The Washington American. (Washington, Tex.), Vol. 1, No. 15, Ed. 1 Friday, February 15, 1856 Page: 1 of 4
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devoted to news, politics, temperance, education, agriculture, literature, and the progress of mankind.
PEHBLDVS dts Co.,
TOLUME 1.
" Heaven and earth shall witness, if America must fall that we are innocent."
WASHINGTON, FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 15, 1856.
NUMBER 15.
PUBLISH) EVERY FRIDAY BY
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WASHINGTON,^.TUESDAY, FEB'RY. 12th; 1856.
Continued (rom our
A TEMPES AIT
rom our Ia^^Hiber
'EBANC^Bfc.
CHAPTER 5th.
When Cate Sevanne awoke to con-
ciousness with a bewildered gaze, she
seemed to search for some object that
had detached itself from her sight, until
her eye again caught the cottage and
then arousing herself, she leaped from
the carriage and bade her mother follow.
Come mother said she, he is there, and
is suffering.
Mrs. Sevanne followed mechanically,
not knowing the meaning and without
the power to direct. Her surprize how
ever, can be better immagincd, than por-
trayed here when on reachirg the house,
she J ehcld the corpse like face of Walter
Warren, whose mangled form still lay
stretched and bleeding on a lounge upon
which he was placed, when he was first
brought hoyse. The intuative
knowledgQU^n daughter had before
fille'd MraaBtn ne with astonishment,
it now inspírearcverenca—a mother rev-
erencing her owp daughter.
attempt to follow Walter
h the' different phases
suffice it, that through
utions of a ministering
red, although hope took
m all, save Cate many
rapid return to convales-
throughout tLat long, long
night of darkness, which preceeded a
return to conciousness, he talked much.
He conversed of happiness of blood, of
fame and of Cate Sevanne, of mystery
ence.
mbition, of
heard it
the flick-
the wan-
the ballast
his she .un-
did not.
t some things
fervently have
of betrothal, of
misery, of murd
all. She knew
erings of a dis
derings of a br
of judgment;
derstood and so
Even the vision h
back, or she would
prayed for death.
Walter Warren recovered and became
the husband of Cate Sevanne. Wh'en
he returned to his duties at the Capital,
a mighty change had taken pkee iu the
aspect of affairs. He was no loegftr
looked upon as the champion of his party;
he bore upon him the prestige of blood,
i'ortunately the session terminated soon,
and relieved him from the. embarrass-
ment which circumstance and his own
unenviabledispDsitionhad thrown around
him, and it was with more pleasure that
he returned to his home than he had left
it a few months before. He had a yearn-
ing for the happy scenes of his childhood
which alas for him, were to bring glad*
ness to his heart no more. The events
of the last half year had revolutionized
his entire nature. He was no longer
the buoyant, hopeful, cheerful boy, if he
was still the ambitious grasping, fame
adoring man. He loved power for the
pleasure of being in power, and for the
concomitants which flow from it, in other
words from ambition to be exhalted. It
was nature bred iu. him, and which time
had served to mature ; and proudly did
he anticipate all of th^se, blended iu the
reception with which he expected to be
greeted on his return home. We can
well immagine then the shock which his
sensitive nature received, when the
shouts of an admiring populace, no lon-
AlT'personarmatters," when admíssable, ¡ ger met him as he approached—that the
will be charged double the rates of ^Iverti- multitude which assembled y> bid him
sing. I God speed on bis departure and which
Calls on persons to bccome candidates'he vainly hoped would welcome his re
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turn, with equal manifestations of joy,
no longer did him honor.
In vain was every stratagem resorted
to, balls were given, dinners made at his
own expense, the public prints suborned;
but it all would not do; he bore the
mark of blood upon him, and men hissed
as he passed by them.
With Cate it was the same She loved
her husband—loved bim from intuition
It was destiny, and she knew it; what-
ever of consolation she had, she minis-
tered, and did it, freely and lovingly ;
but it was the consolation of despair,
made more poignant by ber singular
knowledge of the strange destiny which
awaited them.
