My Own Life,
Or, a Deserted Wife:

Electronic Edition.

Beard, Ida May, b. 1862

Funding from the Library of Congress/Ameritech National Digital Library Competition
supported the electronic publication of this title.

Text scanned (OCR) by Kathleen Feeney
Text encoded by Jamie Vacca and Natalia Smith
First edition, 1997.
ca. 400K
Academic Affairs Library, UNC-CH
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill,
1997.
        © This work is the property of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. It may be used freely by individuals for research, teaching and personal use as long as this statement of availability is included in the text.

Call number CB B368m1 (North Carolina Collection, UNC-CH)

        The electronic edition is a part of the UNC-CH digitization project, Documenting the American South, or, The Southern Experience in 19th-century America.
        Any hyphens occurring in line breaks have been removed, and the trailing part of a word has been joined to the preceding line.
        All quotation marks and ampersand have been transcribed as entity references.
        All double right and left quotation marks are encoded as " and " respectively.
        All single right and left quotation marks are encoded as ' and ' respectively.
        Indentation in lines has not been preserved.
        Running titles have not been preserved.
        Spell-check and verification made against printed text using Author/Editor (SoftQuad) and Microsoft Word spell check programs.

Library of Congress Subject Headings, 21st edition, 1998

LC Subject Headings:
• Beard, Ida M. (Ida May), b. 1862 -- Marriage.
• Wives -- North Carolina -- Biography.
• Women -- North Carolina -- Biography.

• 1997-10-9,
  Natalia Smith, project editor,
  finished TEI-conformant encoding and final proofing.
  
  
• 1997-09-20,
  Jamie Vacca
  finished TEI/SGML encoding
  
  
• 1997-08-20,
  Kathleen Feaney
  finished scanning (OCR) and proofing.
  
  

MY OWN LIFE

Or, A DESERTED WIFE

By Mrs. I. M. BEARD

FIFTH EDITION
(Copyrighted)

PREFACE.

        IF THE public will allow me, I will preface my narrative by stating why I write the following.

        During the summer of 1896, while watching by the bedside of my eldest son, who was suffering from a severe attack of typhoid fever, I dropped into a doze, and while passing a few moments in this way dreamed of spending the night at the old Crumpler homestead in Germanton, Stokes County, N. C.

        Just a few minutes previous to retiring someone rapped upon the door. On opening it I beheld standing before me two of my dead-and-gone ancestors. I recognized them at once as being Grandfather and Cousin Newton Crumpler. The former passed away when my father was only six years of age. The latter was shot and fell mortally wounded while serving in the "Seven Days Fight" in and around Richmond, Va.

        Cousin Newton was one of North Carolina's famous lawyers, and had he survived the cruel war would have made his mark as a military man also.

        Upon entering the room Grandfather drew me to his knee and began stroking my hair, at the same time saying, "Well, well, this is my little grandchild and Jimmy's baby." He then asked me to tell him something of my life. I told him all until I reached my eighteenth birthday. There I paused and could go no further; so Grandfather said, "That will do, Cousin Nute has already told me the rest, and I see that my little girl has had ups and downs as well as we older ones. But now listen carefully to what old

Grandpa has to say: He has returned, bringing with him good news for his little one and she shall once more be happy."

        I dreamed that I looked up into his face and said: "Grandpa, is it possible that I will ever be happy again?"

        He told me I would and that he would make of me what he had intended my father to be.

        I was anxious to hear what Grandfather intended me to be, so insisted on his telling me at once.

        He began by saying that I was to write a story, entitled "My Own Life; or, A Deserted Wife." After writing the story I must have it dramatized, placed upon the stage, and in the city of New York the play would have a run of 600 nights, and I, the heroine, would be crowned "Queen of All," while the villain who wrecked my young life died the death of a murderer upon the gallows.

