St. Charles City Republican intelligencer. [volume] (St. Charles City [Charles City], Iowa) 1857-1861, 1859-07-07
sNisttIlanp.
A TALE OF TRUTH.
By JEANNE.

The young wife sat alone in her
pleasant ,han.b,., ,...i a.. l. .-r---..I'-
last letter in her hand. The paper
looked soiled and worn, and the hand
writing was nearly ilIcgible; they
might well appear thus, for the letter
had been carried in Margarct's bosom
and read amidst tears, until every
word was engraved on her heart. 1t
was many long months since Harry
Leslie departed to engage in protita-
ble buSincs, and prepare for the cmi-
grafton of his family to distant land
and since that letter came, bringing
news of his safe arrival, no tidings
of the wandcrer had reached his home
For a long time Margaret hoped all
might be well she prayed for pa
tience, and strove to conceal from her
father and her children the grief which
was stealing the bloom from her check,
and giving her such long, weary
nights of anxiety and fear.
But the gray haired parents saw
her true feelings, and almost rejoiced
to see that Margaret only trcmbled
lest she was widowed in her youth,
while the old man had learned the
sad story that the wine cup over
which Harry loved to linger, was
leading him down into the dark paths
of degradation and shame.
Circumstances at length obliged
him to reveal to his sorrowiul child
the truth, and she had gone to her
chamber to search vainly in the old
letter for denial of the fact to weep
her tears of agony alone.
The young wife sat long in her
window holding communion with her
own troubles, suffering spirit. She
gazcd.- but not upon the sweet valley
which lay sleeping calmly in the
moonlight she listencd-but it was
not to the low soft brcathings Of het
unconscious childrcn-she looked NJ
to the quiet, watching stars, and wild
ly prayed them to guide Harry Leslie
back to his homeland the stars re
turned TO poor Margaret glanccs OF
hope she felt as though the eyes oJ
angels were watching her in sympa
| thy and she was cOmfortcd.
That very night the subject Of Mar
garet Lcslie's prayers and tears was
sleeping in the streets of a distant
city. Aye, in the street, with only
the blue starlit sky for covering
with cold, gray stone of the pave
ment for pillow Oh could tha
be him for whom faithful eyes hat
been weeping, and faithful heart'
yearning with uEuttcrable love? Alas
it was too true. There, covered will
rags and shame, lay the wreck of ;
stately form, perhaps, too, the wrecl
OF noble spirit. That evening h
had exchanged the last article of valu,
which he possessed for the poisonous
cup and ere midnight the wretcl
who tempted and destroyed, had driv
Ell him helpless and homeless into th'
street. He tottercd along slowly
sometimes falling upon the hard pave
ment, sometimes creeping like a fou
insect, until at last, exhausted am
nearly insensible, he crept close I
the wall OF building winch cas-
over his wretchedncss friendly shao
ow, and fell asleep.
When the inebriate awoke from hi
death-Iike slumber, he was in the fu
possession of his senses, and he locke
around him bewildercd and wonder
ing where he was. He thought h
had been sleeping for the first time i
his life with no canopy above him bu
the starry heavens yet no not fo
, the first time, for now he remembers
that once in his boyhood he had gon
with the hunters over moorland an
mountain, and slept on their beds {
fragrant heather. But that was i
his mountain Scotland, then he wa
! young and pure and free but now b