemen entered the room with noiseless steps, andremained for several minutes watching the sleeping sufferer. Heremaciated features were flushed from excitement and her breathing washard and difficult. In her sleep, she softly murmured words which toldof happy years that were past and vanished forever and could nevermore return. The broken sentences told of love and happiness, and adeep feeling of sympathy stole into the breasts of her hearers as theylistened to her ravings. Alfred was sitting by the bed looking on thewreck of his wife, and when the doctors entered, he arose and brieflysaluted them. To their words of condolence he made no reply, for hisheart was bitter with grief, and he felt that consolatory language wasa mockery, and however well meant and sincere it may have been, itcould not relieve the agony he felt at witnessing the destruction ofhis family's happiness. Oh, let those alone who have felt the burningof the heart when it was wrung with agony, appreciate the misery ofmen struck down from the pedestal of earthly joy and buried in thegulf of wretchedness. We have known homes where the heart beat highwith joy, and life promised to be a future of happiness and peace;where the fairest flowers of affection seemed to bloom for us, andover our pathway floated its perfume, while before our sight, itsloveliness remained undiminished until that fatal delusion, Hope, intoxicated the senses and made us oblivions to reality. A briefspell--a charm of short duration, and the hallucination is dispelled, only to leave us seared and blasted, almost hating mankind, andwearing the mask of the hypocrite, leading a double life, to hide thesears left by unsuccessful ambition, or disappointed aspiration. Whatwere death itself compared with the misery of finding, when too late, that the hopes and happiness we deemed reality, were but a shadow, nota substance, which lingered for awhile and Left us to curse our fate. 

And yet it is but life--one hour on the pinnacle, the other on theground. But to our tale. 

After remaining by the bedside for several minutes, the doctors wereabout to leave, when Mrs. Wentworth awoke from her sleep, and gazedwith an unmeaning look upon the gentlemen. She recognized no one--noteven her husband, who never left her, save when nature imperativelydemanded repose. 

The doctors requested that Alfred and Emma would retire while theyexamined the patient. In accordance with their wishes, they did so, and Alfred, entering the balcony, paced up and down, impatient for theresult of the consultation. The door of Mrs. Wentworth's chamberremained closed for nearly half an hour, when it opened, and Drs. Humphries, Mallard and Purtell issued from it, looking grave and sad. 

The heart of the husband sank as he looked at their features. 

"Let me know the worst, " he said, huskily, as they approached him. 

"We will not deceive you, " replied Dr. Mallard, "your wife, we fear, will remain a maniac while her strength lasts, and then--" here hepaused. 

"And then--" replied Alfred, inquiringly. 

"We fear she will only recover her reason to die" continued Dr. Mallard in a tone of sympathy. 

"God help, me, " uttered the soldier, as he sunk on a chair and buriedhis face in his hands. 

After a few more words full of sympathy and condolence the two doctorsleft, and shortly after Dr. Humphries dispatched a servant to bringthe little boy from the old negro's cabin. 

"His presence may rally Mr. Wentworth, " the doctor observed to Harry. "Since the consultation he has remained in the same seat, and hasnever once visited the room of his wife. Something must be done torouse him from his grief, otherwise it will be fatal to his health. "

"The presence of his son may be beneficial, " said Harry, "but I do notbelieve the child can while him away from the sorrow he has met with. It has been a hard--a fatal blow, and has fallen with fearful effectupon my poor friend. "

In about an hour the servant returned with the child. He had beenneatly dressed in a new suit of clothes and looked the embodiment ofchildish innocence. 

Taking him by the hand Dr. Humphries led him into the balcony whereAlfred still sat with his face buried in his hands, deep in thoughtand racked with grief. 

"Here, " said the old gentleman, "here is your son. The living and wellclaim your attention as well as those who are gone and those whosuffer. "

Alfred raised his head and gazed at the child for a moment. 

"My boy, " he exclaimed at last, "you are the last link of a once happychain. " As he spoke he pressed the child to his bosom, and thestrong-hearted soldier found relief in tears. 

CHAPTER THIRTIETH. 

DEATH OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. 

The presence of his child lightened but did not remove the grief ofAlfred Wentworth. The love he bore his wife may be likened to the loveof the eagle for liberty. Cage it, and the noble bird pines away; nolonger allowed to soar on high, but fettered by man, it sickens anddies, nor can it be tamed sufficiently to become satisfied with thewires of a cage. So it was with the soldier. His love for his wife wasof so deep and fathomless a nature, that the knowledge of her being amaniac, and only returning to reason to die, changed the current ofhis nature, and from being a friendly and communicative man, he becamea silent and morose being. The world had lost its charms, and theblank left in his heart, the sear upon his mind, the agony at knowingthat his wife--his pure and peerless wife, had been compelled from hernecessities to take that which was not her own, could never be filled, never be healed and never be eased. 

A wife! We know not from experience what it means, but there is asomething, an inward voice, which tells, us that a wife is the holiestgift of God to man. A wife! what is it? A woman to cherish andprotect, to give the heart's affection to, and to receive all theconfiding love with which her bosom is filled. The partner of yourhappiness--the source of all that makes man good and binds him toearth; the solace of woes, the sharer of joys--the gentle nurse insickness, and the fond companion in health. Oh! there is a somethingin the name, which thrills the heart, and makes it beat with emotionat the sound of the word. Amid the cares and pleasures of man, therecan be no higher, no worthier desire than to share his triumphs with awife. When Ambition tempts him to mount yet higher in this earthlylife, and take his stand among the exalted men of genius, who sofitting to be the partner of his fame as the gentle woman of thisworld, and when disappointed in his aspirations, when the cold frownsof a callous world drive him from the haunts of men, who so soothingas a Wife? She will smoothen the wrinkles on his forehead, and bywords of loving cheer inspire him with courage and bid him brave thecensure and mocking of the world, and strive again to reach the summitof his desires. A Wife! There is no word that appeals with greaterforce to the heart than this. From the moment the lover becomes theWife, her life becomes a fountain of happiness to a husband, whichgushes out and runs down the path of Time, never to cease, until thepower of the Invisible demands and the Angel of Death removes her fromhis side. Age meets them hand in hand, and still imbued with areciprocity of affection, her children are taught a lesson fromherself which makes the Wife, from generation to generation, the samemedium of admiration for the world, the same object of our adorationand homage. We write these lines with homage and respect for the Wife, and with an undefined emotion in our hearts, which tells us they arecorrect, and that the value of a Wife is all the imagination candepict and the pen indite. 

