The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1838-07-20 00:00:00

HORRID DEATH-THE.WHIG POOR LAW,

The past week has added another victim to the appalling
list of legalized murders perpetrated under the sanction of
the Whig Poor Law Amendment Act, and the Town of New-
castle has been the scene of the atrocious deed. We shall
not enlist the feelings of our readers in the cause further than
the simple narrative of the facts stated by the witnesses on
the inquest warrants—these facts supply a commentary on
the abominable system which will sink deep into the hearts
of thousands. The deceased was an old woman between seventy
and eiahty years of aye; her name was Elizabeth Graham;
and she had for some time procured a precarious and scanty
subsistence by selling threads and tapes which she carried in
a basket. The extent of her means from this source must have
been extremely small, and the wonder to us is huw she con-
trived to survive the severe and protracted winter which has
just passed. She was found by a policeman on duty lying on
her side in a coal-house, and it would appear from the evidence
of one of the witnesses that Mr. Robins, the keeper of the
Mendicity office, to whom she was in the first instance taken,
"had often been bothered with her" but he had never relieved
her "evenjbr a single night!!" She was thence taken to St.
Nicholas' Workhouse where it was found that she was not un-
known to the keeper, Mr. Rutherford, who it appears bad, in
the morhadkept
given her
pocket some bread, which being unable to
eat she in her all day, and it was found there
the
eer
Workhouse, the
tbhuethWehhig P
had refused
atwo, admit
be stated,itherinto
having deprivede hint of all discretionary power. The
consequence was that the poor old woman was taken to
the police station in the Manors
where she was put into a cell
and•there suffered to remain till death put an end to her
sufferings. Our hearts swbll at the recital of her woes, and
over her bier we would join •
the heads of the promoters andn tiprayer of vengeance on
advocatesnfteofha system so re-
pugnant to every generous feeling
individual
has for
as
well as so contrary to the right which every
support in the community where Providence has thought fi
to place him. From the evidence of the surgeon it appeared
she had been afflicted with a cancerous disease, which was
sufficient to account for death; he was therefore of opinion
that she bad not died of hunger. The jury, after consulta-
tion returned a verdict to the following effect :—We find an
unanimous verdict of "died by the visitation of God;" but we
unanimously regret that no better provision is made for
people who are fou-nci-uut place,
rtheseh
whether
t r
those circumstances.who
have Aid the
firs
beg to suggest, in the w
care of the poor-houses might not be induced to act with
more kindness to people who are so absolutely destitute that
they might die as they are passing through the streets. And,
secondly, whether it was proper in this place (the police sta-
tion) to put a woman, in a dying state, into a cell, to die as a
dog, without other provision being made for her than for
those who are brought in as prisoners, saving the attention
which was afforded her by the policemen themselves.—New-
castle Journal.

A B
ference between the diet of the ancients and that of us
moderns is very striking. The ancient Greeks and Romans
used no alcoholic liquor, it being unknown to them; nor coffee,
nor tea, nor chocolate, nor sugar, nor even butter ; for Galen
informs us he had seen butter but once in his life. They
were ignorant of the greater number of our tropical spices,
as clove, nutmeg, mace, ginger, Jamaica pepper, curry,
pimento. They used neither buckwheat, nor French beans,
nor spinach, nor sago, tapioca, salep, arrow-root, nor potato,
or its varieties; nor even the common, but a sort of marsh-
grown, bean ; nor many of our fruits, as the orange, tama-
rind, nor American maize. On the other hand, they ate sub-
stances which we now neglect—the mallow, the herb ox-
tongue, the sweet acorn, the lupin. They used greatly
radish, lettuce, sorrel. They liked the flesh of wild asses, of
little dogs, of the dormouse, of the fox, of the bear. They
ate the flesh of parroquets and other rare birds, and of liz-
ards. They were fond of a great ir any fish and shell-fish
which we now hold in no esteem. They employed as sea;
sonings, rue and assafcetida.—Dr. Dick's Diet and Regimen.

MARY MORRIS, A TALE OF THE PRINCIPALITY.

BY THOS. SMITH.
(Concluded from our last.)

" She loved not wisely, it would seem,
Not wisely, but too well ;
With all of youth's romantic dream,
And passion's with'ring spell."

