Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1869-11-04
The Blighted Life.
A JURYM,N's STORY.

| thought 50.
A murder Of peculiar atrocity had
been committed. and though no eve had
witnessed the deed, the circumstances
pointed To tie prisoners guilt with un-
| failing certainty.
The recusant juror had stood out
from the first. H. ackuowlc lIel the
cogency of the proofs, confessed his
inability to reconcile the flct with the
| defendants innocence. and yet on every
vote went steadily for acquittal.
His conduct was inexpIicapable. II
could not re suit from a lack OF intellect !;
for while he spoke but little, his words
were well chosen. and evincel thor
| ouIh understanding Of the case
Though still in the prime OF man
mood, hts locks were prematurcly white,
and his face wore Il slnyularly sad and
thoughtful expression.
He might he one OF those who enter
tanned >cruples as to the right or sucie-
u To intllct the death penalty. But no.
II was not that: for, in reply to such
a suggestion. he frankly admitted that
brutal men, like the vicious brutes they
resemble, must he controlled through
/ fear, and that dread Of death, the su.
( prem" terror, is in many cases the only
adequate restraint.
At The prospect Of another night Of
| frultless imprisonment We began 10
grow impatient, and cXppstulatcd
warmly against what seemed IN unrca-
souablc cAptiousncS,, aud some not oN-
er kini remarks were indulge IN a. Ia
the improperly oftriillnE with an oath
like that nnicr wulcA we were acting.
"Ani vet" the man answered. a.
though conmuning with himself rather
than rcpr,lnL the impuiatiun, 1T d.
conscience That binders my concurrence
liza verde, approved by my JUL ,mrnt.
''iIpw can that be-" qlrr,ri sever
Al 4, once.
"Conscjencc may not always dare u
follow Judgment"
"Bn, here she can know no other
guide"
II once would have said the same"
And what has changed your opin-
ion 2"
Experience.
The speakers manner was yisbiy
agitatcl. and we waI,ed Id silence the
explanation which he seemed ready 10
give.
MAsierin. lii cmptions. j, If 70 an-
swcr to our LOOKS 81 ln4lry, lie con
tluucd:
Twenty year, a5o WAS 4 voun-
man just beginning HE. Fc" haI
brighter prospects, and none brighter
hopes.
An attachment dating from child
hood, had ripencd with IL object
There had been no verbal declaration
and acceptance Of love--no pli5htinL
o, troth but when took my depart
urc To seek = home in the distant West,
it was understood that when hal
found il ana put it in order, she vas 10
share il.
Life in the forest, though solitary
j. not nccce-sarily lonesome. Ilc
hlnd of Society afforded by naturc de
penis much on ones self. As for me.
! lived more III the future than Ia the
present, and Hope is an ever cheerful
Companion.
al length the time came for max
Ing the final payment on the home
which had bought. 1t would hence
be ny own aud IN "A few more months
my simple dwelling which had spar
ed no pains To render inviting, would
be graced by its mistress
AT The land oili,e, which was some
sixty miles OIL met my old friend,
George c.. He, TO, had come 10
seek his fortune in the West; amt We
were both delighted at the meeting
lie had brought with him. he said, 4
sum Of money which he desired to in
vest IN land, on which it was his pur-
pose To settle.
II expressed a strong wish to have
him for a neighbor. and gave him u
cordial invitation To accompany me
home, giving IL as my belief that he
could nowhere make a better selection
than III that vicinity.
''ile readily co sented, and we set
out together. We had not ridden many
miles. when George suddenly recol-
lected commission he ha unlcrt lken
for friend, which would require hls at
tendance at public land sale on the
following day.
'Exacting a promise that he would
not delay his visit longer than posi-
ole. and having given minute direc-
tons as TO the route. | continued my
way homeward. while he turned back.
II was about retiring to bed on the
night OF my return, when summons
from without called me to the door,
4 stranger asked shelter for himself
and horse for the night.
II invited him in. Though strang-
er his face seemed not unfamiliar. He
was probably one of the men | had
seen at the Land Office, place at
that time very much trequented.
Offering him a seat, | went out TO
put up his horse. The poor animal. As
well as could see by the dim star
light. seemed to have been hardly used.
His painting sides bore witness to mer-
ciless riding. and a trenulous shrink
ing at the slightest touch betokened
recent fright.
..On returning to the house found
| the stranger was not there. His alb
sence excited no surprise; he would
doubtless soon return. | was q little
singular, however, that he should have
left this watch lyin. on the table.
'.At the end Of an hour, my guest
not returning, | went again to the sta
BILE. thinking lie might have found his
way thither, to give his personal atten-
ton to the wants of his horse.