        Then Cousin Newton addressed me for the first time since entering. He told me that at some future day I would deliver an oration in Forsyth's courthouse, but that I shouldn't be frightened, as he would be with me and I would reach the end in safety. After saying this he and Grandfather disappeared and Sister Eva appeared upon the scene, bearing in her hand a lovely garland of roses, which she placed upon my brow, and exclaimed, "Well, I guess John will at last acknowledge his little fool as his superior." Sister told me that the garland of roses which she placed upon my brow was made from off the bush in the yard at the old home.

MY OWN LIFE,
OR
A DESERTED WIFE.

CHAPTER I.

MY COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE.

        DEAR READER, if you will lend me an ear I will endeavor, to the best of my ability, to portray to you a true story in real life, the heroine of my narrative being none other than the Authoress herself.

        I was born September 29, 1862 in Forsyth County, near Salem, N.C., my maiden name being Ida May Crumpler. I was reared in what you might call the lap of luxury, and having an inclination to always remain at home was known as "Grandmother" or "Old Maid" among my schoolmates and friends.

        Another feature of my childhood for which I was noted was hating to wound the feelings of a friend or companion, and I would grieve for days afterward if I did so unthoughtedly.

        I remember very distinctly a little incident which occurred during my school days. One morning our instructress gave out the word "receive" to a class numbering 24. I stood next to head and the girl above me was my bosom friend. She spelled the word, and not thinking but what she had done so correctly, began smiling and looking around, as if to say, "I'm confident I will get the head mark to-day."

        But, ah! how soon her smiles were turned into tears, when our teacher looked at me and said.: "Next; now, Ida, it's your turn to spell the word 'receive.' " I knew that I would be compelled to go above my friend, as she had said, "cie" instead of "cei."

        I shall never forget the feeling that came o'er me when the lesson was ended and we were told to return to our seats. My little friend was as crying and so was I - she, on account of missing the head mark and I for wounding her feelings.

        The incident recalled to mind one of Whittier's poems, which all of you are familiar with. You remember how the little brown-eyed girl hated to go above the boy she loved, and how she afterwards said to him:

                        I'm sorry that I spelled the word;
                        I hate to go above you,
                        Because - the brown eyes lower fell -
                        Because, you see, I love you.

        My father was a painter by trade, and while not a wealthy man, was a very indulgent one. He could not bear to even hear the slightest wish made by me without it being granted, almost on the spur of the moment.

        I remember of wishing one evening for the moon, and father said, "Well, my little daughter shall have it." He then stepped into the barn, very soon came out bearing a large pumpkin in his arms, and began cutting a man's face upon it. After cutting the face he placed a lighted candle on the inside and presented the pumpkin to me as a representative of the moon.

        Ah! well do I recall to mind many more just such incidents where he never seemed to tire of amusing me.

        I also remember the many happy days spent on my

father's farm. How vividly every scene appears before me to-night, making me feel as if though I were a child once more, and with my pet kitten roaming o'er the wide- spreading fields, with no thought of coming sorrow. Little was I dreaming then of what the dark future had in store for me. Could I have seen and known what I do now, perhaps I would not be the broken-hearted woman I am to-day. I say broken-hearted, because I feel that my heart has been crushed into a thousand pieces, and by the one who years ago promised to protect and love me.

        Now, dear reader, I am going to give you a brief biography of my courtship and marriage. After doing so, I will then leave you to judge for yourself whether or not I have not just cause for exclaiming, "Yes, my heart is broken"; and also whether the man I married has proved himself worthy of the confiding and loving girl he persuaded from a happy home and kindred dear, now more than sixteen years ago.

        Well do I remember my wedding morn. Everything seemed bright and gay; nothing to mar the happiness I was looking forward to, except I was not marrying with my parents' consent. But what did I care for their opinion? Was I not going, to marry the man I loved? I was more than anxious for the hour to arrive when I should place my young life into his keeping, for better or worse.

        Could I have realized then what I do now, I would have remained closeted within the four walls of my own room, instead of meeting one who in after years proved himself so unworthy of my love and trust.

        Well, I suppose you would like to hear something in regard to my courtship before proceeding with the life that had such a tragic ending.

