Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1886-07-14

was to the end; and John Wallace is the
name which you will find, under "a eros!
aud anchor, on the plain white marble slat
in that Southern cemetery over which the
old windmill watches. To the excellent
family with whom he lived, and whose
Kindness to him while ON earth and tender
regard for his memory are altogether love
y, he, waking or sleeping, stalwart or fail
ing, in the close intimacy Of three decades,
gave no word. The inhabitants of the vii
lage, his neiehbors and beneficiaries, ac-
capted his kindness and constructed theories
about him. With the perverseness of poor
human nature, they constructed them to
his detriment. He was a bishop of tie
English church-ssanother good man gone
wrong" He was murderer. He was
Heaven knows what not! As years passed
by, and the place was more and more fre-
quented in Summer by ''city folks" curl
osity spread and grew apace. The most
strenuous effort was made to discover who
John Wallace was. One man, bearing an
old New York name, and since dead, had
the jill grace to threaten him. He told him
that the census marshall was coming, and
unless he tod that functionary Just who he
was, he would be put in prison. After this
interview the late excellent DR.. Huntington
found the poor old gentleman in pitable
state, and learned of the threat Just made.
sGive yourself no concern said he
ssThe census marshall has been here. He
asked your name. 1 told him. and he has
gone" But on the night Of the 30th or
31st of December, 1870, there came to the
door a censns marshal who could not be
barred out, a messenger who brought at
once summons and q release. Mr.. Wal
lace raised himself from his peaceful pill
low-there was not even time for him, like
Colonel Newcome, to say "Adsum"- "-his
head dropped, and his eighty-first year, his
lonely life, and the year of our Lord 1870
came to an end together. One can almost
fancy that even in that solemn moment
when his soul left the weary body there
may have come to him f1ash.of satisfaction
that he had baff1ed all the curious, intru-
sive disturbers of his peace. In the ex-
pressive language of Shakespeare, che died
and made no sign"
Often during his life in the village he
would come from the postoffice holding a
letter in his hand, and remark, "This is
from my lady friend in Edinburgh"
When he had passed away, Mrs. Hunt
ington, with rare good taste and pathetic
kindness, wrote a letter describing his last
moments. She addressed it to "Mr. Wal
lace's Lady Friend, Edinburgh" and sent
it through the chain of banks through
which the old-man's money had come. In
due time a reply arrived-cold, formal, I'M
sympathetic. 1t was signed "Mr Wallace's
Lady Friend"
II.
"Who was Mr.. Wallace?' l see the
question in your eyes.
I went to Easthampton in the Fall of
1878, and did my best to find out. talked
with Mrs. Huntington and Miss Cornelia
Huntington (author of charming mon
ograph anent Easthampton and its ways in
should count a pilgrimage fruitful which
gave me the pleasure of their acquaintance.
/ found them at the time of my last visit
spected by all. They told me much of
great interest about Mr.. Wallace, and
among other things they spoke of finding
copies of his accounts (of charities in his
native land) with the headings torn Off
One had been carelessly torn, and on it I
found a name. I sent this name. with a
mass of notes, to my late accomplished
friend, Robert Mackenzie, Esq, of Dun
dee, Scotland, author of ga History of the
Nineteenth Century," and other interest
ing works. In few weeks he wrote me
that he was Ton the trail" In few weeks
more he sent me what he properly called ga
very tantalizing letter. Said he. 81
know the mystery to the very bottom, but
4 may not tell youp'
Not little disappointed, communi-
Gated this information to circle of equally
friends. One of them, dis
divine, told me that SIT made
his flesh creep like one of Wilkie Collins's
stories." Then I went to Scotland? No
to Colorado, of all places in the world, and
at the foot of Pixies Peak, in the Summer
of 1879, found out all about the poor ex-
lie. AS living persons are concerned in the
of my discovery, l may not rightly
publish the details thereof; but they are
among the strangest happenings Of any life.
Suffice it to say that on my return held
all the clues, proofs, and facts in my hands,
and that only now am l permitted to tell
the truth about John Wallace.
Perhaps some Of you know how distin-
guished and important judicial officer is
The High Sheriff of great Scotch county.
Such distinguished and important officer
was Sheriff W, resident i'll Edinburgh.
He was bachelor of fifty years Of age. He
was famed for his benevOlence and his good
works. He was the friend of the poor, the
the widow, and the orphan. His service to
the State had earned him public testimo-
NAL He had 'shonor, love, obedience,
troops of friends.' He was a founder and
ardent supporter of Sunday schools. Pso-
pie flocked from cultured Edinburgh homes
to hear his weekly addresses to the chill
dren.
One day, at the height of his fame, there
was made against him the subtle charge of
a grave and mysterious crime. At 6 o'clock
in the evening the Lord High Advocate
went to a mutual friend.
go to Sheriff W at once" said he,
in sad and measured tones, ''and tell him
that when go to my Office at 10 O'Clock to-
morrow morning a warrant will issue for
his arrest.'
That night Sheriff W ''died out'' of
Scotland. He had just time to say to a
friend that he was not guilty of more than
an indiscretion, but that he could not face
even the shame of that.
His disappearance is mourned in Edin-
burgh after all these leng years, and tears
come to the eyes of old friends when it is
mentioned. The man who so patiently bore
the long crucifixion of self-imposed exile.
the man who endured the penance Of thirty
one years among strangers in strange land,
the man who read the beautiful service in
the little Easthampton church, was not
John Wallace. Under the white marble
tablet in the old Easthampton cemetery
sleeps the scholar, the great jurist, the
courtly gentleman, the humble Christian
Sheriff va. A. Hayes, in Harper s
Magazine for August.
Married People would be happier.
If expenses were proportioned to receipts.
If home troubles were never told to a
neighbor.