New Orleans daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1851-1866, 1854-07-08

He was good sort Of old man by nature, and
not \ bit more selfish than drunkarf always
must be. He ground the rough stones into shape
at home, minded the children in his daughters
absence, and even used TO nink himself when he
was soNer. John. too, was for his wife's sake
tolerant Of the old mans infsmity. though half
his little earnings went to crafty Che Old mans
appetite. Al last necessity compelled him to be,
az he thought, undutiful Print after print
vanished from the cottage walls; every little
ornament. n9t actually necessary furniture, IVES
soid and absolute want threatened the house-
hold, when John at last stated FIRMLY though
tender!ys that grandfather must give up the
gin bottle or find some other dwelling, Alice
was overcome with tears, but when appealed to
by the old man. pointed to her dear husband,
and bored her head to his wse words
For two months after this time there were M,
| more drunken words or angry tongues to be
heard within Johns pleasant cottage Nothifng
was said by daughter or by son-in-law Of the
long score at the public house that vas being
paid off By instalments; the daughter looked no
longer Mt her father with reproaehful syes. and
the children never again had to ne taken tohed
before their time-hrrried away from the sight
of their grandfathers shame. At last, however,
on one Sunday evening in Jnly, fine ruling pas-
sion had again the mastery. Markham came
home in a worse state than ever, and, in addi-
ton to the usual debasement, it was evidf Mt
that he was possessed also hy some maudliu ter
r0r that he mad 10 power to express.
Leaving him ON his bed in lethareie sleep
John salliad forth as usual at dawn, his boys,
Harry and Joe carrying up for him his miner's
spade and basket. Heavy hearted as he was,
he could not help being pladdened by the won
derful beauty of the landscape His daughter
tod me that she never saw him stand so long
| looking at the country he seemed unwillnrly
| to leave the sunlight for his dark, far-winlinp
| hurrow. His buTroW he had no reason to dread
| Poverty never had pressed so hard upon John
Drewit as to induce him to sell away the fir
| props that assured the safety Of his life Often
| and often had his voice been loud against those
roen who, knowing of the mortaI danger to
! which they exposed their neighbors, gave drink
4 or money in exchange for them to the fooIhardy
| end vici9us Great, therefore, was bis horror,
| when he went into his cave that morning, and
| found that his own props had been removed
| They had not been taken from the entrance,
| where passer- by might have observed their
absence; all was right for tie first twenty yards,
but beyond that distance, down to the end If his
long toll labyrinth, every pole was stripped
4 away. Surely he knew at once that it was not
/ an enemy who had done this he knew that the
wretohed oil man, who lay stupefed at home,
| had stolen and sold his life defence for drink
All that the poor fellow told his boys was that
they should keep within the safe part Of the
digging, while ne himself worked on into the
rock as Usual. Three or four times he brought
| then he was seen alive no more.
Harry, his eldest son. was nearest to the un-
propped passage when the sandclif fell. When
he heard his father call out suddenly, he ran at
once eagerly, running towards the candle by
| which the miner worked hut on d sudden all
was dark-there was no light from candle or
from sun. Before and behind was utter black
ness, and there was noise like thunder in his
ears. The whole hill seemed so have fallen upon
them both, and many tons Of earth parted the
father from the child The sand about the boy
did not press on him closely 4 heavy piece of
cliff that held together was supported by the
narrow walls of the passage, and his fate was
undermined He attended only to the mufied
sounds within the rock, from which he knew
that his father, though they might be the sounds
of his death struggle, still lived.
To the people outside the alarm had instantly
been given by the other child, and in an incred-
IDLY short space of time the laborers from field
and cave came hurrying up to the rescue. Two
only could dig together, Two more propped the
way behind them foot by foot relays eagerly
waited at the entrance, and not an instant was
lost in replacing the exhausted workmen.
Everything was done as quickly, and, at the
same time, as ju1iciously as possible. The sur
geon had at the first been ridden for, at full
speed, to the neehhoriug town; brandy and
other stmulants, rude lanaet-with which
many Of the men were but too well practised
operators - bandages and blankets, were all
| placed ready at hand, for the disaster was 50
common ut Whiteknights, that every man at
Cnce knew what was proper to be done. Those
who we're not actively engaged about the cave,
we're busy in the construction Of litter-per-
haps n bier-for the unhappy victim.
, How could this have happened was the
whispered wonder. John was known to be far
too prudent man to have been working with
out props, and yet fresh ones had to be supplied
to the resouers, for they found none as they ad-
S vanced The poor widow--every moment made
more certain of her hereavement-stood little
aside Having begged for spade and been re-
fused, she stood with her two children hanging
tolher apron, staring tixedly at the pits mouth
Down ut the cottage there was an old man in
yoking Heavens vengeance on his own head, and
reproachng himself fercely with the conse-
quences of his brutal vice. He had stolen the
: poles from his sons pit on the previous morning
; TO provide himself with drink; and on that very
r day, even before he was quite recovered from his
yesterday rs dehauch, he was to see the victim OF
i his recklessress brought home a lfeess corpse.
4 He saw John brought ia, but with the eyes of 4
mailman. His brain, weakened by drunkenness
j never recovered from that shock.
Basket and barrow had been brought full GU
. of the pit hundred times: and it was almost
. noon before, from the bowels Of the very noun
+ tain, as it seemed, there came up a low moan
. ing cry. ssMy child, my child p murmuret
the mother and the digging became straight
= way even yet more earnest-almost frantic IL
4 its speed and violence. Presently into the arm
+ Of Alice little Harry was delivered, pale and
q corpse like, but alive and then shout as Of
ii an army vas set up by all the men.
They dug on until after sunset--long aftel
Il they had lost all hope Of finding John alive
s His body was at last found. It was placed upol
: the litter, and taken, under the soft eyeuip,
!, SKY, down through the beech wood home. Alic
/. walked by its side, holding its hand in hers
speechless and with dry eyes. She never knew
# until after her fathers death, how her aea
,s John was murdered She used to wonder wh,
W the old man shrank from her when she visitei
V him, as she often did in his confinement. Tn
n poor widow is living nov, though she has sut
:, fered grief and want Her daughter Jane ha
Il married q field laborer. and her sons, by whom
n she is now we'll supported, have never set foot il
20 pit since they lost their father
n MEAN sci am afraid, Frederick" said Mrs
l. Smith to her husband, 6 that Betsy is dishon
= esti',
lei sAh what makes you think so 2
"Why. gave her seven apples to prepare fo
,r Q pudding; and will You believe it, counte
/ ever the quarters, and only found twenty
is seveu!"
,r Arn Won sI1ra ro,, counted rigbf