        In speaking of my courtship it will be necessary for me to start from the very beginning, which was a long, long while ago. I was only a little girl, about five years of age, when I first began to love and trust a lad by the name of John Lewis Beard, who resided with his parents in the beautiful city of Winston, N.C., while my home was in the country, just four miles below Salem, in the same State.

        Those were balmy moments for John and I when he used to come with his mother to spend the day at our lovely country-seat. Many were the happy hours we spent together while playing at hide and seek, John never growing tired, but would always insist upon remaining an hour or so longer, when his mother would say, "Come, son, it's time we were going."

        When he did finally consent to leave, it was with a fond embrace and the loving words, "Good-bye, little sweetheart, until I come again."

        Then I would follow him to the gate and, with tears streaming down my cheeks, watch the form that seemed so dear to me until it was out of sight.

        I did not dream then that in a few more years I would become his bride, and that he would soon grow tired of his child-wife and find happiness in loving another. But such is life.

        When I was a child I used to insist upon my parents selling our country home and moving to what is now called the Twin City, but was only known then as Winston alone. My reason for wanting to leave the home of my childhood and move to the above-named place was in order that I might be near the boy I loved. Of course, I did not give this as my reason to the parents I almost idolized. Mother, however, guessed the cause without being told, and would often

say to me, "Why, Ida, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for acting as you do over that little black John Beard. He reminds me more of an Indian than anything else."

        All that my parents could do or say had no effect upon me whatever; and when I was between eight and nine years of age father agreed to dispose of our country-seat and move to the city of Winston.

        You can imagine how delighted I was to know that I would soon be near my heart's idol.

        After papa and mamma were comfortably domiciled in their new abode, my little Indian and I began our courtship in the right way, as we termed it. He and I attended the same day school, which was taught by the Misses Welfare, in Salem.

        I can see John now as he came rushing into the school- room, just five minutes late, with a box of cigars under his arm and trying to make some excuse for his tardiness.

        At recess he would come to me and say: "Why, good morning, pet; here is an apple and a package of candy for you." Then I would blush as I took the proffered gift, and many were the smiles that we exchanged between us.

        When the time arrived for our return home, we would walk hand in hand along the streets until we came within sight of my father's residence. Then we were compelled to bid one another adieu until the morrow.

        We were continually presenting each other with some token of affection in the way of confectioneries, flowers, etc. My lover seemed to have a perfect mania for flowers, therefore mother's forcing house was very often minus her most choice blooms on his account. Of course I always received a boquet in return.

        I remember being very ill once with the measles, and one evening when I was feeling all out of sorts some one rapped upon the door of my room. I found it, to be Miss Mattie Watkins, a friend and schoolmate of mine, who had called for the purpose of delivering a message from John. She was also the bearer of a box containing a tiny moss-rose bud, which I appreciated no little on account of its being sent me by the apple of my eye. I had this precious flower placed in a glass of water near me and each time I heard mother coming up the stairs I would slip John's gift under my pillow for fear she would question me as to where it came from.

        John and I had lots of fun in trying to keep out of papa and mamma's way, as they forbade me even to speak to him; so, of course, he did not dare attempt such a thing as calling upon me at my own home. We were compelled to agree upon some place where we could meet each other and spend a pleasant evening, or an hour or so, without being disturbed by friend or foe. I would always tell some plausible story to my parents in order to get away from home without being suspected of doing anything they did not approve of.

        Very often I would say, "Mamma, I am going to visit the Misses Jones," friends of mine who lived near the Mineral Spring, in Salem. You may rest assured that I did not visit my friends every time I said I was going to, but would meet John somewhere near the Cedar avenue gate, where he generally had a conveyance in readiness. Then off we would go for a pleasant drive through the country, where we would be entirely lost to the outside world for the time being, so far as we were concerned.

        Ah! how many happy hours we spent together,

feeling all the while that stolen interviews were the sweeter. Things continued in this way until I was in my fourteenth year and John eighteen, when we decided to run away and get married, but were foiled in our attempt by a friend of my father's informing him of our intentions.