PART M.—AUTUMN.
How soothing to the feeling mind is autumn—sober, fading
autumn—emblem of retiring life—when every dying tree
that stands in the cheerless grove, nearly stripped of its
foliage, and every withered leaf that falls around reminds de-
luded, earth-bound man of his transitory state, and that he
must, ere long, leave this vain world, with its delusive joys,
for ever!
It was on a cheerless evening in the month of October, that
the fragile form of a female was observed to glide through the
entrance of a small cemetery, in the vicinity of W--. The
double row of yew-trees, disturbed by the meaning autumnal
breeze, cast their leaves thick and fast upon her, as she
slowly passed underneath their withering branches, and bent
her steps to a small hillock by the side of which she sank
exhausted. The flowers that affection's hand had planted on
the infant's grave, and which had smiled and flourished for a
time were now as dead as the mouldering form they covered.
The female spoke not, but she wept and moistened the
narrow resting place of the lost one with tears of bitterness.
Long did she remain prostrate on the earth, fur her heart was
beneath the humid sward, and a holy spell seemed to bind
her to the spot.
Mary Morris was gradually sinking into a premature
grave. Her infant had died three months after its birth;
and this circumstance, together with her mournful visits to
the dreary scene of cold mortality, had preyed upon her
heart and undermined her health and happiness. Consump-
tion having at length commenced its deadly attack upon her
wasted form, her father was advised by Mary's medical at-
tendant, as a last resource, to take her to the coast, hoping
that the sea breezes, but more especially absence from the
scene of her sorrows, might effect her recovery.
This advice was no sooner tendered than it was accepted
by Hugh Morris, and acted upon with an alacrity which be-
spoke but too plainly the poignant feelings of the distracted
parent. He instantly communicated his intention to
Edward, and entreated him to accompany them. The latter
consented, and it was finally arranged that they should leave
W. for the place of their destination on the following
morning.
__

The place Hugh Morris had fixed upon as a temporary re-
sidence was a beautiful romantic spot within a short distance
of the sea, about twenty miles f:•oui W-, but little known,
and therefore seldom visited by those persons who consider
haut too of paramount importance to health.
Edward Griffiths still watched over Mary with more than
a brother's case. He still adored her; and when, with a
melancholy pleasure, he gazed on her beloved features, he
felt that, although there was au inseparable bar to their union,
life would be insupportable but in her presence; she was the
first, the only woman he had ever loved; and when he lost
her he knew Lis heart would wither beneath the afflicting
stroke.

Mary was not insensible to Edward's feelings ; she re-
garded him as a being of a superior order; she recalled to
her recollection all his kindness to herself and father—all his
tenderness; she loved him, but with such love as an affection-
ate sister would regard a dear brother.
Whenever 'her strength would allow, Mary took gentle
walks with her companions on the sea-shore, On one occa-
sion Hugh Morris being indisposed, remained at home, and
Edward and his charge sallied out together. Engaged in
earnest conversation, the youthful couple rambled further
than usual; and Edward remarking that Mary seemed fa-
tigued, led her to a bank, and spreading his cloak gently
placed her on it, and sat by her side. The evening was beau-
tiful, although the air was rather cool; the sun was sinking
amid the wide expanse of the ocean, and its golden light was
dancing on the undulating waters; many vessels might be
seen in the distance, with their canvass set, but they were ap-
parently motionless,so serene was the evening hour.
After a short time Edward and his companion proceeded
to return home, and as they retraced their steps the former
endeavoured to divert the latter by directing her attention to
the surrounding objects, and speaking of those subjects which
he thought would interest her, and divert her mind from re-
verting to the past; but in vain. She was silent. Her eyes
were stedfastly fixed on some distant object. Her agitation
increased at every step.
Two persons were advancing—a lady and gettleman ; the
former, who was young and extremely fascinating, was lean-
ing on the arm of the latter; and as they conversed, the fe-
male would playfully look up into the face of her companion
with a bewitching smile, and make some thoughtless remark.
They had approached to within a short distance of Mary,
whose hand trembled violently on the arm of Edward, when
the lady whispered to her companion:—
" What a pretty girl! Is she not, Charles ? Poor Crea-
ture! how pale she is! Dor,'t you think she must have been
very pretty once ?
" Villain !" muttered Edward, as he clenched his fist, and
darted a determined glance at Mary's seducer, for it was in-
deed him, "cold-hearted villain !"

The epithet fell disregarded on the ear of him for whom it
was intended; and Marv, fearful of the consequences that
might ensue from a collision, implored Edward to convey
her home. They proceeded but a few yards, when Mary,
overpowered by her feelings, gradually sank into a state of
insensibility ; and being unable to walk, Edward bore her in
his arms to a fisherman's cot, close b% ; where, gentle resto-
ratives being appLed, she soon after recovered from the
fainting fit, and, supported by Edward, arrived at home in
due time.

