The weekly clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1863-1882, 1877-06-27
WEDDED TO INSANITY.

A corridor at the end of ore wing of {
large rambling house, a barred window
and closed door. In the passage 4
fair-haired girl with the light of indie
scribpble pity in her dove-like eyes
kneeling upon the boards, and pushing
biscuits and sweetmeats underneath the
ill-htting door, which disappeared a>
fast they were placed there, showing
that there were human hands to seize
them OH the other side. Within, anoth
er girl as young as the first-not twenty,
certainly-groveling on the floor like a
wild beast, with dark, dishe1 eled haiI
almost hiding the spark of insanity that
desecrated her glorious eyes, and devour-
ing the precious morsels that her visit
ant placed within her reach with the
avidity of hungry child. The room in
which she crouched was not comfortless,
but had evidently been prepared for the
reception of such inmates, and the care
/ fully guarded window and cushioned
walls showed that the mansion in which
| it was situated was occupied by one who
made it the business of his life to re-
ceive such unfortunates into his profess
sional care. In plain words, a private
| lunatic asylum.
"My poor Leah :" whispered the fair
haired girl outside, edo you know that |
am here, and that l love you?"
The soft clear voice was not unheard,
for Leah raised her head for Il moment,
and sat listening, with the dark cloud of
tangled hair thrown back from the low
forehead and deeply shaded eyebrows.
But the look Of attention passed away al
most as rapidly as it had come, and in
another moment her head was down
again on the floor, and the softly set
lips, that seemed made only to shape
loves whispers, murmured stupidity and
hungrily: "More, more -
81 am going now," said the soft voice
again, "but | will come and see you this
evening, with the nurse. Do you hear?
Do you understand"
There was nothing but an inarticulate
murmur in reply, though she listened in
vain; and the fair-haired girl rose with
sigh from her knees, and passed from
the desolate corridor into the more habit
table and cheerful part of the house in
which the physician and his family lived,
having learned from habit to look lightly
on the empty human shrines of reason
that were sheltered beneath the same
roof
''She is so beautiful said the girl to
herself as she went down the staircase.
81 hope God does not let her know
what she is now, or she would die, as |
should do"
"My dear Margaret" said her mother,
looking up as her eldest child entered the
room, II do hope you have not been
among the patients again."
81 have been to see poor Leah" said
Margaret Fenwick in the same soft voice,
which was one of her greatest charms. 81
must do that, you know, if it makes her
less unhappy"
'Let the child alone, said DIR. Fen
wick. "She will do herself no harm, if
she does nobody else any good. But
ings to give you the key, [ hope, Madge?
The door was locked, of course?"
81 talked to her through the door,
that was all, answered Margaret sim
ply. "Papa, do you think she will be
like other people again? 1t was only last
week she was sitting here with US all,
and l was teaching her to play the &C
compartment to my songs"
Il know all that" said the physician,
but she is suffering from an acute attack
of demantia now. She is very young,
and may get completely over it, but
then she will be always liable to a re-
lapse A sudden trouble would do it at
any time.
Mrs. Fenwick half obviously, as if it was
a sin that such good material for happi-
ness should be wasted. Didn't you say
she had money!"
cone hundred and fifty thousand
dollars, | believe" said her husband
dryly. "but | think there are one hun
bred and fifty thousand reasons why no.
body should envy her.
1t is FIVE years since Margaret Fen
wick knelt at the corridor door, whisper
ing soft words of love and sympathy to
the unhappy girl inside. She is living
in the city with her mother now, for DIR.
Fenwick has been dead some time, and
the establishment at Horewood is broken
I'D. The gentle charm of her loveliness
IS still in its first flower, and, as she liu-
gers over the letter which is in her hand,
the clear light of happiness is irradiating
her brow and laughing back from the
soft sweet eyes. Inc WbIuS IHdL d Hdn
writes to his promised wife. could be an
swered in no more fitting way:
''MY DEAREST CHILD: L have got all
the way to Virginia safely, and the whole
family is collected here under the pater
nal roof. l needn't say that one thing
is wanting to me, and that, | hope, will
soon be supplied, for of course you will
come and spend Christmas with US. Ny
father and mother both want words TO
express their anxiety to see you, and re-
ceive you as a daughter. Write and
say how soon YOU can come. We are
very quiet here, but there are one or two
new peopIe in the village. a Mrs. Fou
rier has taken the White House, and her
daughter is regular acquisition. The
old lady is not much, but Leah Fourier
plays and sings divinely, and is unusu
ally good looking into the bargain. The
girls are mad about her. You see how
hard up | am for anything to tell you,
when am forced to write about stran-
gers. suppose you would get tired of
It If were to keep on telling you that |
love YOU, but have few other ideas in
my head Just now at any time. Besides,
isn't it much pleasanter to tell it with
your dear hand in mine?
Your own,
"ARTHUR ASHTON"
Leah Fourier" repeated Margaret to
herself dreamily, 81 nope she won't re-
member me. I wonder whether mad
people recollect anything that has
passed, when they are well9 That