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Portland
GOULD & E
‘LL,
Office 80 wus, near Comer of Exchange St.
Cransomt.
: $1,50 PER YEAR.
TERMS
One Dollar for Eight Months, in advance
AN INDEPENDENT FAMILY JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, NEWS, &G.
VOLUME XV.
PORTLAND, SATURDAY,
MAY 31, 1851.
NUMBER. 7."
POETRY.
[From the London Mirror of the Time.
A MOTHER’S EYES.
_ A mother’s eyes are magnets of the child,
* To draw him up to boyhood ; then, like stars,
They are put out by meteoric youth
Dimming the pure calm of their holy ray
A mother’s eyes the grown-up man forgets,
As they had never been; with knitted brow,
The godless pilot of Ambition’s sea,
Steering his bark to islands all unknown,
He never reaches. See, in dismal wreck,
, How strew'd those isles are with the ghosts of ships,
‘That only drift there through oblivion’s night,
Touching the shore in silence.
‘Remembrance from her portals lifts the veil,
And then a mother’s eyes look forth again,
‘And through the soul's dark windows gaze like doves
New: lighted from the sky, and fill it thus
‘With thoughts of innocence and dreams of love;
Until our coffin like our cradle grow:
Then sleep we, child-like, hush’d in sweet repose.
———————_—————————————
A THRILLING TALE.
From the London “ Lady’s Companion.”
THE FOUNDLING.
A TALE OF CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE,
It was on this very circuit, and in this town, I
was young at the bar then, one of the least-known
juniors, and Yery poor; anxious to work hard, but
without either interest or connection to bring me
forward. J had been the circuit four times, and ex-
cept twice had never held a brief, and those two
weie given me by another man, who was summon-
ed from the bar to his mother’s death-bed. Still I
did not despair; I had two incentives to courage
and perseverance. The first was a firm trust in
God's mercy ; and the second my engagement to
your mother. But it was hard work sometimes,
lasses, and needed all my resolution to endure ; but
I did endure, and the end came. Well, it was the
Lent Assizes, and Lord Cranstoun, the Lord Chief
Justice, was on the criminal side. The calendar
was unusually heavy, and we knew from his lord-
ship’s charge that he came prepared “to make an
example,” as he called it.
The commission was opened late in the day, af-
ter which the court adjourned till the morrow. It
happened that for some reason or other I remained
in court a short time after every one else had quit-
ted it. It seemed but an accident, although doubt-
Jess it was God's doing, and ordained by him. I
remember that I was gazing idly on the empty
benches, when I heard rapid footsteps approaching
through the deserted passage, and a moment after
was accosted by an attorney.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, hurriedly, “can
you tell me where to find Mr. Ashley ?”
“Indeed I cannot. Some mistake has occurred
with his clerk, and when we came into town to-day
4@we found he had not procured lodgings as usual’
“So I learn, I have been to the rooms Mr. Ash-
ley usually has, and I hear that they are. taken for
Serjeant Keats. I wish to see him as soon as pos-
sible, and I am in the utmost perplexity.”
“J am very sorry I cannot help you, Mr. Paget
—Mr. Ashley had some intention of going to Mal-
yern this evening, in which case he offered to drive
me over; therefore, if you will come to my rooms
we may hear some tidings of him; although, per-
haps, as I declined his proposal, he may not call;
it is all a chance.” *
“ How did you know me ?” asked the attorney as
we walked together.
“You are an Oxford man, I think; were you
not at Magdalen ?”
“Yes; and yet I do not remember you,
“Twas at Worcester. Do you not recollect that
Wine-party in Lloyd's room at Oriel, when the
chimney took fire, and the punch was spoiled? I
met you there.”
© be sure; how could I forget? And. what
have you been doing since ?”
“ Marvellously little.”
“Is this your first circuit ”
“No, the fourth.”
“T never ed you hore ‘before; did you read
with Chantry
_* No, with D Monk—wiy e .
“© Because he had an Oxford man of your name
—
with him a few terms since, and he married a cousin
of mine. Iwish I had seen you before, I should
have asked you to hold this brief for me. But
now—ah, here is Mr, Ashley.”
Ashly had been to my rooms, and not finding
me there, had sallied forth in search of me, and
now turned back with us. As soon as his eye
caught the name upon the brief which Mr. Paget
handed to him, he said, “ Sorry I can’t take it, sir;
Iam retained to prosecute.” A short conversa-
tion ensued, which resulted in the brief being hand-
ed to me.
“And now, Mr. Conway,” said the attorney,
“can you give me a conference? We must get an
“| acquittal if possible; and I know that no efforts
will be spared by the’ prosecution to convict my
client, who is, I firmly believe, as innocent of the
charge as you are—when can you see me ?”
“Now; this moment.” ‘The guineas were nest-
ling comfortably in my waistcoat pocket, and the
novel excitement caused me to forget the dignity I
ought to have preserved.
“Thank you; then if you will glance your eye
over the case upon your brief, you will at once be
in possession of the names of the parties and the
offence charged. When you have’ done so I
will explain the prisoncr’s previous history, which
it is material that you should know.”