        Everything has an ending, and ours came all too soon. At least we thought so when my parents put a stop to our clandestine meetings by locking me up in a room for days at a time, with scarcely anything to eat or drink; and mother would say, "Now, Ida, you must remain where you are until you are willing to promise never to look at or speak to that little black Beard boy again."

        This treatment only made me all the more determined not to promise anything of the kind, but to remain true to John, regardless of all opposition.

        Things looked dark and gloomy to he and I, as we could see no way of overcoming the great calamity that had befallen us.

        Just think, there I was locked in my room, not even allowed the privilege of going down stairs when meal time came.

        If I happened to get anything to eat at all, it was slipped to me by Sister Flora or one of the servants, who would say, "Here take this quickly, or we shall be found out and punished for what we have done." Sister also took great delight in slipping letters to me from my lover. I imagine I can hear Flora now as she came running up the stairs and knocking gently upon my door, saying, "Ida, here is a letter for you from Coonie." "Coonie" was a nickname given to John by me, so that everyone wouldn't know of whom I was speaking.

        Oh! how my heart would beat on hearing his name

mentioned and oh! how eagerly I broke the seal of my precious missive, in order that my eyes might rest upon the endearing words written within.

        I had quite a time in being able to receive John's letters. However, I at last thought of a plan which worked nicely. At nightfall he would throw them under a rosebush in the yard; then Flora would place them in a tiny basket and (by means of a wire) I would draw them to my window, pressing each one to my lips and heart before reading their contents. On account of my imprisonment I also had quite a time in procuring suitable stationery with which to answer them. Often I was compelled to sharpen a charcoal and use brown wrapping paper for the purpose.

        I was a little tardy once in regard to this matter, and in the meantime received two more epistles from my lover, in which he insisted that I send an answer immediately to the many foolish questions he had asked, and on my failing to comply with his request he made up his mind to leave Winston without informing me of his intentions. So, early on the following morning he set out upon his journey, in with a cousin of his, whose home was in Hickory, N. C. He intended accompanying his cousin as far as Hickory for the purpose of entering a printing office of some kind as a typo. They did not go direct from here to the above-named city, but I think from what John told me in after years they wandered nearly all over Western North Carolina before reaching their destination.

        On doing so John only remained four months. He soon became dissatisfied with his new position and concluded he would leave for other parts.

        After bidding his cousin an affectionate farewell,

he left for Salisbury, N. C., the former home of his ancestors.

        Now, all this time he kept closely concealed next to his heart the little missives written by me to him, and in five years after produced them in the same condition they were when received.

        But, what do you suppose the girl he had left behind was doing all these weary, weary days, with no tidings of her absent one? Why, sitting at home crying her eyes out on account of being left without a word of warning or explanation as to the cause of her being so cruelly treated.

        God did not intend this state of affairs to last forever, so one bright Sabbath morn in November, 1877, I left my home for the purpose of attending Sunday School, as I had been accustomed to doing. On reaching the church I beheld my boy lover and playmate of former years waiting for me at the door, just as if though nothing had ever happened.

        Then and there our vows were renewed, and no happier couple ever existed than we were for a year or more. But another misunderstanding followed, on account of John's being of a very jealous disposition and always wanting his own way about everything, never willing to give way to me for a single moment, and, of course, this caused another separation, he leaving for the second time without a word of warning and going back to his old haunts in Salisbury, where he remained for a few days, while waiting for his cousin, Peter Beard, to accompany him on a wild-goose chase through the Western part of North Carolina.

        In years afterward my noble lord often amused me for hours at a time by relating how they deceived the people along the road in order to obtain food and lodging without paying for it.

        John said that one day he would be a poor blind man, who was being led by his cousin all over the State for the purpose of earning a few dollars in this way for himself, and also for his widowed mother, who remained at home anxiously awaiting her boy's return.

        The following day he represented himself as being a noted evangelist, who was trying to save the souls of his fellowmen from going down to perdition.

        On the third day he informed the people that he was a good old corn-doctor, who could cure corns of long standing or those of short duration.

