Anti-slavery bugle. [volume] (New-Lisbon, Ohio) 1845-1861, 1856-10-25

Can it be that moitals are confined here, and live2'
she muttcrcd, incOherently. The sitting atmos-
phere is rcdolent Of disease"
at sroightens 'em down sublimely-to put en-
in here" says Mr.. Glcntworthy laconically, light
ing his lamp. 81 hope to get old Saddlcrock in
here. Give him such n mellowingl ~ lie turns
his light, and the shadows play, sYectre-like, along
Il low, wet aisle, hung on each side with rusty bolts
and locks, revealing the doors of cells. An omi-
nous stiffness is broken IVY the dull clauk Of chains
the muttering Of voices, the shutting of limbs
then n low wall breaks upon the ear, and rises
higher aud higher, shriller and shriller, until, in
piercing shricks, it chills the worry heart. Now 1t
ceases, and the echoes, like the murmuring winds,
die family away. look in here; now" says Mr..
Glentworthy-"a likely wench-once she was !"
lie swings open a door, and there issues from a
cell about four feet six inches wide, and nine long,
the hideous countenance of u poor mulatto girl,
whose shrunken body, skeleton.like arms, distend-
ed and CLASSY eyes, tell but too fUrcibly her tale
Of sorrow. How vivid the picture of wild idiocy
is pictured in her sad, sorrowing face. No paint
er's touch could have added a line more perfect
Now she rushes forward with n suddenness that
makes Madam Montford shrink back, appalled,
now she fixes her eyes, hangs down her head, and
gives vent to her tears. My soul is white-yes,
yes, yosl l know it is white; God tells me it is
white; God tells me it is white-he knows-he
never fortunes. lie doesn't keep me here to die
no, | can't die here in the dark. | won't get to
heaven if | do. Oh yes, yes, [ have a white
soul, but my skin is not" she rather murmurs
than speaks, continuing to hold down her head,
while parting her long, clustering hair over
her shoulders. Notwithstanding the spectacle Of
horror presented in this living skeleton, there is
something in her look and action which bespeaks
more The abuse Of long confinement than the re-
suit of natural alteration of mind. "Sho gets fierce
now and then and yells,' says the unmoyed Client
worthy, "but she won't hurt ye-"
*"ITow long," inquiries Madam Montford, who
has been questioning within herself whether any
act Of her life could have brought a human being
into such n place, "has she been confined here Pr
Mr.. Glentworthy says she tells her own tale.
Give years-fve years-fve long, long years.
| have waited for him in the dark. but he won't
come" she lisps in a faltering voice, as her emo.
tons overwhelm her. Then c1ouching back upon
the floor, she supports her head pensively in her
right hand, her elbow resting on her knee, and
her right hand poised against the brick wall
"Pencele " says Mr.. Gentworthy, for such is the
wretched woman's name, cannot you sing a song
for your friends ?" Turning aside to Madam Mont
ford, he adds, ''she sings nicely. We shall soon
get her out Of the way-can't last very much lon
ger"
Mr.. Glentwort5y, drawing a mall bottle from
his pocket, places it to his lips, saying he stole it
OF old Saddlerock, and gulps down a portion Of
the contents. His breath is already redolent of
whisky. ooh, yes, yes, yesl | can smother them
with kisses. Good faces seldom look in here" she
rises to ho2 feet, and extends her bony hand, as
the tears steal down Madam Montford's sheeks.
Tom stands speechless. lie wishes he had power
to redress the wrongs Of this suffering maniac-his
very soul fires up against the coldness and apathy
of Il people who permit such outrages against hu-
mainly. There he comes he comes! he comes!
the maniac speaks with %faltering voice, then strikes
up a p~llintive air, which she sings with a voice Of
much sweetness, to these words
"When you find him, speed him to me,
And this heart will cease its bleeding" &c.
The history of this poor mauiac's sufferings is
told in a few simple words that fall incau,iously
from Mr.. Glentworthy's lips: "Poor fool, she had
only been married a couple of weeks, when they
sold her husband down South. She thinks if she
keeps mad, he'll come back"
There was something touching, something mel
ancholy in the music of her song, as its strain.
verberated and reverberated through the dreaC
vault, then, like the echo Of a lutte on some ALPINE
# hill, died softly away.
\ The author would here say that, to the end o
terrifying himself against the charge of exaggera
ton, he submitted the MS. of this chapter to
; gentleman of the highest responsibility in Charles
/ ton, whose unqualified approval it received, as wei
= as enlisting his sympathies in behalf of the un
y fortunate lunatics fonnd in the cells described
: Four years have passed since that time. lie sub
- sequently sent the author the following from thu
Charleston Courier, which speaks for itself.
"FRoM THE REPORTS OF COUNCIL,
e January 18th, 1858.
'The following communication was received
from William NJ. Lawton, Esq, Chairman Of the
Commissioners of the Poorhouse:
Z CHARLESTON, December, II, 1852.
# "To tie Honorable tie City Council Of Charleston
;, "By a resolution of the Board of Commissioner
K of this city. ! have been instructed to communi
cate with your honorable body in relation to tn
D insane paupers now in the poor-hOuse' (the insan
J in a poorhouseN and to request that you vii
o adopt the necessary provision for sending them t
+ the Lunatic Asylum at Columbia. < = \ Il
a There are twelve on the list, many of whom, it
e feared, have already remained too long in an inst
r tuition quite unsuited to their unfortunate situ'
) ton.
I "With great respect, our very obedient servant
'Signed) VIM. NJ. LAWTON.
chairman Of the Board of Commissioners"