Tt was a prosecution for arson,—the prisoner an
apprentice girl, and her master’s premises those
which had been destroyed.
“ Well,” said Mr. Paget when I had finished
reading, “now you, must listen to a long story. —
Eighteen years ago a large basket, containing an
infant apparently about six months old, was left at
the door of a surgeon in this town. , The child was
handsomely dressed, and a letter enclosing a bank
bill for twenty pounds, and stating that the infant's
name was Miriam Lyndon, was found beside her.
The surgeon was a bachelor, an eccentric and
strange man, although a very humane and charita-
ble one, and in spite of all the scandal and jests of
the world he kept the little stranger. But he had a
housekeeper, Alice Sharpe. Yes,” he continued,
seeing me turn again to my brief, “that is the
woman whose house has been burned, and she was
so greatly enraged at the prospect of any one shar-
ing the influence she had obtained over her master,
that after vainly trying to alter his determination,
she revenged her disappointment upon the poor
child by the most cruel usage. Ten years rolled on
in this way ; the old surgeon gave up practice and
society, secluding himself in his house and garden.
‘There were no servants beside Alice Sharpe and
poor little Miriam, who was still unreasonably hat-
ed by the former, with a boy who worked occasion-
ally in the garden. By the exercise of constant
watchfulness and cunning, Alice Sharpe managed
to keep her master and his little protegce almost en-
tirely apart, and she continued so to fill the child’s
mind with apprehension and fears of her protec-
tor, that when by any chance they did meet, her
terror was so great as to mortify and disappoint
the kind old man. Still he loved the child dearly,
and used to watch her pretty figure running about
with great delight. Sometimes, too, when Alice
was absent for a few hours at mecting or market,
he would try to conciliate and attract the little
creature, and thus, after a time, she learned to love,
and forgot to fear him. But all this was concealed
from the housekeeper. Why, has always been a
mystery to me; however, it was 80, and Alice
Sharpe lived in ignorance ‘of the mutual attach-
ment, until her master was taken ill. Then, for
the first time, the secret was betrayed by the uncon-
trolled grief of Miriam and the querulous anxiety
of the invalid, who craved to have the child per-
petually in his sight. To this, after a time, Alice
was obliged to consent, anda little mattress was
tronght into the sick-room for her, while the man-
ner and treatment of the wily artful woman changed
from its usual harshness to a caressing, oppressive
kindness that was almost as offensive. But Miri-
am was too thankfal to be allowed to remain with
her protector to be fastidious, and she nursed him
night and day until his death.
Tle had no medical advice, Alice always ridicul-
ing the idea of danger ; but she prescribed for him
herself, mixed up his medicines out of his own old
tock of drugs, and administered them. Miriam
observed that after taking them he was invariably
worse, and that he often objected to do! so; but the
housekeeper always prevailed, and by dint of scold-
ing and coaxing usually carried her point. Ten
days before his death, Alice introduced into his
room a cousin of hers, a lawyer's clerk, whom she
told Miriam that her master had sent for; and a
will was then made and signed. After this the
woman became careless, and left the dying man al-
most wholly to the charge of little Miriam, who was
alone with him when he died.
The last act of his life was to give the child a
packet, which, after his death, he bade her take to
the clergyman ; it would explain who she was, he
said. And Miriam positively asserts that his last
words were, ‘Bless you, my own child, my darling
niece
‘The packet, however, was lost, whether the child
in her exceeding misery mislaid it, or it was taken
from her as she slept, there is no means of discoy-
ering. Alice Sharpe always asserted that the whole
tale was a pure invention, and that Miriam had
never received any such article; she, however re-
mained positive, and so do I
‘Well, all was now changed.. A will was pro-
duced, executed two days before the decease of the
testator, bequeathing all his property to Alice
Sharpe, and not one word was said about Miriam.
People talked loudly, but the heiress heeded noth-
ing; she took possession of the property, married
her cousin, George Sharpe, (the man who made the
will,) sent Miriam to the workhouse, and opened a
milliner’s establishment,
Wheels roll on within wheels: Mr. Sharpe was
a large rate-payer, and once or twice overseer ; and
when his wife applied to the parish officers, offering
to take Miriam Lyndon as an apprentice without
premium, those functionarics found it convenient
to forget her previous cruelty to the child, extolled
her liberality to the skies, and, without consulting
the poor girl, bound her instantly. ~
The life she Ied in that house was horrible.’ No
African slave ever worked harder, or was more cru-
elly treated ; but she never repined ; she had learned
endurance from infancy, and the practice was fa-
miliar. At last, however, she had another and
greater trial to bear ; her beauty attracted the evil
eyeof her wretched master, and her misery was
complete. |The persecution she underwent from
him, and the jealousy of his wife, made existence a
burden to her, and, many a night she has gone to
sleep with a prayer for death upon her lips.