And to lose one! Oh! what sorrow it must awaken--how the fountains ofgrief must fill to overflowing, when the companion of your life istorn from you by the hand of Death! No wonder, then, that the heart ofAlfred Wentworth bled with woe, and he became a changed man. Whatcared he longer for this world? Almost nothing! But one thing urgedhim to rally his energies and meet the blow with fortitude whenever itshould come. It was the knowledge that his little boy would need afather's care. This made him not quite oblivious to this world, forthough his life would be in the front, so soon as he returned to thebattle-field, there were chances for his escaping death, and hisdesire was to live, so that the child might grow up and remind him ofhis wife. No, not remind! As fresh as the hour when love first enteredhis heart for her--as plain as the day he led her to the altar andregistered his vows to Heaven--and as pure as herself, would hismemory ever be for her. Time can soothe woes, obliterate the scarsleft by grief, but the memory of a dead wife can never be extinguishedin the mind of a husband, even though her place in his heart may befilled by another. She must ever be recollected by him, and each hourhe thinks of her, so will her virtues shine brighter and moretransparent, and her faults, if any, become forgotten, as they wereforgiven. But we weary the reader with these digressions, and willproceed to close our narrative. 

Three additional weeks passed, and still Mrs. Wentworth remainedinsane, but her insanity being of a gentle character, Dr. Humphrieswould not permit her to be sent to the lunatic asylum, as her husbandadvised. It is true, he desired it more for the purpose of avoidingbeing the recipient of any further favors, than because he thought itnecessary. This morbid sensitiveness shrank from being obligated to acomparative stranger like the doctor, and it was not until the oldgentleman absolutely refused to permit Mrs. Wentworth to leave thehouse, that he yielded his assent to her remaining. 

"As you insist upon it, " he remarked, "I make no further opposition toher remaining, but I think it an imposition on your benevolence thatyour home shall be made gloomy by my wife being in it. "

"Not in the least gloomy, sir, " replied the doctor, "nor do I think itthe slightest imposition upon my benevolence. Were it only to repaythe debt Harry owes you for the preservation of his life, I shouldinsist upon her not being removed. But I deem it a duty we owe to oursuffering fellow mortals, and as long as she remains in her presentstate, so long will she be an inmate of my house, and everything thatcan lighten and ameliorate her unhappy condition shall be deemed apleasant business to perform. "

"I do not doubt it, sir, " said Alfred, grasping the doctor's hand andshaking it heartily, "believe me, the attention of your daughter, Harry and yourself, has been the oasis in my present desert of life, and though in a few short weeks I expect all will be over, and shewill no longer need your care, the memory of your kindness in thesegloomy times of sorrow, shall ever remain unfading in memory, andshall always be spoken of and thought of with the greatest gratitude. "

"No gratitude is necessary, " answered the doctor as he returned thepressure of Alfred Wentworth's hand, "I consider myself performing asacred duty, both to God and to humanity, and no gratitude is neededfor the faithful performance of the same. "

"No, no sir, " interrupted Alfred, hastily, "it is no duty, and cannotbe looked upon as such--at least by me. "

"Well, well, " remarked the doctor, "we will not argue about that. Ionly wish it were in my power to do more by giving you assurance thatyour wife will recover, but I fear very much she never can. "

"How long do you suppose she will linger?" asked Alfred sadly. 

"I cannot tell, " replied the doctor, "Her strength has been failingvery rapidly for the past week, and I do not think she can last muchlonger. "

"Could nothing be done to keep her alive, if even it were as amaniac?" he inquired, and then added, and as he spoke, repressing theemotion he felt, "Could she but live, it would be some solace to me, for then I should have her with me, and by procuring a position insome of the departments, be enabled to remain with her; but the ideaof her dying--it is that which saddens me and almost makes me cursethe hour I left her. My poor, darling wife!"

The last words were uttered as if he were speaking to himself, and thetone of sorrow in which he spoke touched Dr. Humphries deeply. 

"Bear with fortitude the dispensations of a Divine Providence, " saidthe old gentleman. "If He has willed that your wife shall die, youmust bow humbly to the decree. Time will assuage your grief and removefrom your mind, this sad--too sad fate that has befallen her. "

"If you think that time can assuage my grief, " replied Alfred, "yougreatly underrate the strength of my affection. When a mere stripling, I first met my wife, and from that hour all the affection I possessedwas hers. Each day it grew stronger, and at the time I left NewOrleans with my regiment, the love I bore my wife, and for her, mychildren, could not have been bartered for the wealth of California. She was to me a dearer object than all else on earth, and more--"

He could speak no longer, so overcome was he with emotion. Once morewringing the doctor's hand, he left the room and entered the chamberof his wife. 

"Unhappy man, " exclaimed the doctor, when he was alone, "his is, indeed, a bitter grief, and one not easily obliterated. "

With these words the kind-hearted old gentleman retired to his study, greatly moved at the misfortunes of the family he had been brought incontact with. 

The furloughs granted to Alfred and Harry had been renewed on theexpiration of the time they had been granted for, but on therepresentation of Dr. Humphries, had been renewed. At the time theabove conversation took place, they were again nearly expired andHarry determined to appeal to the government once more for a secondrenewal. Accordingly he took the cars for Richmond and obtaining aninterview with the Secretary of War, he represented the condition ofMrs. Wentworth, and exhibited the certificates of several doctors thatshe could not survive two months longer. For himself, he requested afurther renewal of his furlough on the ground of his approachingmarriage. With that kindness and consideration which distinguishedGen. Randolph, his applications were granted, and leaves of absencefor Alfred and himself for sixty days longer were cordially granted. 

With the furloughs, he arrived from Richmond the same evening that theconversation related above took place between the doctor and Alfred, and on the return of his friend from his wife's chamber, he presentedhim with his leave. 

"You are indeed a friend, " remarked Alfred, "and I can neversufficiently repay the kindness you have shown me. But before thisfurlough expires I do not suppose I shall have any wife to be with. "

"Why do you speak so?" inquired Harry. 

"She cannot last much longer, " he replied. "Although unwillingly andwith sorrow I am compelled to acknowledge that every day she sinkslower, and to-day her appearance denotes approaching dissolution tooplain, even for me to persuade myself that such is not the case. "

"I cannot tell you I hope you are mistaken, " observed his friend, "forI feel that such language can never lighten nor remove your sorrow. But be assured that I deeply sympathize with you in your affliction. "

"I know it, " he answered. "Would to heaven all in the South were likeyou. It might have been different with my poor wife, and my angel girlmight have been alive this day. However, it was not their duty tosuccor and protect my family, and I have no right to complain becausethey lent her no helping hand. I alone must bear the weight of myaffliction, and from the misery it causes me, I devoutly trust none ofmy comrades may ever know it. Here your betrothed comes, " hecontinued, observing Emma at the door. "I will leave you for thepresent, as I suppose you wish to speak with her and I desire to bealone for awhile. "

"Do not let her presence hasten your departure, " said Harry. "She willbe as happy in my company while you are here, as if no third personwas present. "

Alfred smiled faintly as he replied: "Her presence alone does notimpel me to leave, but I desire to be alone for a time. My mind isvery much unsettled, and a few moments of solitary thought willrestore it to its wonted quietude. "

Rising from his seat, he bade Harry adieu, and bowing to Emma, whoentered at the moment, left the house and bent his steps toward hislodgings. Dr. Humphries had invited him to be a guest at his house, but he politely but firmly declined the invitation, at the same timehis days were spent there with his wife, and it was only in theevening he left, to take a few moments of rest. From the time hediscovered his wife, and she was carried to Dr. Humphries' residence, he had never been to any other place than the doctor's or hislodgings. 