But Walter had an unconquerable en
ergy, and with the incentive of his most
cherished object on earth, fame, before
bim, it was irresistable; energy was the
characteristic of his life, especislly wh n
in pursuit of his dearest phantom. The
more that eluded him, the more determ-
ined he was on its acquisition. He con-
sulted his wife, but heeded not her ad-
vice, and she gave advice knowing that
it would not be taken.
Walter oontinued to hope for better
times, trusting in that old adage, that
time will accomplish all things, Whether
the adage be true or not, time, energy
and money freely bestowed again opeued
the road to preferment to him. The
Democratic Convention was soon to hold
its meeting again to nominate a candi-
date for Congress. Walter hoped, elec-
tionered, for the nomination and by the
help of hired presses and bought infiu
ence, and stratagem, he received it. The
election came off, and although the Dem-
ocratic party was overwhelmingly in the
majority in the district, Walter Warren
was defeated by a heavy vote.
The shock was two great. His sensi-
tive nature reeled under it, and fell.
He sought relief, and found it, no not
relief,—forgetfulness, in the bowl. He
became a drunkard, a hopeless, confirm-
ed sot, and was an easy dupe of all the
concomitants which follow that, the fatti-
er of all evils, he was also a gambler. The
dream was being realized to the very
letter. Walter was a begger. Two years
;have passed away; two long long weary
years. Many changes bave taken place
in that brief period. Mrs. Warren has
gone down to her grave in sorrow, and
with her, her only brother and only re-
lation on earth save him her loved, lost,
son; and he knows it not, or if he knows
it, cannot comprehend it. Cate Sevanne
is at the home of her youth, under the
protecting branches of that ''old tree."
Oh ! wiio can portray on pap^^he'eep
dark picture of misery edfl^^Min the
countenance of that poor c>VjH^ay!as
she reclines on her favorite spot of
earth ? Why was she brought into this
breathing, sinful world, to bear a load
of guilt not h<jr own ? Why upon her
visit the sins of the iniquitous; it was
destiny, irressistable, incontrolable, cru-
el destiny. And the poor mother, strick-
en to the earth, how fervently, oh ! fer-
vently did s' é pray, for only a moments
«•omfort for her suffering child. " Tho'
God knowest her heart" speak peace un-
to it; Tbou was wont to hear prayer.
Take all but her; leaye me that. Me
thine handmaiden, whom thou knowest
has been thy servant for lo these many
years. Leave me my child, and hope I
ask nothing but this. Hear the widows
prayer, leave ber, her child to comfort,
her declining years ; or iÍ it be tliy
will) take us together and take us now;
but they will not mine be done."
The prayer was answered, comfort was
spoken to her soul; Cate looked up with
an animation beaming from her face,' that
had been a stranger there for many a long
day. Mother, said she, I am happy, y*bu
are happy, we shall all be happy—at least
for a while.
Mother do you remember when I was
a prattling child, you g ive me a bird, it
was my pet and it would eat the crumbs
of bread from my hand. In time it grew
up, and sang for me. Upoft the branches
of this dear old tree it would p>'rcb. and
on a summer's evening, its sweet warbles
would lull me to sleep, and I would dream
such pleasant dreams. But that is long
ago mother. The bird has left me, and
tbou and this old oak are ail that are
left to love me. I had a husband but—
but mother good night, I am wgpry.
CHAPTER 6th.
It Was a fearful night, every element
seemed to blend their powers, to make
nature hideous. The rain came down
in torrents, and the vivid lightnings aud
the deep and sullen thunder made the
solid earth tremble to its center. The
howling wind shook the edifice to its
foundations, and wrested from their equi-
pois many a giant tree ; but that old oak
the patriarch of the forest, withstood it
all. For an hundred years he had nobly
battled against the raging element?, and
contending nature in awful conflict pass-
ed bim bv unscathed, unharmed, and
even now lie stauds and battles for ma-
jesty, while the thunder bolt heaven's
artilery—play around his brow. He has
braved it before and will brave if again.
