New Orleans daily crescent., 1860-08-20
her than this know not Why only know

sense The air and sky were filed with an influ-
ence too beautiful for earth. was very, very
happy. Could this feeling have rested m me, had
| been eontent-faithful to my duty, as had been
faurht--to have lived ever So But my heart was
now craving constantly the repetition of that mo-
ment 1t could not be satisfied but i'll his presence.
4 Hitberto patient only under a sense of wrong |
now began 10 be agitated, by passion in which
| every feeling of my life had centered.
It is not necessary to recount all the conflicts
| which il brought to me, nor to trace the way in
which my nobler nature sunk gradually before the
threatened penalty Of social destruction; it is
enough to say that was borne by it to the deci-
sion which involved my destiny, and yielded to
the social law for the last time because had not
yet come to that point at which woman, driven
to the very presence Of death by the pressure Of q
false relation. thinks at last for herself and hesi-
| tates TO longer how to shape her course, should
even the remaining wreck Of her Life be dashed to
/ destruction.
THE PROGRESS OF THE LIAsoN.
! have brought you to me. said, because can
see you no longer-I am dying.
My God it seemed to me then, as if my heart
would break--as il should go mad.
| A moan Of agony came to his lips.
1 He looked up at me the intelligence of his race
was gone; his eyes were dim; the dspair that was
in me changed his face to stone.
| looked on him immovably;I could say to him
| We must part forever. 1 could repeat again the
phrases of social life: There canbe no honorable
recognition of our love-its open aYowa will bring
| disgrace TO my husband and odium upon my chill
| dTen.
And how did he reply to me? Shall confess,
even there, in that hour of my strength, my utter
weakness2 ! longed for o pleasing word. One
look Of tenderness, and should have fallen at his
/ feet ruined being, but ruined in the acknowledge
4 ment and utter abandon of my love.
Well, he knew all this; but in that crisis he was
| true to himself and to me; and when he ceased
4 speaking, Twas again strong My head my heart,
| every instinct of my being approved his words,
/ his looks, his actions.
He had saved me. He, as / knew him in that
| hour, was my strength; through him, conquered
myself. 1 was strong in that final trial, as woman
only can be strong through the soul and heart Of
the man who stands seadfast to himself and to her
4 to the bitter end.
He said: Even in this hour, when every hope
and Joy of life have sunk away into eternal despair
4 beneath your words, can be true to my sense of
right: believe life requires no sacrifice; believe
4 seifsacritice wrongs not only her who, bndly in
its belief as right accepts it, hnt those the more
| for whom it is accepted. If, with your sense of
duty, you were TO sever the relation which binds
yon to them, it could bring you no happiness; its
severance as you feel, would bring at last misery
to both, fer your happiness is mine. There is no
rule duty in life, but the pursuit Of happiness.
i Mine can alone be purchased now at the cost of
i your own, and that is mine. We must part, then
i foreverl
The utter despair Of these words can never leave
4 my heart. s.
There were many things he said in this last in
terview which recall, but it matters not now
1 should be repeated. Our lives express them more
4 clearly than words He spoke of the false relation
/ which he had gradually been led to assume and
i into the continuance of which our passion had
/ held him day by day.
4 I knew well, he said, it should long ago have
1 been terminated, but knew not then as now, the
controlling power that has kept me by you until
this hour. believed, first, that might love you,
| and that you might remain forever unconscious Of
my love. And SO loved Till this was impossible
And thenmy life became one eternal delay of hope,
enduring all to this last measure Of despair IT
en1ld mott he otb t bali from Jaxy m,
day that you would see clearly, as saw, the right
and so it might at last end. 1t is over now NV
life is over My lot is hopeless, endless misery.
| accept it for your sake-for the memory Of our
love.
Then my life, my very soul, met his in one long
kiss of agony, and we parted, as believed, for
| ever.
! had conquered my life; this social law had
achieved its triumph.
When my husband reached home was strong to
do the last duty which my position imposed upon
me- knew well that cost what it would, this
must also be DONE must live the life to which ]
was bound openly. went to him and told him OF
my love, of my resolution, and OF our separation
Much passed between us at this horrible time; but
all In my heart to say was just these words love
William. OF the rest and of what followed, / have
no clear remembrance.
/ THE FIEAL DECISION.
After long struggle, tas she says) Mrs. Gurney
resolved to separate herself from her husband, to
My soul was clear from hypocrasy-there was
| not any lie upon it now. had confessed ALL My
very life was laid open to my hearts core. Ny
love was gone, as well by his will as my own for
ever.
What had accomplished had preserved the
chaste name of wife. had preserved the honor
OF my husband and the reputation Of his children.
And to do it, was beneath his roof and was about
| to submit myself to his embraces without love.
For these considerations OF honor and reputa-
tion was about to lead voluntarily life of pros
titution, distinguished from it only by the social
fiction Of q name, and felt myself more degraded
for all this honorable hire than she who accepts
her paltry dole in the streets.
was moreover, about to fulfill functions from
which every fibre of my body shrank with ahhor-
renee. Twas there to give life TO offspring created
in my degradation in violation Of my will and
nature, the eifete offspring of blood kim children
to die feebly before their time, perhaps to come
into the world, they, or their children, deformed
/ or dumb or blind, or mbecile. /, who was per
feet myself, and formed to receive and transmit the
sacred treasure Of new life, was to become vol
/ unfairly the matreide of the more perfect eoncep.
i tions which should be mine.
Better. In the agony of that thought said, better
4 death than this-better self-immolation of body
i and soul; it were far less crime.
And then shudderng with horforupon the brink
| to which duty led me, supplieated my soul i'm.
i ploringy for light as I asked myself the great
1 law of man have the power to continue the bond
1 Of marriage where no love exists!
And answered it, as my children, if they inherit
aught of my nature, shall at last approve as the
world shall at last come to understand.
Thus was at once and forever severed from all
| former relations and left alone in the world.
| write these last words quietly, here at my
writingdesk; but that inqusition of my brain, II
/ was teiMbe--more terrible than even the death |
! had accepted in parting from him.
| But my decision was made, and was calm then.
| ! knew in that moment the rest Of fearful
| struggle of the brain--the poor, weak brain of a
woman--tha swept the world, though, beneath her
| feet.
There was grief in that family when became in
that decision myself and stood stranger among
them; when the social fabric, his children, their
father, false pride, conventional postion-al had
overthroWn; when my mothers wrongs and re-
venge, and my fathers love had justification, in
the child of his life-wronged wife.
But their grief was joy to the agony of calm in
which made that decision
Rota tear came to my eye when told it them
not pause stirred in my breast How inconeeva-
bic to them all this agony.
My husband was even still solietous to preserve
the form u a union, now no longer possible in re-
ality. One of those formality doctors of the soul
was sent for-hs uncle Francis. o after all the
| agony had passed through, [ might have been
spared the sight of one of those whose words had
| sanctioned and stamped upon me, as ii by the
| authority Of God all this misery.
But how weak and idle to me were his words
about theological sin and social nfalny They fell