Four days after Harry's return, he was seated with Emma in the parlorconversing on the subject of his marriage, which the fair girl desiredput off until after Mrs. Wentworth's death, which her father told hercould not be postponed many weeks. Her lover endeavored to combat herresolution, by declaring that while Alfred would always get a furloughif his wife was still alive at the expiration of its time, he couldneither ask nor expect to obtain any further extension. They were inthe midst of a warm discussion, when Dr. Humphries entered. He hadjust come from Mrs. Wentworth's room, and appeared exceedingly sad. 

"How is Mrs. Wentworth this morning, father?" inquired Emma, as thedoctor entered, and observing his mournful expression, she added, "What is the matter. "

"Mrs. Wentworth has recovered her reason, and is dying, " he replied. 

"Poor Alfred, " observed Harry, "this hour will not take him bysurprise, but it cannot fail to add to his grief. "

"Has he been here this morning, " asked the doctor. 

"Not yet, " answered Harry, "but, " he continued, looking at his watch, "he will soon be here, for it is now his usual hour of coming. "

"I trust he will not delay, " said Dr. Humphries "for his wife cannotlast three hours longer. "

"In that event, I had better go and look for him, " Harry observed "henever leaves his lodgings except to come here, and there will be nodifficulty in finding him. "

Rising from his seat, he took up his hat and departed for his friend. Before he had gone two squares he met Alfred, and without sayinganything to him, retraced his steps to the doctor's window. 

"My friend" said Doctor Humphries as Alfred entered, "the hour hascome, when you must summon all your fortitude and hear withresignation the stern decree of the Almighty. Your wife is perfectlysane this morning but she is dying. On entering her chamber a whileago, I found her quite composed and perfectly sensible of the life shehad passed through. Though she did not recognize me, an intuitiveknowledge of who I was, possessed her, and her first request was thatyou should be sent to her. Your little boy is now with her and sheawaits your arrival. "

Taking Alfred by the hand and followed by Harry, the doctor led theway to the chamber of the dying wife. The child was sitting on the bedwith his mothers arms around his neck. Emma, Elsie, and the old negrowere standing at the bedside looking sorrowfully at Mrs. Wentworth. Assoon as her husband entered, they made way for him to approach. 

"Alfred, my husband" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, extending her arms, "Iam so glad you have come that I can see you once more before I die. "

"Eva, my heart strings are torn with agony to see you thus" he repliedraising her gently and pillowing his head on her bosom, "Oh! my wife, that this should be the end of all my hopes. What consolation is thereleft to me on earth when you are gone. "

"Speak not so despairingly" she answered, "It were better that Ishould die than live with a burning conscience. My husband, the actfor which I have been tried, still haunts me, for here on earth itwill ever be a reproach, while in Heaven, the sin I committed will beforgiven through the intercession of a divine Savior. "

"Perish the remembrance of that act!" answered her husband. "To me mydarling wife it can make no difference, for I regret only thenecessity which impelled you to do it, and not the act. Live, oh mywife, live and your fair fame shall never suffer, while your husbandis able to shield you from the reproaches of the world. Though theproud may affect to scorn you, those in whose hearts beats a singletouch of generosity will forgive and forget it, and if even they donot, in the happiness of my unfaltering affections, the opinions ofthe world, can be easily disregarded. "

"It cannot be" she answered, "I am dying Alfred, and before manyhours, the spirit will be resting in heaven. To have you by my sideere my breath leaves my body, to grasp your hand, and gaze on yourloved features ere I die, removes all my unhappiness of the wearymonths now past, and I leave this world content. "

"Oh my wife" said Alfred, "Is this the end of our married life? Isthis the reward I reap for serving my country! Oh, had I remained inNew Orleans, the eye of the libertine would never have been cast uponyou, and you would have been saved from the grasp of the heartlessspeculator and extortioner. --What is independence compared with you mywife? What have I gained by severing the ties of love and leaving ahappy home, to struggle for the liberty of my country? A dead child--adying wife--a child who will now be motherless; while I will be awretched heart-broken man. Better, far better, had I resisted thecalls of my country, and remained with you, than to return and find myhappiness gone, and my family beggared, and tossing on the roughbillows of adversity, unheeded by the wealthy, and unfriended by all. "

"Speak not so, my husband, " she answered, "my sufferings may be theprice of independence, and I meet them cheerfully. Though in my hoursof destitution, despair may have caused me to utter words of anguish, never, for a moment, have I regretted that you left me, to strugglefor your country. If in my sufferings; if in the death of my child; ifin my death; and if in the destroying of our once happy family circle, the cause for which you are a soldier is advanced, welcome them. Womancan only show her devotion by suffering, and though I cannot strugglewith you on the battle-field, in suffering as I have done, I feel ithas been for our holy cause. "

"Eva, Eva, " he exclaimed, "do all these give you back to me? Do theyrestore my angel daughter? Do they bring me happiness? Oh, my wife, Ihad hoped that old age would meet us calmly floating down the streamof Time, surrounded by a happy family, and thanking God for theblessings he had bestowed upon me. When I first led you to the altar, I dreamed that our lives would be blended together for many, manyyears, and though I knew that the 'Lord giveth and the Lord takethaway, ' and that at any time we may die, I never thought that the endof our happiness would be brought about in such a way as this. Youtell me it is the price of Independence. Aye, and it is a fearfulprice. When you are laid in the cold grave aside of Ella, and I amstruggling in the battle-field, what is there to inspire me withcourage, and bid me fight on until liberty is won? And when it is atlast achieved, I cannot share the joy of my comrades. I have no hometo go to, and if even I have, it is desolate. No wife is there towelcome me, no daughter to thank me, but I must take my orphan boy bythe hand, and leading him to your grave, kneel by its side and weeptogether on the sod that covers your remains. "

There was not a dry eye in the room. All wept with the husband, andeven the dying woman could not restrain the tears. 

"Alfred, " she said, "do not weep. My husband, up there, in Heaven, wewill meet again, and then the desolation on earth will be more thanrepaid by the pleasure of eternal joy. Let not my death cause you tofalter in your duty to the South. Promise me, my husband, that throughall changes you will ever remain steadfast and loyal to her sacredcause. Look not on the cruelty of a few men as the work of the whole, and remember that if even you are not made happier by the achievementof independence, there are others you assist in making so, and otherhomes which would have been as desolate as yours, but for you and yourcomrades' defense. Promise me, Alfred, that so long as the war lasts, you will never desert the South. "

"I promise, " he replied. 

"There is now but one thing that gives me thought, " she continued, hervoice growing weaker each moment, "our little boy--"

"Shall have a home so long as I live and his father is serving hiscountry, " interrupted Dr. Humphries. "Rest easy on that subject, madam, " he continued, "it will be a pleasure for me to take care ofthe boy. "

"Then I die happy, " said Mrs. Wentworth, and turning to her husbandshe said with difficulty, "Farewell, my husband. Amid all my trialsand sufferings my love for you has ever been as true and pure as thehour we married. To die in your arms, with my head on your bosom wasall I wished, and my desire is gratified. Farewell. "

Before her husband could reply her reason had vanished, and sheremained oblivious to all around her. Her eyes were closed, and themoving of her lips alone told that she yet lived. 