In the midst of the storm, the inmates
of Mrs. Pevanne's bouse were aroused
by an alarm at the door. A visitor at
such an hour was unexpected and for a
moment Mrs. S. hesitated whether be
should be admitted or not; but it was
only momeutary. for her goodness of
heart soon prevailed over fear, and she
bade a servant open the door. The
stranger spoke and Cate was upon her
feet, he spoke again, and she was upon
his breast It was her loved, though
lost husband ; be spoke with a conclu-
sive sob, while his whole frame trembled
with emotion, Cate can you forgive me 1
If you knew the agony of soul which
I have experienced since you left me
If you could, know but the half of what
I have suffered you would forgive aud
love me still. I am a reformed m n
Cate, never never will auother drop of
the liquid poison pass my lips again.
God forgive me for what I have done and
you have suffered; and here upon thy
heart Cate, which is as pure as an angels
I swear, that I never shall let another
drop of the damned poison enter my
throat.
Thank God, was all the poor girl was
able to articulate, as she fell again upon
his bosom.
Cate, I am an altered man, I am a
Washingtonian; can you forgive me
deai—I was going to say wife; but I am
not entitled to that luxury. No Cate
let that endearing word no more pass my
lips, until I have proved myself, by much
tribulation, worthy of such a gem, you
have been a wife, and God knows, a true
one; but you have bad no husband. No
Cate, you never bad one, I bave never
been one to you, I have been selfish, am
bitious, and could not appreciate a wite
and especially an angel, as you have ever
been to me. A brute has lorded it over
you, while you have been an uncom-
plaining slave. For all of this, you may
forgive me, and you will. I kuow your
heart; but I can never forgive myself.
Ten thousand years of servitude would
be a poor rocompense for the suffering
I have caused you ; but you will forgive
me Cate.
He was right, he was forgiven, fully,
freely, entirely, forgiven with all her wo-
man's nature.
And Mrs. Sevanne, where was she?
Praying—
Happy mother, happy daughter, happy
husband, and the old tree, it was happy
two. * * * *
# # * *
Several months have passed and finds
Walter Warren a reformed man—that is
he drank no more; he kept the pledge,
still there was an unquietness in his ac-
tions which showed that something was
preying upon his mind. For hours at a
time he would be lost in abstraction, and
brood in silence tfBr "hope deferred."
As his impaired intellect revived, his
ambitjon which had bgpn the controling
passion of his life, also revived. .
He had not now the means to^urchase
popularity, and if he had the old prestige
still hung about him.
He. kuew that it was not forgo^en,
and he knew too, that so long as it was
remembered, his hopes for political eleva-
tion were blasted.
Bui are t^ere not other oountric§«?
Are there not new fields opening in the
far West for adventure and distinction ?
So far away that this damning blight of
my life may never reach me again. ■ Tex-
as is before me, and I will go to her; and
in the wilds of ber remotest rest, seek
for that which men deny me here.
The more Waher studied upon this
projeot, the more he became determined
to l^ave the homo of his youth, never to
visit it again# Thev errors gf his past
life were ire Tsured up against him, and
ho would leave them for a new home,far
far way." «
The subject was at length broached to
his wife and after a few. days of consul
t'ation. it was-agreed to byjiis wife and
mother-in-law; Hé ánd Cate would go
in advance, and Mrs. Sevanne would fol
low on as soon a3 her business could be
closed up, and ber large property, dis
posed of. . When the day arrived for the
departure of Walter and Cate, after an
early breakfast with many a tearful fare-
well. Mrs S?v¡ nn« «ndijioj. dtu<;hter
parted, perhaps to meet again on earth,
and perhaps iii Heaven.
We will not attempt to follow them
through their long and tedious journey,
lit it suffice, a few mouths later, Cate
was snugly ensconced in a neat little
house, in a neat little village ; .and what
is more, she held in her arms a nice lit-
tle jÉfee
ClR was now happy, happy for the
first time in five years. She was happy
in the fullest acceptation of the word.