        On the fourth and last day of their journey he palmed himself off as a deaf and dumb mute and astonished the natives wherever he went by spelling and making signs with his fingers. On the eve of the fourth day they reached Asheville, N. C., where they remained for a week or more with another cousin of theirs; but finally becoming tired and anxious to be going they again set out for parts unknown.

        After wandering around for some time they concluded they would return to Salisbury and try their hand at farming. John soon found out that he was not intended for a tiller of the soil, therefore he would lay down the hoe and enter the printing business once more.

        He afterwards fell desperately in love, or at least thought so, with a young lady by the name of Howard, who was a distant relative of his. After paying her attention for some time they became engaged and everything seemed in a fair way for a happy union until a few days previous to their wedding. Then all at once John came to the conclusion that he did not really love his intended and thought it best to inform her accordingly. He called upon his lady-love and

informed her as to the decision he had arrived at in regard to their becoming one; and also insisted at the same time that she return to him their engagement ring.

        After complying with his request, Miss Howard politely told him to leave her father's residence and never speak to her again. So away went John with no thought of the broken heart he had left behind, but went straight to his boarding- house and made preparations for his departure from the city.

        On leaving Salisbury he returned to Winston, his former home, and also the home of the girl whom he had promised to remain true to, no matter what happened. The day following his arrival in the city he made inquiry as to whether I had remained true to him or whether my heart had been given to another during his absence. On learning that my heart was still his, notwithstanding several others had proposed to me, he insisted that we again renew our vows and enter the married state as soon as possible.

        I was then in my seventeenth year, just entering into womanhood, with the prospect of a bright future before me; but the One who reigns above willed it otherwise, and to-day I am the heart-broken wife of the man for whose sake I gave up home and all that was dear to me. Had I listened to parents and friends, what a different life I might now be leading.

        Reader, let me impress upon your mind to take your parents' advice ere it's too late. Of course, they are not competent of choosing for you a companion through life, but very often see many little defects which you are more than willing to overlook during your courtship.

        It was so with me. I could only see the bright side of the life I was about entering upon, and never

thought for a moment that the wear and tear of after years would cause me to exclaim, "Oh! had I listened in time!"

        As I have already said, I was just seventeen when I promised John for the third time to become his bride, and knowing nothing in regard to his love affair while in Salisbury, began making preparations for what I now term my fatal wedding.

        Why was it that Fate did not interfere and enable me to see then as I do now? I would have been spared a great deal of pain and suffering in after years.

        John and I renewed our vows for the third time April 25, 1880, and on May 16th, in the same year, I promised him my hand in marriage.

        Ah! that memorable day in May. It was one beautiful Sabbath afternoon, and I had gotten permission from my parents to go out walking, in company with a young man by the name of Leslie, who was then boarding with us. Immediately after leaving home I informed Mr. Leslie of my plans for the evening and insisted that he accompany me as far as Mr. F. N. Nading's residence on Liberty street, that being the place agreed upon by my lover and I for our meeting.

        On arriving there we found Miss Ida, Mr. Nading's eldest daughter, and John in the parlor, waiting for us. Of course I felt as if though I were in what might be called my second heaven. And after the customary introduction between Mr. Leslie and Miss Nading, John and I left them alone and set out for a pleasant stroll. After walking around for some time we became tired, and on being near a comfortable seat my lover said, "Come, let's sit here and rest awhile before going back to the house." We had not been seated long when he began insisting that I give him an answer to the question he had asked me a

few days previous to this event. I told him I had studied over the matter and was ready to answer in the affirmative. I had scarcely finished speaking, when he placed his arm around my waist, and taking my hand in his, exclaimed: "My own little darling Ida, you have made me the happiest man in the world by promising to become my bride."

        Reader, I can not explain to you my feelings at that moment. I could think of nothing but the bright future before me. I remember there were daisies growing at our feet, and after plucking a handful I remarked to John that we would keep them as a souvenir of our engagement day.

        It's with a sad heart I gaze upon my favorite blossoms now, as they recall to mind what might have been had not Fate, cruel Fate, willed it otherwise.