"Eva! darling! Wife!" exclaimed Alfred passionately "Speak to me! ohmy angel wife, speak one word to me ere you die. Look at me! say thatyou recognize me. Awake to consciousness, and let me hear the sound ofyour voice once more. Wake up my wife" he continued wildly, "Oh foranother word--one look before you are no more. "

His wild and passionate words reached the ear of the dying woman, andher voice came again, but it was the dying flicker of the expiringlamp. She slowly opened her eyes and looked up in the face of herhusband. 

"Alfred--husband, happiness" she murmured softly, then gently drawingdown his head, her lips touched his for an instant, and the soldier'swife embraced her husband for the last time on earth. 

Releasing his head Mrs. Wentworth kept her eyes fixed upon those ofher husband. Their glances met and told their tale of deep andunutterable affection. The look they gave each other pierced theirsouls, and lit up each heart with the fires of love. Thus theycontinued for several minutes, when Mrs. Wentworth, rising on herelbow, looked for a moment on the grief struck group around her bed. 

"Farewell, " she murmured, and then gazing at her husband, her lipsmoved, but her words could not be heard. 

Stooping his ear to her lips, Alfred caught their import, and thetears coursed down his cheek. 

The words were, "My husband I die happy in your arms. "

As if an Almighty power had occasioned the metamorphosis, thecountenance of the dying woman rapidly changed, and her features borethe same appearance they had in years gone by. A smile lingered roundher lips, and over her face was a beautiful and saint-like expression. The husband gazed upon it, and her resemblance to what she was in daysof yore, flashed across his mind with the rapidity of lightning. Butthe change did not last long, for soon she closed her eyes andloosened her grasp on her husband's neck, while her features resumedtheir wan and cheerless expression. Nothing but the smile remained, and that looked heavenly. Alfred still supported her; he thought shewas asleep. 

"She is now in heaven, " said Doctor Humphries solemnly. 

Yes, she was dead! No more could the libertine prosecute her with hishellish passions; no more could his vile and lustful desires wreaktheir vengeance on her, because of disappointment. No more could theheartless extortioner turn her from a shelter to perish in thestreets. No more could the gardened and uncharitable speculator wringfrom her the last farthing, nor could suffering and starvation tempther any more to commit wrong. No--she is in heaven. _There_ thelibertine is not and can never be. _There_ she will ever find ashelter, for _there_ the extortioner rules not. There the speculatorcan never dwell, and in that holy abode suffering and starvation cannever be known. An eternity of happiness was now hers. To the home ofthe Father and to the dwelling of the Son, her spirit had winged itsflight, and henceforth, instead of tears, and lamentations the voiceof another angel would be heard in Paradise chanting the praises ofJehovah. 

Yes, the eye of God was turned upon the soldiers wife, and she wasmade happy. Her months of grief and misery were obliterated, and theAlmighty in his infinite goodness, had taken her to himself--had takenher to Heaven. The spirit of the mother is with the child, and bothare now in that home, where we all hope to go. In the ear of thesoldier, two angels are whispering words of divine comfort and peace, and as their gentle voice enter his heart, a feeling of resignationsteals over this mind, and kneeling over the dead body of his wife hegently murmurs, "Thy will be done oh God!"

Every voice is hushed, every tear is dried, and the prayer of thesoldier ascends to Heaven for strength to hear his affliction. The eyeof God is now upon him, and He can minister to the supplicant. 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIRST. 

CONCLUSION. 

The dead was buried. The hearse was followed by a large concourse ofDr. Humphries' friends, who were brought there by the sad tale of thetrials of the Soldier's Wife. The funeral service was read, and afterthe grave was closed many grouped around Alfred and offered theircondolence. He only bowed but made no reply. The body of Ella had beenpreviously disinterred and placed in the same grave which afterwardcontained her mother, and on the coffins of his wife and child AlfredWentworth took a last look. When the service was over he turned away, and accompanied by Harry returned to the dwelling of the doctor, where, with his boy on his knees, he conversed. 

"My furlough does not expire for forty days, " he observed, "but Ishall rejoin my regiment in a week from this time. The object forwhich it was obtained being no longer there, it is only just that Ishall report for duty. "

"You must do no such thing, " answered Harry, "I wish you to remainuntil your leave expires. "

"Why?" asked Alfred, in a tone of surprise. 

"Well, the fact is, " said Harry, "I will be married in thirty days, and it is my urgent desire that you shall be with me on my marriageday, as a guest, if not as a friend. "

"I can make but a poor guest, " he replied. "My heart is too full ofgrief to willingly join in the mirth and happiness such festivitiesbring with them. You must therefore excuse me. I should indeed startat once did I not desire to find a place to leave this child. "

"You need not trouble yourself about him, " remarked Harry, "the doctorassured your wife that he should take care of the boy, and I feelcertain he will be a father to him during your absence. Nor will Iexcuse your absence at my wedding, for I do not see why you shouldobject if I desire it, and Emma, I know, will be very much pleased atyour presence. So offer no excuses, but prepare yourself to remain. "

"As you appear so much to desire it, " he answered. "I will remain, butI assure you I feel but little inclined for such pleasure at thepresent time, particularly a wedding, which cannot fail to bring upreminiscences of a happy day, not so long gone but that it stillremains in my memory, as fresh and vivid as when I was an actor in asimilar occasion. "

"Let not such thoughts disturb you, " said Harry, "let the Past burythe Past. Look forward only to the Future, and there you will findobjects worthy of your ambition, and if you will pursue them, theywill serve to eradicate from your mind the harrowing scene you havejust passed through. Believe me, Alfred, " he continued, "it will neverdo to pass your days in vain regrets at what is passed and vanished. It serves to irritate and keep open the wounds in our lives, while itnever soothes the afflicted, nor gives us a moment of peace. Let thepresent and future alone occupy your thoughts. They will give you foodfor reflection, sufficient to bury all former unhappiness, and toentail upon you a return of that earthly joy you once possessed. "

"Your remarks are correct in theory, my friend, " replied Alfred, "butthey cannot be put into practice. Sooner can the Mississippi river bedrained of its waters than the inexorable Past be obliterated from themind of man. It must ever remain in his memory, and though at times itmay lie dormant, the slightest event will be all that is necessary toawake it into life. The cares of the present may deprive it of activeparticipation in the mind; anxiety for the future may prevent the mindof man from actively recurring to it, but it still remains indeliblyimprinted on the memory, and though a century of years should pass, and the changes of Time render the Present opposite to the Past, thelatter can never be forgotten. Think not that coming years can renderme oblivious to my present affliction. They may make dull the agony Inow feel, and perchance I will then wear as bright a smile as I did inyears ago, but the remembrance of my wife and child will never beblunted; no, nor shall a shade cross over my heart, and dim theaffection I had for them, while living, and for their memory now thatthey are in the grave. "

Alfred was right. The words of Harry were a theory which sounds wellenough for advice, but which can never be placed into practice. ThePast! who can forget it? The Present, with its load of cares; with itshours of happiness and prosperity; with its doubts and anxieties, isnot sufficiently powerful to extinguish remembrance of the Past. TheFuture, to which we all look for the accomplishment of ourdesigns--the achievement of our ambitious purposes--cannot remove thePast. Both combined are unequal to the task, and the daily life of manproves it so. 