Her husbaud loved her and she loved
him, and both loved the baby boy. If
there is any one thing that can entirely
concentrate the affections of two distinct
beings on a single object, that object is a
pledge of mutual affection in the sh:>pe
of a thumping boy,and that can and does
do it.
Walter was steady, affectionate and at-
tentive; Cate .was obedient, amiable and
devoted ; anil notwithstanding her gen
eral temperament was calm, and she was
contented, aud as we have remarked,
happy; her spirits would occasionally
b come depresse I, as she reviewed to past
events, and particularly to those record
ed in the early part of this tale. There
appeared to be an indiscribable some-
thing which preyed upon her mind at
times, a something which she could not
define; but felt she had seen it in her
dream, and it was terrible. But what it
was, had entirety escaped her memory if
she everknew it. Some cicrumstance
may call it back again.
Reader, have you never been in that
situatiou ? Have not things transpired
before you in a dream, perhaps which
have troubled you, add which your ut-
most endeavors could not bring to mem-
ory, until some trival incident, or some
familiar object would biing them up with
all the freshness of a passing event ? It
was so in this instance.
Walter Warren had ingratiated him-
self into the good feelings of the people.
His preposessing manners, and open and
manly character won upon the earts of
all, with whom he came in contact. He
asked no favors that were not granted;
he could bave asked none that would not
have been granted,—he was the idol of
the populace, and the darling of the De-
mocracy of his county
He was barely a voter when he was
selected by his party as a candidate for
the Legiulature ; and. although running
as a Maine Liquor Law man, such was
his popularity, that all parties voted for
him. His election was placcd beyond
the possibi ity of a doubt.
About a week before the election was
to take place, a camp-meeting was coming
off in the vicinity of the village, to which
he had promised to take his wife. He
started, but did not reach the ground.
As they were traveling in an enclosed
vehicle, Cate 6aw little of the country,
until several miles of the road had been
traversed. But on reaching a hill whieh
commanded a beautiful prospect, Walter
'brew aside the curtain that Cate might
catch a view of the grand scenery which
lay in the West as far as the perspec-
tives could penetrate. Alas for human
calculations; she saw it not, she saw
nothing of the svümKl outlines of na-
ture's penciling wl^^Hir husband was
pointing out to her.^^Wr eye bad caught
another object, which had paralizcd ev-
ery facility of her system, and every
pulsation of her heart. She looked but
a moment, then shrieked and fell back
upon her seat.
CHAPTER'7th.
Poor Cate ! surely thine has been a
hard bed upon this earth; few have
endured as much, and yet the meridian
of thy life has not yet been reached—
nor never will. Soon shalt thou sleep
the long, dark, sleep of the grave, and
thy chastened spirit leave this meridian
sphere of wretchedness to b;isk with an
gels in Heaven, for truly thou hast been
one of suffering here
We would not impugn* the motives,
nor the acts of the most high. His ways
are above our ways and his designs are
hidden from the ken of mortal man
And yet it defes seem strange, that one
young, so beautiful, and so innocent
should be selected from among the actors
in this vicious world to carry out the
inscrutable will of Hearven." Could .the
fond mother who tended the, helpless in-
fajit into-existance, and loveliness into
childhood, and the beautious woman have
foretold the sorrows and troubles and
living deaths which that poor child of
clay was to travel through iu this vale
of-tears. Oh ! how fervently would she
have prayed for i^^depal-ture, hence
ere its social conv^^Hfc^tened it to life
and to a never y^^^^Kfection. *
When Cate cor.ciousness,
she f.)un4 hersetf^^^Kwn little |wme.
The paroxism had bejp long and stub-
born, and did not yield until remedies
were nearly exhausted. .When she awoke
from the death-like sleep on whose por-
tals we left'her a sliort time since.' She
some
t
found her husband «bathing her forehead:
she looked up and smiled; but it was
the smile of the grave. The last act of
the drama was being presented—the
dream was being realized. During those
few hours of unconsciousness, she had
lived life over again. Evéry reminis-
cence of her childhood; every act and
suffeiingof her maidenhood came back
to I"*** og' ?? , nil tlio vordanoy and
freshness of a passing occurance.