One night (that named in the indictment) Miri-
am was occupied in pressing some straw-bonnets,
when her master entered the apartment, and after a
great deal of impertinence attempted some famil-
jarities. ' She resisted, and the noise of the strug+
gle and her cries brought her mistress to the room
while the cowardly assailant, as soon as he saw his
wife, slank away, leaving the poor girl alone to bear
the storm’ of her ungovernable rage. Blows, oaths,
and every description of abuse were heaped upon
Miriam, by the infuriated woman, and she left her
with a dreadful vow to be revenged. Five hours
after, in the dead of the night, the house was dis-
covered to be on fire, the fire originating in Mir-
iam’s room, from which she was absent. She was,
however, soon found in a small out-house at the
top of the garden, where she was at work; as she
says, by the order of her mistress, but which’ that
woman denies. She was given into custody, and is
prosecuted with a remorseless zeal that would do
honor to a fiend. A subscription has been raised to
defend her, and by God’s help she shall be saved.”
“ave you seen her?” I asked, after listening
thoughtfully to this history.
“Yes, several times; she has been in prison
nearly four months.”
“ And she persists in her innocence #”
“Yes, but there is little necessity to asseverate
what to every one who sees her must be so plain.”
“ Your suspicion then lies—”
“Upon the prosecutor’s wife, Alice Sharpe. And
more than this; I am inclined to suspect her of
using unfair means with her late master, and of
holding his property unjustly.”
“ How ?
“T cannot exactly tell, but I firmly | believe Mir-
iam’s assertion that the old man gave her a packet
previous to his death, and that he called her his
niece ; and I also believe that in some way or oth-
er Alice Sharpe has become possessed of the se-
cret, and a deeper motive than even jealousy urges
her to destroy her victim.’
“ But the will,—if that was fairly executed, she
need be under no apprehension.”
“So it seems. Still my suspicions of foul play
are very strong. Now let us go through the evi-
dence. You see the principal witnesses are Alice
Sharpe, Ann Jackson, the servant-girl who discoy-
ered the fire, Edward Harris, the constable who ap-
prehended the accused, and Louisa Jones, an ap-
prentice, who swears that she heard Miriam , yow
to be revenged upon her mistress.”
We perused carefully the evidence. given before
the committing magistrate: that of the servant and
the constable was straightforward enongh; there
was no collusion or deception there ;, both spoke to
facts within cheir own knowledge without prejudice
or exaggeration. But it struck me upon a second
examination that the testimony of Mrs. Sharpe and
Louisa Jones was not genuine, there were seyeral
points that I did not like, and the language of both
betrayed great acrimony and ill-feeling.
“You can make something of that 2” suggested
Mr. Paget, as he saw me musing upon the matter.
“TI don't know, It’s very strange they don’t call
the husband.”
“Yes, and therefore Ihave served him with’ A
crown-office subpoena, which has frigtened them,
and put them on a wrong scent, I think.”
“Ts the letter found with the prisoner when she
was left at the surgeon’s door, in existence ?”
“T don’t know; why ?”
“ Nothing—a vague idea as to the indictment,
that’s all. But I think if it is possible it will be
as well to have it. By the by, what brothers and
sisters had this old foctors how could this girl
have been his niec
“ Nobody inoce. He came here sbout thirty
years since, but he never visited, and so far as I
know never said where he came from. Alice Sharpe
followed him immediately.”
« J should like to read my brief over alone, and
see you upon it afterwards—to-night if you are not
engaged.’
“ What time will suit you 2”
« Fight o'clock.”
After the attorney was gone, I pored over those
sheets again and again, and the more I did so, the
more satisfied I was that Miriam was innocent, and
that Mrs. Sharpe had some serious reason for wish-
ing to get rid of her. But, unfortunately, this was
only my own conviction; I could see no way ef
working it out, or of bringing @ jury. to so desira-
ble a conclusion, and the more satisfied I became,
the more uncomfortable I was also, because I knew
that nothing that was not very plain and unmistak-
able, would, except by a great chance, be accepted
by Lord Cranstoun, +
One help I had, and next to common: sense wit-
nesses it is the greatest that a counse] can have—a.
shrewd, clever, practical attorney. ‘
It was afternoon before the trial came on.. I shall.
never forget my sensations, as I saw the prisoner
come up to the bar. She was not simply pretty,
she was’ beautiful; fair, slight and delicate as a
high-born lady, and graceful exceedingly. There
was a general murmur in court as she appeared,
and even the old judge was softened.’ Oh, what I
felt! knowing that under God her life was in my
hands. -I was very nervous; the pen I held, feign-
ing to make notes, trembled in my hand, and .I
shivered from head to foot as if ague-stricken—.
The constable was the first witness called. Ilis ev~
idence was short and clear. Ile stated that he wag
sent for at twelve o'clock at night to apprehend
Miriam Lyndon, the prisoner, who was accused of
haying sct fire to her master’s house : that when he
reached the place he found it, burning inside, in a.
room which he was told was the prisoner's bed-
room, and in another immediately under the cham--
ber of her, employers.. That upon searching the
house the prisoner was not to be found, but that af:
ter a little delay: she was discovered in an ont-!
building, at some distance from the house, Dressing,
bonnets.
‘The man was turning to leave the box when it
struck me that I might put a question or two with.
effect, and I therefore desired him to stay.’ .
“When you reached Sharpe’s house,” I commene-’
ed, “what had been done to extinguish the fire t—
was there any engine or people there !”
| 2
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