        John and I remained seated in our cozy nook until the shades of evening were gathering around us. Then I suggested that we return to Mr. Nading's residence. On doing so we found the family seated at the table enjoying their evening meal, and wondering at our prolonged absence.

        After partaking of a delicious cup of tea prepared by our hostess, we set out for my father's house, in company with Mr. Leslie and Miss Nading. On arriving in sight of home Mr. Leslie and John changed places, the former accompanying me to my own door, while the latter returned with Miss Ida to her parental abode.

        I remained in the parlor but a few moments after reaching home, then ran up stairs and began relating to Sister Flora the events of the evening. I remember of her saying, "Why, Ida, I am more than surprised at you for even thinking about such a thing as marrying John Beard. You know that he isn't a fit

companion for you; therefore, I hope you will abandon the idea at once, as you are his superior in every respect, and you are also aware of the fact that he would starve you to death in a short while."

        Ah! how little did I think then of her prediction coming true in after years; so I took no heed to her warning voice, but continued to meet my lover as before. Yes, meeting my lover clandestinely for some time afterwards, spending many happy hours until it was nearing the time for our fatal wedding, which was to take place September 29, 1880, that being the anniversary of my eighteenth birthday, and according to the laws of North Carolina I would be at liberty to marry whom I pleased.

        How well do I remember the last meeting between my lover and I, a few days previous to our wedding. We had agreed to meet each other down near the schoolgirls' play-ground in order to make necessary arrangements in regard to the coming event. It was a balmy eve in summer, and after donning my white dress, slippers and hat to correspond, I set out for our trysting place. On reaching the summer house I beheld John already seated, and upon my arrival he exclaimed, "Why, sweetheart, you look just like a bride, and will be mine soon."

        Ah! how happy we were then. Why was it that Fate did not draw aside the curtain for a few moments in order that we might behold what the dark future had in store for us.

        After spending an hour or so in laying our plans for the coming event, we concluded to return home. On our way back we each gathered a large boquet of daisies, which I afterwards twined into a lovely garland for John's hat, he keeping the same for years after we were married.

        It was then nearing the time for our wedding, and we had planned quite a romantic one. I was to leave home for the purpose of visiting my cousin, Mrs. Dr. York, who lived near Trap Hill, Wilkes County, N. C. Of course it was understood that John was to follow in a few days.

        After my departure, and before reaching the home of my cousin, we were to climb Stone Mountain and be married at a place called "Lover's Leap." But Fate interfered again, and we were foiled for the second time in our attempt at getting married by an aunt of mine informing my parents of our proposed plans. I can almost see her now as she came to visit us early one morning. Immediately upon her arrival she began asking papa and mamma whether they had heard anything in regard to the grand wedding that was to take place on the following Wednesday. Father said no, they had not.

        He then wanted to know who the contracting parties were. Aunt replied, by saying, "Why, Ida and that black John Beard. I thought you knew they were fixing to run away and get married." I heard father say, "O, I guess it's all a mistake; Ida intends visiting Cousin Eliza York next week and I suppose someone has circulated the report that she is going to get married, on account of her having quite an extensive going-away trousseau prepared."

        I was just consoling myself with the thought that perhaps I would get away yet, when all at once I heard father say, "I believe I will go and speak to Ida about the affair, anyway." My heart went pit-a-pat on hearing his footsteps draw near the door. I made up my mind, however, not to tell him a falsehood, but to speak the truth, let come what would.

        Immediately upon entering my room he began plying

me with questions in regard to what aunt had told him. I said, "Yes, pa, it's all true; I intend marrying John on next Wednesday evening, so will give you and mother an invitation to our wedding right now."

        Father then looked me straight in the face, saying as he did so, "Ida, there is one thing I want to say to you; it is this, If you marry John Beard next Wednesday your mother and I will disown you forever. I mean what I say, and you need never expect any assistance from either of us."

        I remained perfectly quiet for a few moments after he had ceased speaking, then said, "All right, pa, I will never call upon you to aid me under any circumstances, but will go to the almshouse, if needs be, rather than call upon you, my father."

