The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1855-10-18

ceseu any new night, except upon Nativis 4
and Popery. And yet they were supported '
the same e4-Whig journals and politicians tn t
now proclaim their adherence of Fusion
ana OF the support of Democrats by WHICH,
Have these experimenters on public credulfy
no sense of shame ?-N. Y Tribune.
For the National Era
Truth is indeed Stranger than Fiction.
BY MINNIE MYRTLE.
A wreck, perfect wreck! Who is she, and
how came she thus? Where can find words
to tell the story? What an endless array of
stories they would be, were 1 to gather up and
weave together all the shreds of Just such
wrecks scattered throughout this city = yes,
throughout all the cities of the land!
Is there no such thing as honor2 am al
most ready to ask. No such thing as a noble
soul, incorruptible, unstained, and true? Must
we 60 on, forever recording baseness and per.
traying falsehood, and must every day reves
to US some dark plot that makes us shudder?z
There Is man, whose name is on the liSa
of every lover of all that is beautiful in SEM
ment and expression around whom the brigl !
est luminaries of literature gather, to listen o
his words of wisdom; who moves a very 81
in the circles of wealth and rank and fashion,
and sees the multitude bow down to him with
little less than alteration, in the land where a
queen delights to do him honor. And here, in
this low, dismal cellar, the companion of those
who have ruined health and bartered happiness
for the cup that destroys soul and body, is lying
one whom he slured, through the agency Of
those who are the willing instruments of such
dark deeds, from home and watchful moth
ers care, and consigned to the keeping of those
whose very food is the blood of the innocent
that she might be prepared to minister to BIS
unhallowed passions.
She was modest, industrious, and frugal, al !
toiled diligently to support an aged mothea !;
and day after day went to and fro, unconscious
of pitfalls, and never dreaming of snares. BIT
she had beauty! Why did God give that curse
to an orphan girl?
She is met one day by girl of her own age,
who accosts her kindly and seeks her sympathy,
as she is of the same class and in the same en-
ployment; and, during several succeeding meet
ings, an intimacy springs up, which makes
their pathway pleasant, and cheers their lonely
hours. Nothing is said that can excite her
suspicion or offend her delicacy. Her young
companion accompanies her home-they walk
together, and become confding in their friend
ship. How can she suspect evil in one as
young, as seemingly artless and innocent, as
herself? She is in turn invited to her home,
and is received by one whom she calls mother,
and treated in such a way as to win her heart.
Again and again she repeats the visit, till at
length she finds her feet in the fatal snare, fron
which there is no escape. Bars and bolts srt-
round her, and familiar faces no longer meet
her eye.
Then comes the spoiler, with his soft speech
and fattering tongue, and she answers with
piteous cries and tears. But when was such a
heart peirced by an orphans wall, or melted
by an orphans tears?
In little time the doors are again opened,
and she is cast forth to return to a widowed
and helpless mother with the story of her wrong
and outrage, and to meet the reproach of an
unbeleiving and implying world. As yet she
knows not the name of her destroyer-he came
unushered-the hands of strangers brought her
food, who were deaf to her entreaties, and
speeches. concerning her fate. Her sleep was
haunted by frightful dreams, and the realities
of her waking hours were more dreadful th4a
her dreams. But, 10! there is great festir d
in honor Of some peer of the realm-kings AID
queens and princes are in the pompous throng>~
for miles the street is lined with the imposing
cavalcade, and the sounds of drum and trump It
fill the air with their solemn music.
Among the rabble, who gaze and wonder 1t
the grand display, may be seen young girl,
miserably clad, detected and desperate, watca.
ing with an eye like the eagle's-fxing upon
every face glance which must make the guilty
cover, if he meet it, shielded though he be
by the smiles of princes and the favor of poten-
tates.
Faded and haggard as she is, livid pallor
creeps over her face, and faint scream escapes
her. She has seen him! He is the companion
of dukes and earls, and receives the homage OF
dignitaries but he has no title except what be
has won, and no rank which his labor has not
earned. Oh, why should he have added infarN
to honor. and woven for himself a wreath q
which the deadly nightshade shed its poisonous
breath, to make it vile and polluted thin, !.
from which the pure and good must ever shrit (
with loathingl n
She has seen him, and there is one by b T
side who marks him well. In little while ting
meet, and confusion covers him-not for / 3
sin, but that his guilt has found him out. TIE
law and its denunciations stare him in the fac J,
and he trembles, proud, heartless man that re
is, for he would shrink before the fingers II
public scorn, though he has no fear of tie
frown of Heaven.
bribery-the scales of justice may be swayrd
by gold. Injured innocence may cry aloud,
may lift up her voice in the street, but there is
none to answer. Let her cover herself with
ashes, and put on sackcloth, and go about
mourning, for righteousness has hid herself,
and the voice of mercy awakes not for the des'
olate among her children.
Again the brokenhearted one is thrown back
upon the world-an aged mother goes down
sorrowing to the grave, and a son is born to
call her mother, and inherit his fathers tenn
permanent and his callous heart. But ere ae
can scarcely lisp her name, he is taken from
her, and transported to foreign land ard
there, homeless and friendless and reckless, she
follows him, for she cannot break the op'y
chain which binds her to living soul.
After long and perilous journeys by sea ard
land, she discovers where he has been hid, bat
it is to bring no comfort to her wounded spirit
He has been supplied with money, and he hAs
been taught to hate her. He calls her names
and stings her with bitter reproaches.
Where, now, shall she fee, to shelter herself
from mockery, and shield herself from biting
scorn? From city to city she wanders asking
work of one and bread of another; now sitting
down by the wayside, to bury her face in he:
hands, and weep in utter desolation; and nov
attempting to shake off the remembrance OF
her misfortune, and apply herself to toll dill
gently with her needle, with which are linked
the sweet associations of her girlhood and her
happy home. But when alone, the bitter mem
cries come rushing back, and her spirit writhes
beneath the torture. She prays for idiocy and
for madness-and, oh, for death and oblivion
She snatches the pen, and writes words of FIRE