Year: 1873



 l the conversation of those beside me d that was being taken to mad-house r and could not but surmise-what was 8 the truth that it was at the instigation a of my brother that I was being taken :, there. The whole villainous scheme : was now clear to me. The visit of the

 two doctors or sham, knew not l the letter written to entice me from t home, so as to carry me off easily, and r without making a disturbance. My

 cruel, wicked brother, not content with stealing my love from me, was about to 1ncarcerate me in private asylum, so that he, being next heir to the property, might freely enjoy it without my having the means or the power of exposing him. r After about an hours drive we stopped; , and was hurried out of the carriage into house, and led, still blindfolded, up long stair. When my eyes were uncovered I found myself in 8 small room, scantly furnished, without @ car : pet on the bare boards, and lighted by : a small narrow window, barred on the outside with heavy iron ba1s. A small wooden bedstead at one end, and a

 single chair, were the only signs of hab- iSation visible. It was prison, not a

 d-chamber.

 was at once unbound and ungagged,

 and left alone to my own bitter refec-

 tions. Day after day my life was the

 same solitary, monotonous existence

 the only exercise I got being an hours

 walk, in company with brutal keeper,

 who took malicious pleasure in thwart-

 ing and bullying me. Letters I wrote

 In abundance, but none of them ever

 gained reply; nor do I believe they

 were delivered.

 Escape seemed impossible, guarded

 and watched as was and I began to

 lose all heart, and each day I became

 more hopeless and despairing. Gradu-

 ally my health began to fail, and I got

 nervous and excitable, unable to keep

 still through the day or to sleep at night

 This was what my jailors were waiting

 for to finish their hellish purpose. I was forced to take medicine every day, and sleeping-draughts at night, contain ing morph1a, until my poor brain began to wander, and for few weeks I was raving mad. Then they relaxed their tertures they had gained their end.

 As recovered my reason my facul- ties seemed to be sharpened, and I be- gan to plan means for escaping. I pre- | tended to be subdued and timid, and by this means got greater liberty But l could not devise any plan for getting outside the hated walls and, had it not been for a trifing accident, I might probably have been still pris oner Il was so quiet, and my keepers believed me to be so tractable and harmless, that when was taken for my daily walk it was not thought necessary to confne my arms in a straight waistcoat, and I was sometimes taken for rambles outside the asylum grounds.

 One day my keeper, who was very fond of trout-fshing, wished to have an hour or two's fishing in stream a few miles distant. Of course his piscato- rial pursuits had to be carried on with | great caution, and without the knowl- edge of his master and was always bound over to secresy. was always we'll pleased when fishing g-day was pro- posed, as these were the only pleasant days l had and hoped that some day or other might by their means get an opportunity of escaping.

 On the morning in question we got to the stream, after calling at friends house for my keepers rod and tackle, and my keeper began his amusement, making me keep close to him all the time. As we walked along the banks of the small river we came to deep pool, favorite spot for trout, and my keeper set to work eagerly. As he walked gently along, keeping his eyes intently fixed on the water, in expectation of a rise, his foot caught on the root of tree, and he stumbled forward, and fell head-frst into the deep water. Now was my chance and without waiting a moment to see whether he could swim or not, Turned and fled, without know ing or caring in what direction I went. Toward evening I found was within a few miles of my own place and, i'm pelled by an inward impulse, walked toward 1t, intending to take one last look at 1t before leaving England. had often thought over what I would do when got free, and had decided to first make good my escape to another land, and then take means to recover , my rights, and punish my brother for his unnatural conduct. When I got to my house it was dark; , but the new moon shed soft, silvery s light over the familiar scenes, and, over ] come by the sight of the many spots en- 7 ot my former love and happiness, sat { down on garden-seat, and burying my face in my hands, burst into flood of tears-the first I had shed for years.

 As sat there heard voices, and had barely time to hide myself behind some j bushes, when she and my brother came { down the gravel-walk, arm in arm, and ] sat down on the seat I had just left. They were talking lowly; but I was so ( close to tbem that distinctly heard every word. I was the subject of their ' conversation. She pleading for me. i

 "Can not you remove him now, dear William ?" she said. ''Surely, now there is no danger. They say he is t quiet snd gentle. Gould we not bring him here and give him partof our house, g and try to lessen his dreadful misfor- l

 'It is like your gentle nature, dear V est wife," Was she then really this 1 monsters wife? "But can not suffer 3 you to live near such a dangerous mad ] man," he said, in answer. "It is true that now he Is quiet; but brought back among old scenes, with all their sad i memories, his brain might again fail t An, you can not imagine how danger f ous and determined he is when ex- t cited ! Never will I forget his fierce c ook when he stood, poker in hand. t 5he night we took him to the asylum. ( Had not gone into the next room, and t opening the door behind him, suddenly thrown a table-cloth over his head, he would have done mischief" O Oh, brother, brother! h

 often think of that dreadful time, s dearest" she replied, shuddering, and S irawing closer to him. "How your c llnd, tender heart must have bled for \ Jim And yet he was ever gentle to 1 ne and, before knew you, I thought s loved him dearly" s could not stay and listen longer. ii mother moment and I must have t]