        He then left the room, slamming the door behind him, and I afterwards heard him conversing with mother in a very excited tone, and I knew that she, too, would pay me a visit in a short while; so I again made up my mind to fight the battle bravely, whether I came out victorious or not.

        On making her appearance, mother looked as if though she would like to crush me with one blow. I was embroidering a dainty little handkerchief, which she snatched from my hands, and remarked that my trip to Trap Hill was as if though it had never been thought of. She also told me that every article of wearing apparel which had been prepared for me would be locked up and remain so until I promised never to marry John Beard.

        While mother and I were conversing father thought of another scheme, which he at first supposed would have a great deal of effect upon me; so he put his thoughts into execution by going up street, and on

his return home presented me with a lovely watch, necklace and pin, saying at the same time, "Now, Ida, these are yours, on one condition, and that is, you must abandon the idea of marrying Beard."

        I handed the box containing the baubles back to my father and said, "Why, pa, did you think for a moment that my love could be so easily bought? It wouldn't be worth a cent if such were the case. While I would like very much to own the trinklets you have offered me, it will be impossible for me to accept them on the terms you have just spoken of."

        Oh, how angry father seemed to be. He again left the room, and after remaining out for an hour or so he returned with a bright smile upon his face, saying, "Well, daughter, there is one thing more I will offer you. On your eighteenth birthday I will have placed within your room a beautiful suit of furniture if you will make the promise I have already asked."

        I said, "No, pa; it isn't worth while to offer me anything more. I shall marry John regardless of all your gifts."

        I might just as well have poured oil on the fire as to have said what I did.

        Father fluttered around for awhile, then remarked that he would try what virtue there was in locking me up for a month or two, as he thought it would do more good than anything else.

        He then left me alone once more, and I knew that I must inform my lover immediately as to what had happened during the day.

        I wrote him a brief note, in which I stated that we would be compelled to make other arrangements in regard to our wedding, as my aunt had given us away, and that in all probability I would be locked up from that time forth.

        I then rang for the chambermaid. She responded to my call at once, and on entering my room I told her that one dollar in cash should be hers if she would agree to place the note I had written into Mr. Beard's hands, and that she bring an answer on her return.

        It's a very amusing thought that occurs to me when I think of how Mary opened her large mouth and eyes, saying, "Now, Miss Ida; you knows I will doo jes like you tells me to."

        I suppose she was thinking of the bright silver dollar she was to receive on her return, and that was why she was so ready and willing to comply with my request.

        I felt somewhat relieved after dispatching the servant with my message to John, as I knew he would make other arrangements immediately in regard to the coming event.

        Mary remained away for about an hour and on her return home handed me a note from my lover, in which he stated that I need not give myself any uneasiness in regard to our wedding, as everything should be in readiness on Wednesday evening at 4 o'clock - the hour appointed for our marriage to take place. John also informed me that he had thought of another scheme, which in all probability would work better than the one first agreed upon, and that if my parents locked me up I should remain perfectly quiet until September 29, when he would drive to father's door and demand of him the keys to my room, and on his failing to produce them he would seek legal advice in regard to the matter, as I would then be of age and according to law father would have control over me no longer.

        My brain was in a terrible state at that period of my life. There I was hanging in the balance, betwixt

love and duty, hardly knowing which course to pursue - whether to cling to the parents I loved so dearly or the lover I almost idolized. I chose the latter and to-day am reaping my reward.

        Had I listened ere it was too late I might now be gathering in the sheaves instead of the tares.

        Now, dear reader, comes the most interesting part of my narrative, as I shall endeavor to relate the events of the evening preceding my fatal wedding and those that followed.

        I will never forget the last evening spent beneath my father's roof before entering upon a life of which I knew nothing.

        It was on the 28th of September, 1880, that several of my friends and relatives had gathered in the parlor to have what they called a farewell chat with me while I was yet their girl companion.

        Ah! what a pleasant evening we spent, playing, singing and chatting with each other until the hands of the little onyx clock upon the mantel pointed to half-past 10.