The Past! what a train of thought does it suggest! Aye, the Past, withits pleasures and misfortunes. It haunts our consciences, and is everbefore our eyes. The murderer, though safely concealed from the world, and who may have escaped punishment by man for years, still has thePast to confront and harass his mind. Penitence and prayer maylighten, but can never remove it. Surrounded though he be with healthand happiness, the demon of the Past will confront him ever, and makehis life wretched. Oh, what a fearful thing is that same Past, we hearspoken of lightly by those whose lives have been along a smooth andflowery track over the same, and unmarked by a single adversity orcrime. A single deviation from the path of honor, integrity andvirtue, and as years roll on the memory of those past hours will causebitter self-reproach, for it will be irremovable. So with pasthappiness as it is with misery and crime. The beggar can never forgethis past joys in contemplating the present or hoping for the future, but it must ever remain a source of never-failing regret and thefountain of unhealable wounds. 

The Past!--but no more of it, as we write the recollection of pasthappiness and prosperity, of past follies and errors rise up withvividness, and though it is never forgotten, burns with a brighterlight than before. 

Several days after his conversation with Harry, Alfred received amessage from Dr. Humphries requesting him to meet that gentleman atten o'clock the same morning at his residence. Accordingly, at theappointed hour, he presented himself to the Doctor, by whom he wasreceived with great cordiality and kindness. 

"I have sent for you, Mr. Wentworth, " began the doctor, as soon asAlfred was seated, "to speak with you on a subject which interests youas well as myself. As you are aware, I promised your wife when she wasdying that your remaining child should never want a home while Ilived. This promise I now desire you to ratify by gaining your consentto his remaining with me, at least until he is old enough not to needthe care of a lady. "

"You have placed me under many obligations already, Dr. Humphries, "replied Alfred, "and you will pardon me if I feel loath to add anotherto the already long list. I have already formed a plan to place mychild in the hands of the Sisters of Charity at Charleston, by whom hewill be treated with the greatest kindness, and with but small expenseto myself. You must be aware that as a soldier my pay is very small, while I have no opportunity of increasing my salary by engaging in anymercantile pursuit. Such being the case, and as I could not consent toyour defraying the expenses of the child, I think it better for him tobe where I shall need only a small sum of money to pay all neededcharges. At the same time let me assure you of my sincere gratitudefor your generous offer. "

"I will not hear of your objections, my good friend, " said the doctor;"it is my desire that you allow me to adopt the boy, if only in part. My daughter will shortly be married, as you are aware, and then Ishall be left alone. I possess ample means, and would not accept adollar in return for the expenses incurred for the child, while hispresence will be a source of happiness to me. Already I have formed anattachment for him, and it will only be gratifying my sincere wish ifyou will give your consent. Believe me, I do not ask it for thepurpose of laying you under any obligations, or from any charitablemotive, but from an earnest desire for him to remain with me. Let mehope that you will give your consent. "

"I scarcely know what to say, " answered Alfred, "for while I feel anatural delicacy in giving my consent, my heart tells me that thechild will be far more comfortable than if he were at the convent. "

"Why then do you not give your consent in the same spirit the offer ismade, " observed the doctor. "My dear sir, " he continued, "let no falseidea of delicacy prevent you from giving your consent to that, whichcannot fail to render your child happy and comfortable. "

"I cannot give a decided answer to-day" said Alfred. "You will give metime to consider your offer--say a week. In the meantime I have noobjection to my child remaining with you until my mind is decided uponwhat course I shall pursue. "

"I suppose I must be satisfied to wait" answered doctor Humphries, "but let me trust your decision will be a favorable one. " As Iremarked before, I desire you consent, from none but the purestmotives, and I hope you will grant it. 

 * * * * *

The sad tale with which we have endeavored to entertain the reader isover. To the writer it has been no pleasant task, but the hope that itmay prove of some service, and of some interest to the public hascheered us in our work, and disposed us to endure its unpleasantness. Apart from the dearth of literary productions in the South, we havebelieved that a necessity existed for a work of this nature, and withsuch belief we have given the foregoing pages to the people, in thehope that it may prove, not merely a novel to be read, criticised andlaid aside, but to be thought over, and its truth examined, in thedaily lives of hundreds in our midst. It is true, that with thelicense of all writers we may have embellished misery _as a whole_ toa greater extent than reality, but if it is taken to pieces noexaggeration will be discovered, and each picture drawn herein will befound as truthful as our pen has depicted. 

As the reader may desire to know what become of the principalcharacters remaining, we anticipated their desire, by making enquiry, and learned the following facts, which we give to make this work ascomplete as possible. 

Thirty days after the burial of Mrs. Wentworth, a large assemblage ofgaily dressed ladies and gentlemen assembled at the residence ofdoctor Humphries to witness the marriage of Emma. The party was abrilliant one; the impressive ceremony of the Episcopal church wasread, and Harry Shackleford was the husband of Emma Humphries. Theusual amount of embracing and congratulation occurred on the occasion, after which the party adjourned to the dining room, where a sumptuoussupper had been prepared, and which was partaken of by the guests withmany compliments to the fair bride and bridegroom, while many toastswere offered and drank, wishing long life, health and prosperity tothe young couple. The party lasted to a late hour in the night, whenthe guests dispersed, all present having spent their hours in gaietyand happiness. 

No, not all, for apart from the throng, while the marriage ceremonywas being read, was one who looked on the scene with a sad heart. Cladin deep mourning, and holding his child, by the hand, Alfred Wentworthstanding aloof from the crowd saw Emma and his friend united as manand wife with deep emotion. It had been only a few years before, thathe led his wife to the altar and the reminiscences of the presentawoke, and stirred his grief, and brought back upon him, with thegreatest force, his sad bereavement. A tear started to his eyes, as hethought of his present unhappiness, and he turned aside, to hide hisemotion from the crowd. Dashing the tear away, he offered hiscongratulation and good wishes to the newly married couple, as hethought, with calmness, but the quiver of his lips as he spoke, didnot pass unperceived by Harry, and as he clasped the extended hand ofhis friend, a feeling of sympathy, which he could afford even in hishappiness, crept over him. 