Walter said she, it is nearly over ; a
few mouths at most and it will be past.
We have suffered much together and it
is not yet fulfilled. I feel it, I see it,
and know it.
You will be elected Walter; but you
will never avail yourself of the privile-
ges of your election. There is some
thing connected with that, and
which is verry horrible ; but what
I know not, that it is hiddden from
but it is very, very horrible.
Walter, our babe is iunocent; he nev
er harmed any one, Sec him even now
he smiles upon you ; his lips will soon be
able to lisp your name, then you will
lose bim, will you not?
For God sake Cate, speak not thus.
Do I not lose my boy ? Do I not lose
you, Cate? Is not the testimony of the
last twelve months with my entire devo-
tion to your happiness, sufficient testi
mony that I love ? yea, adore you both
Freely, most freely, would I sacrifice ev-
erything; hope, ambition, wealth, luxu-
ry, all of the this earth, even Heaven it-
self, to give you back the joys of other
years
Walter, speak not thus; it is wrong
and sinful. Value not Heaven so lightly
sacrifice that for nothing, sacrifice all
for that; and oh ! do not mention it in
su<*h a connection. We shall soon part
to meet again, and then we may part to
meet no more—this side of Heaven. I
am weary now, and would rest, Walter
give me my babe, and if we should meet
no more, love him for my sake.
This was a severe shock to Walter.
He loved his wife and child, and as he
said, he was willing to make any sacrifice
for them. No, not any sacrifice; ambi-
tion was his God.
Five days more and Cate is better;
tho' still dependant, The next day was
the e.ection—and although it was well
known that Walter's election was placed
beyond the possibility of a doubt, his
ambition, the onlv God of whose shrine
he had ever woiwipped, lead him to de-
sire more !;han election.—he wished for
overwhelming success.
There was one precinct in the county
at which it was supposed his vote would
be meager. It was located in the imme-¡
diate vicinity of the residence of his
compqfitor, and he determined to speak
there on the day of the election, and
while travelling the other road we leave
him for a little while to return to his
wife.
say, ''here I lay me down to sleep."—
I try to learn it to my own dear boy,
but he only looks up to my face and
laughs when I attempt it' You tough t
me too, to repeat the Lord's praper, and
God knows my heart, I have never ap-
proached my couch a oingle night since
I left you, that I have not fallen to my
knees and repeated that prayer, just as
we used to do mother. But I feel that
I shall do it but a few more iimes ; for I
am going hénce, I have had enough o
sorrow here, and mo it gladly símil I o oy-
the summons which calls me away to
heaven.
It is hard to part with you. my mo-
ther, with you my boy, and Walter ; but
I-have suffered. , „
Walter, do you remember the dream .
You know nothing of the circumstance
connected with that awful vision.
I saw it all—every important incident
of my life, just as plainly as I see the pa-
per upon which I trace the feeble lines ,
I would not tell you then, my dear mo-
ther, because I would not borrow up
your soul with a recital of the dreadful
ordea!s through which your daughter
was predestined to pass. You had heart
rendings enough without that; without
giving you trouble on trust.
I saw in that vision, Walter. I saw
him approach the house, saw our betroth
al, the duel, saw both fall, I saw Walter
borne to the house. You- will recollect,
motheV, that I knew the house the mo-
ment I saw it. • i _
I then had a little respite. Again I
saw myself weded,—was in the conven-
tion which nominated Walter,—witness-
ed the canvass,—the election—the de-
feat,—the hill house—the gambling den,
I saw myself in poverty.—my husband
in rags, abandoned by good men, a sot,
a gambler
our defa!
sto.m-
met hi
just as,
night,
again
ter, i
comf<
for a
saw,
üve years,
memory
myself again under
I saw the thunder
pproach in it, an^
in the dream
on that beauttful
epose; but was
y self and Vyal-
rrounded by
ere all happy
ething moro i
recollect, for
to call it back to
?iot, all I kuew about
it was, that it was ditressing—terrible.