In accordance with Mary's request, the shock she had re-
cently received was carefully concealed from her father; and
as the season was far advanced, and as Mary did not derive
any benefit from the sea breezes, but on the contrary, was
becoming worse and worse, Hugh Morris, having consulted
his daughter and friend, who were also anxious, under the
circumstances, to leave this place, made preparations for their
return to W-, at which place they arrived shortly after-
wards.

Days and weeks passed away, and that final moment was
rapidly approaching when Marv's sorrows were to cease.
Her father, too, was confined to his bed with a virulent fever,
occasioned by excessive anxiety and overw•alching at the
bedside of his daughter. He lay in en adjoining room to
that of Mary's, and the last hour of his dying child was dis-
turbed by his incoherent ravings. The attention of Edward
was divided between the two. He soothed the Pillow of
affliction with the voice of tenderness.

At length the moment of Mary's deliverance—so mourn-
fully anticipated by all who knew her—arrived. Many of
those friends who had known her in happier days were stand-
ing at her bedside, and deep, not loud, was the grief of every
oafs.

The dying girl feebly waved her hand, as a token of peace
to all around; and shortly after passed from a gentle slum-
ber into the still more peaceful sleep of death without a
mu rtn or.

Scarcely had the released soul taken its flight, ere the
chamber door opened, and a half-dressed, ghastly-looking, oh-
joet tottered into the room. It was Hugh Mullis. Gazing
wildly round the room he muttered—.

"Where is my daughter ?—where is Mary ?—Alas! I
thought she was dead ! hut 'twas a dream—a delusion!"
Suddenly his eves wandered to the object he was in quest
'o(, and, with a violent effort, he staggered to the bed, and
threw himself across the inanimate form of his child;
" Mary, my poor ' said the wretched old man, as he
raised the body in his arms ; " I have found'thee at last !
They wanted to pat t as, child, bat they shall not ! We will
live and die together!"
" You do not speak to me, Mary," continued he, after a
pause, " but you are fatigued with our long, long journey;
and so atn 1. Then let us repose awhile; and when we
awake we shall be better—much better." The old man sunk
exhaustel on the death-bed of his daughter. In a state of
unconsciousness he was removed to his chamber.
All, save one, quitted the apartment. Edward Griffiths
gazed for some minutes on the faded flower of his affection,
while tear after tear trickled down his manly cheeks. lie
imprinted a last fond kiss on the cold pale cheek, and with a
breaking heart, he slowly retired from the chamber of death.