Shortly after his marriage, Harry returned to his command, and is nowthe Lieutenant Colonel of his regiment, having been promoted to thathonorable position for gallantry exhibited on many battle fields. Whenlast we heard of him he was on furlough, and with his wife in Alabama, where they now reside, he having removed to that State a short timeprevious to the fall of Vicksburg. So far, his wedded life has beenone of unalloyed happiness, and we can only wish that it may continueso, through many long years. To his wife, though she has not been avery prominent character in this book, we tender our best wishes forthe continuance of that happiness she now enjoys, and trust the daywill soon arrive when her husband will have no farther need to perilhis life in defence of his country, but turning his sword into aplough, be enabled to live always with her, and to require no more"furloughs. "

Shortly after his daughter's marriage and removal to Alabama, DoctorHumphries found Jackson too lonely for him to reside at. He therefore, removed into the same State, where he possessed a plantation, and isnow residing there, beloved and respected by all who know him. Theunfortunate life of Mrs. Wentworth, and the sad fate of herself andthe little Ella, did not fail to make him actively alive to the dutiesof the wealthy towards those who were driven from their homes by theenemy, and compelled to seek refuge in the States held by theConfederate government. Every time a refugee arrived at his localityhe visits the unfortunate family with a view to finding out the stateof their circumstances. If he discovers they are in need, relief isimmediately granted, and the parties placed above want. By his energyand perseverance he has succeeded in forming a society for the reliefof all refugees coming into the country, and as President of the same, has infused a spirit of benevolence in the members, which promises tobecome a blessing to themselves as well as to the wretched exiles whoare in their midst. 

The little Alfred is still with the Doctor, and is a source of muchpleasure to the old gentleman. It was only after the greatestpersuasions possible that his father consented to his remaining, butbeing overcome by the argument of the Doctor and Harry as well as thesolicitations of Emma, he at last gave his consent, feeling at thesame time that his boy would be happier and fare more comfortable thanwith the Sisters of Mercy, who, from their austere and religious life, are ill suited to rear an infant of such tender years. The boy ishappy and can every evening be seen setting on the knees of DoctorHumphries, who he calls "grandfather" and indulging in innocentprattle. He has not yet forgotten his mother and sister, and veryoften he enquires of the Doctor if they will not come back to him atsome future time. On these occasions the old gentleman shakes hishead, and tells him that they are gone to heaven where he will meetthem at some future time, if he behaves like a good boy. Enjoying goodhealth and perfectly happy, although anxious for the termination ofthe war, and the achievement of our independence, we leave this worthygentleman, with the hope that he may long live to receive theblessings and thanks of those who are daily benefited by hisphilanthropic benevolence. 

The good old negro and Elsie accompanied the Doctor to Alabama, andare now residing on the Doctor's plantation. The old woman stillresides in a cabin by herself, for no amount of persuasion couldinduce her to stay at the residence, but every day she may be seenhobbling to the house with some present for the little Alfred. Theclothes which little Ella died in, and the remainder of the weddinggown, are kept sacredly by her, and often she narrates, to a group ofopen-mouthed negro children, the sad tale of the soldier's wife, embellishing, as a matter of course, the part she had in the eventfuldrama. Her kindness to Mrs. Wentworth and Ella, was not forgotten bythe soldier, and before he left for the army, she received asubstantial reward as a token of his gratitude. She often speaks ofElla as the little angel who "was not feared to die, case she was aangel on earf. "

Notwithstanding he had yielded to so many offers of the Doctor, Alfredwould not consent to receive Elsa from him, unless he paid back thesum of money given for the girl. This he could not do at the time, andit was decided that she should remain as the slave of DoctorHumphries, until he could refund the amount. She is now servingexclusively as the nurse of the little boy, and is as happy andcontented as any slave in the South. Her attachment to the childincreases daily, and nothing in the world could induce her to foregothe pleasure of attending to her wants. The old negro and herself areoften together, conversing of the unfortunate family of her formermaster, and their remarks teem with sympathy and abound with theaffection felt by every slave for a kind and indulgent owner. Althoughof a servile race, we leave these negroes, regretting that in thehearts of many of our white people the same generous feelings do notexist. It is sad to think that, with all the advantages of birth, education, and position, there should be found men of Caucasianorigin, who are below the negro in all the noble attributes ofmankind. But there are many such, and while they do not elevate theservile race, they lower, to a considerable degree, the free born andeducated. 

Vicksburg fell on the fourth day of July, 1863, and the anniversary ofAmerican independence was celebrated by the Yankees in a Southern citywhich had cost them thousands of lives to capture. A few days afterthe surrender, the enemy advanced on Jackson, and compelled GeneralJohnston to evacuate that city, to save his army. These are matters ofhistory, and are doubtless well known to the reader. After retainingpossession a short time, the Yankees retreated from the place, but notbefore they had given another proof of the vandalism for which theyhave been rendered infamous throughout the civilized world, by settingthe city on fire. Luckily only a portion of the town was destroyed, and we could almost rejoice at being able to write that among the manybuildings burnt were those belonging to Mr. Elder. Did not the homesof many good and worthy men share the same fate, we would almostattribute the destruction of his property to the righteous indignationof God. He lost every residence he possessed, and as the insurancecompanies refused to renew, from the aspect of affairs, on theexpiration of his policies, the loss was a total one, and reduced himto almost beggary. With a few negroes he reached Mobile and is nowliving on the income their labor yields. His brutal conduct hadreached the Bay city, before the fall of Jackson, and on his arrivalthere, instead of receiving the sympathy and aid of the generoushearted people, he was coldly met and all rejoiced at his downfall. Those, in that city, who in heart were like him, might have offeredassistance, did they not fear that such conduct would lead tosuspicion and eventuate the exposition of their enormities. Hispunishment is the just reward for his iniquities, and we record almostwith regret that he is not reduced to abject beggary. Though we aretold to "return good for evil" and to "forgive our enemies, " we cannotin the case of Mr. Elder do either, but would like very much to seethe Mosaic law of "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth" put inforce, and in this wish those who are even more charitable thanourselves will coincide. 

Swartz is now in Augusta, Georgia, living in ease and affluence, likethe majority of Southern speculators. The lesson he received from hisuncharitableness, has not benefited him in the slightest degree. Hestill speculates on the wants of the poor, and is as niggardly to theneedy. Though loyal to the Confederacy, we believe his loyalty onlycaused from his being the possessor of a large amount of Confederatefunds, but perhaps we judge him wrongfully. At any rate, he has neverdone any act, either for the government or for individuals to meritpraise or approbation. In justice to the Germans of the South, wewould state that when his conduct towards Mrs. Wentworth became known, they generally condemned him. --As we observed in a former chapter, kindness and benevolence is the general trait of the Germans, and wewould not have it supposed that Swartz is a representative of thatpeople. The loss sustained by Mr. Swartz, by the fall of Jackson, wascomparatively insignificant, and therefore he has felt no change offortune. The punishment that he merits, is not yet meted to him, butwe feel certain that it will be dealt to him at the proper time. 