A short time since, "Walter was taking
me to a campmeeting in the neighbor-
hood ; when we had traveled a few miles,
we reached a beautiful province, which
commanded in the distance, one of those
vast prairies, so common in the west.—
It is a lovely sight, so I am told ; I saw
it not. When the curtain was thrown
aside, I rose up to look, and did look,
but oh! my God, why was not this scene
spared me. I saw mother, as plainly as
I see your dear picture above me, the ve-
ry object which I wished to recall—
which made such an impression'Upon me
in ray dream—the very sccue lost to
memory, which I saw and wished to re-
collect in that awful vision.
I knew it at ouce; and yet, it is strange
why a simple log cabin should h^^ such
an effect upon me. But it does^Bither
and I know that there is somethn^R-eai
ful conuec ed with it; what it is I
nut kuow. It was a dreadful vision,
ther, was it not? Tiie cabin passe
from my sight, when instantly the hori
zon was overcast, aud a great dismal black
cloud arose in the west. At first it was
not larger than my hand, but it quickly
spread itself throughout the firmament,
aud now a deep sadder murmur arose iu
the distance; the forked lightuing dar-
ted in every direction ; the storm howl-
ed in a tornado, and the guthral thunder
sbouk the earth, till its vibrations swell-
ed the ocean. At length, a mighty clap
prostrated both your daughter aud our
dear "old oak" together, aud neither ever
arose again.
This, mother, was the "vision," was it
not terrible ? And does it not account
for the consternatiou which over-
spread your daughter's face, when you
came to her assistauce.
Mother, does that old tree still stand 1
1 know it does ! for your daughter yet
lives, and we shall go together; mother,
I have nearly done, 1 shall soon be iu
the ccld ground, but I iuvoke you.
By the love you have
always borne me, leave me not here; I
cannot rest conteuted away from the
sceues of my childhood,—have the poor
remains of your child carried back to her
birth place, and at the root of that old
tree, let us sleep together. And my boy.
mother, take him two, he may live, I hope
he will to comfort you, when I am gone,
and yet I scarce dare hope for it, for
¡something whispers me, that he will not
remain behind.
Cate is at the table writing a letter to| Mother, God bless you ! bless my boy,
that dear mother, far, far away; whose that dear old shade tree, and God bless
soul was bound up iu affection for her
daughter, an affection profound, intense,
and never dying. Excuse us kind read-
er if we steal the paragraphs as she pens
them.
My dear, dear mother :—
I try to write, and yet I scarce know
whut to say. I am sick, mother, sick at
heart, and yet I pray for you, unceasing-
ly for you, and my boy. How well do I
remember the prayers you taught me—
I was a small child then—scarcely able
to articulate the .words as you tought me
■—-—Walter. We may all meet again in
heaven, mother, dear mother, fare
—I cannot SpeaK the word, it chokes my
utterance, farewell, bless, bless you all
my mother !
Tue election was over and Walter
was successful. An insatible ambition
was gratified for ouce Again the door
stood open, wide open for preferment.—
Congress, Governor, the Senate, Minis-
ter, all was within his grasp.
fie had an intellect which toward far
above all about him. He stood a
champion of democracy, an orator with-
out a farable in his adoptad State. Pow-
er, wealth, honors, all animated his ap-
proach, he had only to reach and pluck
them.
He was returning home; many had
congratulated him on his success, as be
passed them, he felt under obligations o
every body ; but there was one present
that he felt peculiarly grateful to. He
Jost there not a single vote, although he
run npon the Temperaoce ticket, and
that one was proverbial for the intem-
perance of its inhabitants. He must go
there, and thank them in person for the
noble part they had played for him. It
was immediately in his route home, and
he would loose nothing by it. Ah poor
frail mortal, litllé dost tbou know the
power of the tempter,—trust not too
much in thine own power, for without
God we are "but as a flower of the field.
He approached the place—a log cabin.