PART IV.—WINTER.
Winter! winter! thou hoary sire of seasons ! Clad in thine
icy dress and locks of snow, thou makest the most of thy
brief reign, and scattereth thy benumbing influence around
the earth. Scenes which a short time since were clothed with
verdure, and exhaled fragrance, are now by thee made dear
and desolate—covered with ice and snow ; vegetation seems
dead, the whole face of nature a barren wild; and the solitary
wanderer pursues his cheerless and uncertain way, over bill
and dale, bereft of those useful land-marks which should
guide his uneven steps.
Eleven years had elapsed since the death of Mary Morris;
Edward, too, was dead. He did not long survive the iIIUI of
his misplaced affections; and he now reposed in death with
her, whom in life be had so fondly loved, in the churchyard
of W--.
Hugh still existed, a feeble old man, imbecile in mind.
When he lost his daughter, the last ray of happiness fled from
his heart, and be became a gloomy misanthrope. His busi-
ness was neglected; from comparative affluence be gradually
sunk into poverty; and eventually became dependent upon
others for a scanty pittance. With a gloomy reserve he
avoided those persons with whom he had formerly been on
terms of intimacy; and seldom emerged limn his retired lodg-
ing, except at night ; and then, when silence reigned around,
and all was peace, save in his own breast, he would visit his
beloved daughter's grave, and remain there until the morn-
ing's dawn warned him to depart.
It was the eve of Christmas, and a gloomy evening it was!
The good folks of W were making preparations fur the
ensuing holiday; a heavy fall of snow had taken place, and
the wind' howled fearfully at intervals. As the night advan-
ced the scene became more cheerless. The inhabitants had
retired to rest; the town was in total darkness, the street-
lights having been extinguished by the wind, which had drift-
ed the snow in heaps as high as the shop windows. The
tombs and grave-stones in the churchyard were nearly cover-
, ed ; flakes of the congealed element rested on the tower, the
pinnacles, the roof, and the abutments of the gothic church,
and gave it altogether a fantastical, yet noble appearance.
And it was then, when the hour of midnight sounded from the
snow clad edifice, and as each solemn stroke, aided by the
wind, which had now settled down into a moan, reverberated
through the place, that two wretched men met by accident in
the church-yard. The clouds broke away, and the moon flung
her sickly beams around ; the men saw each other, and they
knew each other; and there was a struggle for life and mas-
tery—there was a groan, and again all was still.
The morn of Christmas 'broke upon the town of W--.
The sun peeped forth, and began to dissolve the'vast heaps
of snow; and as the thaw proceeded a stiffened corpse was
discovered beneath a grave-stone. It was identified as the
body of Hugh Morris!
Early the sanie morning, a messenger arrived in W—
from a distant village, bearing a letter directed to the autho-
rities of the town, He stated that he was servantat at an inn
in the village; that early in the morning a gentleman had
arrived at that place, and had requested to be accommodated
With a privete apartment; that shortly afterwards he had
called for writing materials. The young man also stated,
that the report of a pistol was heard, and he was one of the
t n
first to enter the gentleman's room, where he beheld the latter
lying on the floor, weltering in his blood; the weapon was in
saceichteedhaasd
los his hand, and he appeared to be dead. Medical assistance
was procured as soon as possible, but to no effect. A letter,
directed
;,bore,o timewa forwarding
s l y gon th
eta
ite to
table; and
its
the -
destinationmessenger.
The contents kit the letter were as follows :
" An unhappy fate awaits the writer of the following lines
—the death of -a
suicide! But ere he quits this world he
would wish to relieve his conscience of one dreadful burthen.
" Last night a-murder was committed in your town. An
old man was the victim; and I—l, alas ! was the murderer !
" But I would fain rescue my memory from the withering
imputation of being an assassin; and in order to effect this,
I will briefly retrace the latter years of my life.
_ " I. the i t wallas Juisfee..rstar.tawai—
an'fie eabd -of a utiiiy-of troops, caned in for the purpose of
quelling a riot; and there I became acquainted with a young
and gentle creature, blooming as the rose, and pure as the
spotless lily, or the unsullieds snow on the mountain-top.
Suffice it to say, I won her love and confidence, and, villain
that I was! I betrayed her ! but not before I had perjured
my soul with oft-repeated vows of lasting attachment.
"The duty for which we had been summoned to W—
having,been performed, we quitted your town. Some months
afterwards I formed an acquaintance with a lady, who shortly
afterwards became my wife. In due time she was a mother,
but it was at the sacrifice of her life; she died, and the child
soon followed her. I did not grieve; on the contrary, I was
inwardly gratified at the thought of being released from a tie
which had become intolerable. The image of that poor girl
whom I had deserted was constantly before me, silently re-
proaching me for my heartless conduct. I hastened to seek
her, with a determination to make all the reparation that her
wounded honour could demand. But, alas ! I was told that
she was dead! I visited her grave, and was satisfied, indeed,
that she. was far beyond the miseries of this world! And

then I plunged into every excess of pleasure to drown the
recollection of the past.
"At this time our regiment was ordered on foreign service.
I left my native country. Years rolled onward. I gained
laurels; but I was still unhappy. A t length I returned home
—home did I say ! Scarcely had I landed on my native
shore, when 1 recommenced my old pursuits, and launched
into greater extravagances than I had ever done before. In
a moment of desperation I entered one of those sinks of
infamy—a gambling-house—in the vain hope of retrieving
my ruined fortunes. In a word, I lost all I possessed—even
my commission. I loathed life !

"A short time since, at the solemn hour of midnight, I
entered the churchyard of W-; gloom was around me
and on my heart! In the darkness 1 stumbled over a pros-
trate form. The moon threw forth her light, and discovered
to me the features of Hugh Morris! Twice did the old matt
rush on me with a murderous intention, and twice did I throw
him from me. Ile fell to the earth. He was motionless.
Wretch that I was! I had killed the fattier at the grave of
his daughter! I fled.
"I am now on the brink of a fearful precipice ! Ere you
receive this the world will have closed upon the miseries of
the unfortunate .6

And such was the end of this misguided man ! He fell a
victim to his uncontrolled passions ;—he rid society of a pest,
yet his country lost one of its bravest officers.
The remains of Hugh Morris now mingle with the dust of
Mary and Edward. A plain white slab marks the spot where
they rest; but their memory is cherished, by those who knew
their virtues, with a fond and fervent recollection.