Further investigation and search resulted in the discovery ofsufficient evidence to convict Awtry of being a spy. When broughtbefore the court martial convened to try him, he displayedconsiderable arrogance, and obstinately persisted in declaring himselfa British subject. With such plausibility did he defend himself, thatthe court was at first very much puzzled to decide whether or not hewas a spy, for every evidence brought against the prisoner wasexplained and made insignificant by his consummate skill in argument, and it was only by the opportune arrival of a detective with the mostdecided proof of his guilt, that he was condemned to death. Awtryreceived the sentence of the court with haughty indifference, and wasled back to prison, to await death by hanging. On the morning of hisexecution, the courage and obstinacy which had sustained him from theday of his arrest, gave way, and to the minister who edited upon him, he made a full confession of his having been sent to Mississippi as aspy for Sherman, and that he had already supplied that yankee Generalwith valuable information of the strength and capacity of Vicksburgfor resistance. He was very much humiliated at being condemned todeath by hanging and made application for the sentence to be changedto shooting, but the military authorities declined acceding to hisdemand, and he was accordingly hanged on the branches of a tree nearJackson. A small mound of earth in an obscure portion of theConfederacy is all that is left to mark the remains of Horace Awtry. The libertine and prosecutor of Mrs. Wentworth is no more, and to Godwe leave him. In His hands the soul of the dead will be treated as itdeserves, and the many sins which stain and blacken it will bepunished by the Almighty as they deserve. Black as was his guilt, wehave no word of reproach for the dead. Our maledictions are for theliving alone, and then we give them only when stern necessity demandsit, and when we do, our work of duty is blended with regret, and wouldbe recalled were it possible, and did not the outraged imperativelydemand it. To our Savior, we leave Awtry Before the Judge of mankindhe will be arraigned for his guilty acts on earth, and the just voiceof the Father, will pronounce on him the punishment he merits. 

But one more character remains for us to notice. Three or four timesin the last twelve months a man dressed in the uniform of a Lieutenantof the Staff, and wearing a black crape around his arm, may have beenseen with a little boy kneeling by the side of a grave in the cemeteryof Jackson, Mississippi. The grave contains two remains, but iscovered over with one large brick foundation from which ascends a pureand stainless shaft of marble, with the following inscription on itssnowy front:

SACRED

TO THE MEMORY OF

MY WIFE AND CHILD, EVA AND ELLA WENTWORTH. 

"Their troubles o'er, they rest in peace. "

1863. 

A. W. 

As our readers must perceive, the stranger and child, are AlfredWentworth and his little boy. About four months after the death of hiswife, he was appointed Inspector General of a Louisiana brigade withthe rank of first Lieutenant, and being stationed for awhile nearJackson, paid frequent visits to the city, and never failed on suchoccasions to take his son to the grave of his wife and child. There, kneeling before the grave, the broken hearted soldier would offer up aprayer to God for the repose of the souls of those beneath the sod. The tears which fell on the grave on such visits, and watered the lastresting place of the loved ones were the holiest that ever flowed fromthe eyes of man--they were the homage of a bereaved husband to thememory of a pure and spotless wife, and an angel daughter. Alfred isstill alive, and has passed unharmed through many a hard foughtbattle. Those who know not the tale of his family's sufferings andunhappy fate, think him moody and unfriendly, but those who areacquainted with the trials of the soldiers wife, regard his reservedand silent manners with respect, for though the same sorrows may notdarken the sunshine of their lives, their instinct penetrates therecess of the soldiers heart, and the sight of its shattered andwrecked remains often cause a sigh of sorrow, and a tear ofcommiseration. Let us trust that a merciful God in His divine wisdom, may alleviate the poignant grief of the soldier, and restore him tothat happiness he once possessed. 

And now kind reader, we bid you a last farewell; but ere the pages ofthis book are closed, let us speak a word to you, for thoseunfortunates who abandon their homes on the approach of the enemy toseek refuge in the Confederate lines. Many--alas! too many of itscitizens consider the term "refugee" synonymous with that of"_beggar_. " In this idea we err. It is true they are in manyinstances, reduced to penury, but in their poverty are as differentfrom the mendicant as the good are from the bad. Many of theserefugees have lost their homes, their wealth--their everything toretain their patriotism and honor. Some of them adorned the mostpolished circles in their midst, and many held an enviable position inthe State of their nativity or residence. For their country, for ourcountry, for your country, the brave abandoned all they possessed, preferring to live in want among the people of the South, than torevel in luxuries in the midst of our enemies. Seek these exiles. Lookupon them as suffering Confederates, and extend the hand of friendshipand assistance to all who are in need. Let the soldier know that hiswife and children are provided for by you. It will cheer him while incamp, it will inspire him in battle, and if he falls by the hand ofthe enemy, the knowledge that those he loves will be cared for, willlighten the pangs of Death, and he will die, happy in the thought offalling for his country. Oh! kind reader, turn your ear to the moaningof the soldier's wife--the cries of his children, and let your heartthrob with kindness and sympathy for their sufferings. Relieve theirwants, alleviate their pains, and earn for yourself a brighter rewardthan gold or influence can purchase--the eternal gratitude of thedefenders of our liberties. 

Farewell! if a single tear of sorrow, steals unhidden down your cheekat the perusal of this sad tale--if in your heart a single chord ofpity is touched at its recital--we shall have been fully rewarded forthe time and labor expended by us. And if at some future day you hearof some soldier's family suffering; sympathise with their afflictionsand cheerfully aid in ameliorating their condition, by giving a singlethought of "THE TRIALS OF THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. "

FINIS. 

APPENDIX

In presenting a work of this nature to the reader, the Author takesthe opportunity of making an apology for the errors, typographical andotherwise, which may be found therein. The difficulties under which helabored in procuring the publication of the book at this time, whenthe principal publishers of the South are so busily engaged inpublishing works written in foreign parts, and which cost them nothingbut the expense of publication, and the procuring of them through ourblockaded ports. The book which our readers have just completedperusing, is filled with many errors; too many, in fact, for anyliterary work to contain. The excuse of the Author for these, is, thatat the time the book was in press he was with the Army of Tennesseeperforming his duties, which prevented him from reading the proofsheets and correcting all mistakes which crept in during composition. The party on whom devolved the duty of reading the proof performed hiswork as well as could be expected, for, in some instances, the errorswere the fault of the Author, and not that of the printer, who laboredunder many disadvantages in deciphering the manuscript copy of thebook; the greater part of which was written on the battle-field, andunder fire of the enemy. It is thus that in the first page we find anerror of the most glaring character possible, but which might havebeen the Author's, as well as the printer's omission. Thus, the Authoris made to say that the "aristocracy" of New Orleans were "well knownby that elegance and etiquette which distinguish the _parvenu_ ofsociety. " Now the intention, as well as the words of the author, represented the "aristocracy" in quite a different light. That lineshould have read "that elegance and etiquette which distinguish _thewell-bred_ from the _parvenu_ of society, etc. " Nevertheless, thewhole sense of the sentence is destroyed by the omission of the_italicised_ words, and the reader is left to infer that thearistocracy of New Orleans are the _parvenu_ of society; rather, wemust admit, a doubtful compliment, and quite in accordance with thefollowing words, which go on to speak of "the vulgar but wealthy classof citizens with which this country is infested. " Now we do notpretend for a moment to believe that our readers would imagine that wemeant the sentence quoted in the sense it appears, and they may, perhaps, pass it over without noticing the errors complained of; butwhen such errors should not exist they become a source of muchannoyance to the author, and could they have been rectified before itwas too late, they should never have appeared in print. In fact, afterdiscovering that an error of so gross a nature existed in the firstpages of the book, the author would have had the entire "form"reprinted, had not the extravagant price of paper, and its greatscarcity, precluded the possibility of such an idea being carried intoeffect. The errors, therefore, remain, and for them we would claimindulgence, although readily admitting that none is deserved. 

