The New York herald. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1840-1920, 1877-01-28
a MOTHERS CURSE.
THE EMBERs OF TRAGEDY IN REAL LIFE
POUND BURNING AFTER TWENTY YEARS.


THE EMBERs OF TRAGEDY IN REAL LIFE
POUND BURNING AFTER TWENTY YEARS.
The few tragedies which nnd their way into the
newspapers only bubbles upon the surface Of ter
role but hidden and undcscrbed tragedy that lies be-
meath So true is this that human ifc TO be de-
tined a tragedy with comic ntcrudes the definition
would probably be accepted by men OF penetrating
vision the best attainabie that can be offered
Yonder elder lady with the placid face and the quiet
unmpassioned manner. has story hidden away In
her heart life that noveliss pen could adequately
out This laughing coquette. who has score OF
beaus at her feet has tale tell OF romance bghled
in tho bud that she avenged by Irritation Not every
mser is a Sias Mariner, perhaps; but tho secret
biography of yonder bent old man. whose dngers have
been transformed into claws by years Of clutchng alter
imaginary collars. Will uncover tragedy which no
puuy play acting can parallel
No longer ago than yesterday morning the writer OF
this article rode drowsly up town in broadway car.
aghted supposed that hc did, at seventeenth street,
burned In direction OF Sixth avenue hnaliy APP
piled his night Key 10 the familiar door and entered,
The lights the house were out the building as stu
as tomb IN Greenwood. Having toiled up two
flights OF stairs in the dark was within ten lee, OF
the familiar door, with the light glimmering beneath
H. when calm and solemn voice pronounced tins
stran &c ObJurgation:-
'Nay he burn IN helm hell, oh, God''
HAS my wife suddenly gone mad ~ was the first
N. mute spellbouna the landing eight or ten ect
from the door, Nor had DECIDED that point salsfac-
tones went on with this strange petition:--
MAY his soul die eternaliy May his bones rot
May his lie be followed by tho curse Of every loa,n.
disorder. and, at his death. may the devil bear
his soul 10 eternal damnation'
There something unfamiliar in tho even voice
with which these terrible maledctions were uttered;
but surely this was the door Of my room, and was
myself aud the world had not been suddenly trans
formed into planet inhabited by maniacs Having
settled these points to my satisfaction by feeling OF
my own pulse / Knocked timldly at the door The
q
oil a woman rising from her knees. The Key WAS
opened and face 10 lace with bent and withered
woman Of quiet and composed manners anu visagc as
placid AZ moonlight, who waited for me TO- speak
without the slightest visible trepcdation. Had my
wife been suddenly transormedY put my hand. 10
my head TO ascertain whether had accidentally cx-
changed brains with some iunatc on my way home
II beg your pardon, madam" | stammercd at last
..This is my, room, believe and you ought to DO
The lady smllet, glanced inquiringly into my face
and looked iittle puzzled But she answered quietly,
without trace OF the nervousness that under the cir.
cumstances would havo been pardonable even In
mani
"This IS my room. sir. am Mrs. -"
"But surely" | rcjoined, sthts No. - West
Seventeenth street, or else have lett my senses In
"This is No. = West Sixteenth street." replied the
still undisturoed old lady placidy while the suspicion
OF q smile that might have ripped over her face but
did not ckcred about the corners Of her mouth and
die6 away expression OF settled sadness ~ on
have doubt mistaken the street, sir And for the
first time during tho colloquy there was shade OF
suspicion IN ner manner Ine reporter pTeeeuseo niS
card and explained.
II owe you little explanation too" said the old
lady calmly, alter musing for moment, "tor you
must have heard me you stood In tho hall" Tho
reporter bowed, and she continued, 81 am an old
woman now, and all alone and must tell my story 10
somebody now and then die. Twenty years ago my
daughter was beautiful girl Of seventeen. scoun
dre enticed her from homo under promise to make hor
his wife. He lounges about his club and is called
gentleman; and she this winter night s--God knows
what where Dead, hope,'' she cried passionately
"f not, she is worse than that; and hemay he burn
In helm hell" Her voice sunk ~ low hiss as she
uttered the last sentence.
Thus merely applying ones night key 10 tho wrong
door uncovered the smouldering cmber OF q tragedy
Illuminating upon which the reporter sought his own
room, with q singular sensation oil having dreamed an
odd dream without the ceremony OF going 10 sleep be-
forehand