A-crowd was assembled about it whose
shouts made tire forest ring, as be rode
up to the door. He was'draged from hi
horsey and was borne upon the shoul-
ders of his partisans, who carried him
into, what?—a log cabin—a grocery. It
was1 the same which Cate had seen a few
days before, which called to her. mind the
vision of farmer 'yeat-s. Walter was
borne into the grocery—u) placed on
thee uutep, and now thou wd'whopro"
tecteth the inocent, stretch forth thy
omnipotant hand, and save , it is too
late* to late ' the cup is at his lips, it
is gugling in his throat—the firey ele-
ment is coursing through his veines.
The drunken rebble, shout at his merri-
ment*—his blasphemy.
Dear reader, our tale is nearly tol(J.
Walter is % madened sot, Three weeks
have gone 'and the poor, miserable, imbe-
cile Walter, has not left the spot, that
damnable den^f damnation. Succes-
sive rights are made hideous, by his howi-
ings, and they who ministered to his fall
now wept for his degredation. Even
the bloated'drunkard paused as he pass-
ed by him, to shed a tear of sympathy
over the mighty wreck of Walter War-
ren. . ,
Another month has passed,—Walter
lies upon a giocery floor,and Catéis up-
ou her couch—that couch from which
she will never rise, until borne away by
friends. And they are now about her
ministering to her wants—offering con-
solation, to one, strjeken in her youth •
but it is vain. She hopes for happiness'
but not here—in heaven.
On this night she was better, her
friends have hope, for her again—they
Hule knew the fruition of an hour.
At her request, she is left alone in
the assurance that she would need no
further assistance through the n ght
They have kept the secret of her bus-
bands disgrace from her, aift wouder
why she has not called for him. She
knew it all, though no mortal breathed
it into ber ear.
A table is brought and placed by her
bed side, and she is left alone—no. not
, a servant girl—her babe is in the
e, and her God is with her. The
leeps profoundly, aud so does the
' , as none but servauts cau sleep,
an effort she rises upon ber el-
attempts to write. She is able
but two sentences —'-The dream
is past, mother, fare," —
Cate is iu heaven, her soul is in para-
dise ; she is with ber God, and happy.—
Her babe sleeps in the cradle, aud the
servaut girl suores profoundly.
It was, perhaps, 2 o'clock at night —
A thundering at the door, awoke the
sleeping child, with a scream
| The door was burst in, and the drunk •
en father staggered to the spot where the
child lay, and it, the more frei«hteued
screamed again. The infuriated brute
coughtit up—the sleeping, innocent, aud
with a powerful grasp, raised it above
his head " Stop, stop, hold madman,
infanticide, would you murder your off-
spring?"
It is two late, the helpless corpse lies
bleeding and mangled upon the floor.—
Walter Warren, was doubled dyed
murderer, and the deepest augels of the
daniied, shrieked with horror, as inno*
cent blood assended to heaven, to testify
against the hom>cide.
With tho effort, he, too, fell upon the
hearth, aud slept—the embecile sleep of
the sot, he slept ia the house of the
dead.
Morning came, and with it tbe burn-
ing thirst which follows potatious of
alcohol. He called in vain, upou the
name of the retailer of the poisoned cha
lice, aud he answered not. He rose at
length, aud gradually recovering recol-
lections. like the fitful revelatious of a
dream, the scenes of the night crowded
upon his memory, he looked upou the
floor, aud there lay the mangled remains
of his murdered child; he rusned to the
bed side, aud there he saw the frigid
inanimate form of his lovely wife he
looked but for a moment, the iu en'sitj
of his thought, crowded the eveuts of a
life time, in the space of a moment and
he fell upon the floor.
Our tale is told; thirty year have
passed. At the root of what was once
a giant oak, now decayed and guue, there
are four gravee, «ni on of then Mwif
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Crawford, G. W. The Washington American. (Washington, Tex.), Vol. 1, No. 15, Ed. 1 Friday, February 15, 1856, newspaper, February 15, 1856; Washington, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth181935/m1/1/: accessed April 19, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting The Dolph Briscoe Center for American History.