And now we desire to say a few words relative to the work you havejust completed reading. It may appear to you a wild and extravaganttale of hardships and privations which existed only in the imaginationof the author. Were your supposition correct, we should rejoice, butunfortunately, every day brings us scenes of poverty that this worklacks in ability to portray, in sufficient force, the terriblesufferings borne by thousands of our people. In the plenitude of ourwealth, we think not of poor, and thus we cannot tell or find out thehundreds of poverty stricken wretches who cover the country. Ournatures may be charitable even, but we only give charity where it isasked for, and await the coming of the mendicant before our purses areopened. By these means alone do we judge the extent of suffering inthe land, and, not hearing of many cases of penury, or receiving manyapplications for assistance, we believe that the assertions of greatwant being among the people are untrue, and we purposely avoidsearching for the truth of such assertions. The design of the author, in this little book, has been to open the eyes of the people to thetruth. If he has painted the trials of the soldiers wife more highlycolored than reality could permit, it has been because he desired topresent his argument with greater force than he could otherwise havedone; and yet, if we examine well the picture he presents; take it inits every part, and look on each one, we will find that it does notexaggerate a single woe. We have seen far greater scenes ofwretchedness than those narrated herein; scenes which defydescription; for their character has been so horrible that to depictit, a pen mightier than a Bulwer's or a Scott's would be necessary. 

The tale which the reader has just finished perusing is taken fromscenes that _actually occurred_ during the present war--except, perhaps, that part which relates the tearing of the mother from thebedside of her dead child. In every other respect all that is narratedin the foregoing pages are strictly true, and there are parties now inthe South, who, when they read this work, will recognize inthemselves, some of the characters represented herein. The Authorwould rejoice, for the sake of humanity and civilization if the talehe has written was only a fiction of his own imagining; but did it notcontain truths the work would never have been written. No other objectthan that of calling attention to the vast misery and wretchednesswhich at the present time of writing abounds in the South, promptedthe Author to pen the pages which you have perused. He has witnessedthem himself; he has seen the soldiers wife absolutely starving, andfrom a slender purse has himself endeavored to relieve theirnecessities. To present before the world the fact that there arethousands in our midst who are in _absolute beggary_, has been theobject of the writer, and to call on those who are able to do so, toaid these unfortunates, is his purpose. This book is an appeal to theRich in favor of the Poor. It is the voice of Humanity calling uponWealth to rise from her sluggish torpor and wrest the hungry andthreadbare victim from the grasp of Famine, and drive desolation fromour midst. If this call is answered; if the wealthy awake to theirduty and save the wretched beings who are in our midst, then theAuthor will have gained a richer reward than all the profits accruingfrom this work. He will have been more than rewarded by the knowledgethat he has been the instrument, through which charity has once morevisited the South, and swept oppression and want from our land. Suchscenes as those we daily witness were never seen, even in the mildestform a few short years ago. Prior to the war there was scarcely abeggar in the South, and from one end of the country to the othercould we walk without hearing the voice of the mendicant appealing toour benevolence. How changed now! In every city of the South thestreets are filled with ragged boys and girls stopping each passer byand asking aid. It is a disgrace to humanity and to God, and that suchthings should be in our land, whose sons have exhibited such heroismand devotion. --Many of these beggary are the sons and daughters of oursoldiers--of our honored dead and heroic living. To the soldier wholies beneath the sod a martyr to his country's cause, their sufferingsare unknown; but if in Heaven he can witness their penury, his soulmust rest ill at peace and weep for those on earth. To the soldier, who is still alive and struggling for our independence, the letterthat brings him news of his wife's and children's poverty must bringhim discontent, and render him unwilling to longer remain in the armyand struggle for liberty while they are starving. How many times havenot desertion taken place through this very cause. In Mississippi wewitnessed the execution of a soldier for the crime of desertion. Onthe morning of his execution he informed the minister that he neverdeserted until repeated letters from his wife informed him of herwretched condition; informed him that herself and her children wereabsolutely starving. He could no longer remain in the army; thedictates of his own heart; the promptings of his affection triumphedand in an evil hour he deserted and returned home to find her tale, alas! too true. He was arrested, courtmartialed and _shot_. He hadforfeited his life by his desertion and bore his fate manfully; hisonly fear being for the future welfare of that wife and her childrenfor whom he had lost his life. When he fell, pierced by the bullets ofhis comrades, was there not a murder committed? There was, but not bythe men who sentenced him to death. They but performed duty, and, weare charitable enough to suppose, performed it with regret. Themurderers were the heartless men who are scattered over the land like, locusts, speculating on the necessities of the people, and theiraiders and abettors are those who calmly sat with folded arms, andessayed not to aid his family. Rise, O my readers and aid the poor ofour land. Let your hearts be filled with mercy to the unfortunate. Remember that

 "The quality of mercy is not strain'd It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath; it is twice blessed, It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The crowned monarch better than his crown:"

and in performing an act of charity you bless yourself as well as theone who is benefited by such charity. 

We shall now close our remarks with the hope that the reader willappreciate the motive which prompted the writing of this book. As willbe seen, it has no plot--it never was intended to have any. The Authorintended merely to write a simple narrative when he commenced thiswork, and to place before the public in the most agreeable form ofreading, a subject of vital importance to the Confederacy, and toimpress upon the minds of the wealthy their duty to the poor. He knowsnot whether he has succeeded in the latter hope, and he could havewished that some other pen had taken up the subject and woven it intoa tale that could have had a better and more lasting effect than theforegoing is likely to have. Nevertheless he trusts that all his laboris not lost, but that some attention will be paid to his words and akinder feeling be manifested towards refugees and the poor than hashitherto been shown. If this be done then nothing but the happiestresults can follow, and the blessings of thousands, the heartfeltblessings of thousands on earth, will follow those who aid in the workof charity, called for by the present emergency, and from thecelestial realms the voice of God will be heard thanking His childrenon earth for their kindness to their fellow mortals. 

 * * * * *

For the publication of this work the Author has to thank the kindproprietor of the "Atlanta Intelligencer, " Col. Jared I. Whitaker. Tothis gentleman is he indebted for being able to present the work tothe public, and to him does the Author extend his sincere thanks. InCol. Whitaker the Confederacy has one son who, uncontaminated by thevile weeds of mortality which infest us, still remains pure andundefiled, and, not only the obligations due from the author arehereby acknowledged, but as one who has witnessed the whole souledcharity of this gentleman, we can record of him the possession of aheart, unswayed by a sordid motive. To this gentleman are the thanksof the author tendered, with the wish that he may live many long yearsto reap the reward due to those, who, like himself, are ever foremostin deeds of charity and benevolence. 

END OF APPENDIX