Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1856-10-15
Original Storp.
''''E"N" = - FHEHN u tIIO
ii Or A CE Law VERN NE
OR THE WIFES TRIALS.
CONTINUED FROM OUR LAST.
CHAPTER III.
Written for the Spirit of the Age

we nave lookeu upon TWO pictures; Wo-
man in the anguish of her soul, and man
IN the madness of drunkenness. Both were
dark pictures, and disagreeable to look up
on; but ardent spirits paint no other kind
Wherever you find alcohol used as a bever.
age there you find misery, want and wo.-I
One scene yet remains-one that neither
pen nor tongue can do justice to, and from
attempting to describe which we shrink
with consciousness of the futility of our
efforts.
The clock struck one, and Mrs. Laverne
raised her dropping head and In the bitter
ness OF her grief exclaimed:
go God be merciful unto us 7"
just then she heard the latch of the yard
gate lifted, an unsteady step approached,
.assended the steps and stopped Her heart
beat violently aud every nerve was stretch
cd to its utmost tension as she arose and
opened the door. Great heavens! what
scene was presented to her sight Could
that be the man to whom, six years before,
she had given her hand and heart? Is
that the once noble being on whom her
maiden eyes delighted to gaze, and with
whom, to all the pride of woman's soul,
she had linked her temporal destiny Can
that be the creature upon whom she has
lavished the pure affections of her whole
heart, the partner of her joys, the father
soasya, i iuatil been suSl-a5f ttree;=-sfs
name is frailty; but he who said it knew
thee not. He had not searched into thy
heart nor explored the depths Of thy soul,
else would he have learned thy capacity, to
suffer and be strong
And ye maidens fair, the pride of our
land and the delight Of our eyes, despisc
not our warning when we lift up our hum
bic voice and say unto you, beware of the
obsequious hatterer that futters about you
whose breath is scented with essences t.
stihe the stencil of brandy. Look upor
the scene now before you, and resolve il
the depths Of your hearts never to cas-
your Tots with those who frequent fash
ionable hotels Let them not obtain 70
vor in your eyes nor place in your hearts
Reader, imagine if you can, the feeling
of Mrs. Laverne, as she beheld her husband
the blood trickling from his temple, hi
eyes wild aud bloodshot, his clothes tor
dhA duu uiS WnOlc DC
grimmed aud distorted. He spoke not, bu
staggered to a scat and fell into it. Mrs
Laverne's tears ceased to flow, for her W
was too deep for tears, and her emotion
too strong for words. A choking sensa
tion pervaded her throat, and for momen
reason reeled on its throne, and she fel
physical strength departing; but with a
effort she rallied, brought basin Of wa
ter, and began to wash the blood from he
husbands face. Besides several bruise
about the head and neck, she found dee
cut just over the left eye. This she dress
ed as well as she could, and turned ava
to prepare the bed for him. AS she did SC
he Strengthened back in his chair and fc
over heavily upon the floor She ran I
help him up, but every limb was rigiC
his eyes fixed and CLASSY, and the whit
foam issued from bis mouth as he struggle
for breath.
A wild shrick from Mrs. Laverne arou
ed servant, who rushed in, and in fe
moments several neighbors were in attel
dance. One Of them ran for physical
and the utmost confusion prevailed.
But few moments elapsed before Il
physician entered, and Mr.. Laverne was
length relieved from his fit; but he was
raving maniac, and the hell-born demon
mania potu was torturing him with {
the pangs Of the forever damned. With
shriek Of mortal terror he threw up
hands and endeavored to spring from d
bed, on which he had been placed; and
required the united strength of sever
men 10 hold him down.
Reader, did you ever see fellow ere
ture suffering under the remorseless inf
tons Of spirit madness If not, pray G
that you never may; for earth has no OF
er species of suffering so nearly allied
that Of hell Reason is hurled from
seat, all the sensibilities save one are bl,
ted out, and that one is wild, ungoverr
bic, unrestrained, and absolute terror,
The soul is one chaotic sea of horror
kaleidoscope Of fear, forever changing, f
ever presenting to the distorted vision a
feelings some new torment, each succe,
ing, and every turn increasing the inten
ty Of despair
And the feelings Of that poor wife
could we dip our pen into the blacker
pool Of utter wo-could We paint with
very essence Of mental anguish, we mil
describe them.
And the little Marion, the fair-hair