        Then one of my friends remarked that it was time they all were going, in order that I might prepare for the coming event of the morrow.

        I bade them an affectionate good-bye, and on reaching my room burst out crying. I felt as if I were preparing for my burial instead of the day that should have been the brightest of all others.

        After retiring I could not sleep, so redressed myself and sat down by the window, thinking perhaps it was not too late to recall the step I was about to take.

        Then, all at once, I imagined I could see John standing before me, with his outstretched arms, saying, "Come to me, little one; be brave and come. You shall never regret it." I suppose this thought

occurred to me on account of my receiving a note from him a few hours previous to retiring. The note ran as follows:

My Own Little Ida:

        Be sure to meet me at the place appointed to-morrow at three, as I do not want to be thwarted in my plans for the future.

Yours forever, J. L. B.

        Never from memory's page will be erased the words of the bearer of that fatal note. He was an old friend of my girlhood, and the remarks he made on the eve preceding my wedding day still ring in my ear, as if they were only spoken yesterday instead of sixteen years ago.

        After presenting the note, he said to me, "Well, Miss Ida, to-morrow, is your wedding day and I wish you all the happiness and prosperity possible; but there's one thing I want you to bear in mind, it is this: If ever want or trouble should come to you in after years, remember that you will always find a true friend in C. M. L."

        I feel as if though he would he a friend to me now in my late trouble, but at the same time I dare nor inform him of my suffering, as in all probability he would think me unwomanly in doing so, especially when I at one time cast him aside for another, little thinking then that I would regret my rash act in years to come.

        Now, I must return to my wedding morn. It dawned bright and beautiful, a befitting day for the little girl who was to become a bride ere the sun went down.

        After passing a sleepless night, I arose at 6 a. m. with a heart almost as heavy as lead, instead of the light, happy one I should have carried within my

bosom. I made a hasty toilet and went down stairs to breakfast, but could not eat a mouthful, and one of the servants remarked that I had better drink a cup of coffee at any rate, as in all probability it would be the last time I would have the privilege of doing so while beneath my parents' roof.

        Little did I think that twelve months would pass by ere I crossed the threshold of the dear old home again.

        Breakfast being over, I returned to my room, and, after thoroughly cleansing hands and teeth, concluded I would run down to the parlor and play over several of the pieces I liked best.

        On entering the door I beheld mother standing by the window, crying as if though her heart would break.

        I pretended not to see her at first, but went straight to the piano, opened it and began playing "Robin Adair." This being finished, mother said, "Ida, I am glad you are here; now play 'Old Folks at Home,' then close the piano and come sit down by me; I have something to say to you."

        She began by saying, "Well, I suppose you are determined to marry John Beard, notwithstanding all my advice in regard to the matter."

        I replied in the affirmative and was more than sorry afterwards that I had spoken in such a hasty manner, as my remarks only caused the tears to flow faster from mother's eyes. I placed my arms around her neck, thinking in this way I would be able to compensate for what I had said. I also begged that she forgive the act I was about to commit, and asked her to listen to me for a few minutes, as I, too, had something to say to her.

        I said, "Mother, I have always been an obedient

child, haven't I? doing whatever you requested me to do without a murmur, but the time has now arrived when I deem it necessary that I, and I alone, should choose for myself a companion through life.

        "I am aware are of the fact that you do not approve of my choice, but at the same time it is I and not you that is going to make the sacrifice. I know that John is poor; but what of that? I love him, and poverty shall not come between us.

        "I also know that he will not be able to keep me in the style you and father have always done, but I have made up my mind to share his fate, whatever it may be, and this afternoon at 4 o'clock I shall place my young life into his keeping, for better or worse - God only knows which of the two it will be; I hope the former. But time proves all things; so let us wait and see."

        Then mother said, "Ida, I have a presentment that your married life will have a tragic ending, and I had much rather see the hearse drive to my door to-day and bear you to your last resting-place than to see you become the wife of John Beard. I know that you do not really love him; it's only a schoolgirl's passing fancy, and you will find when it's too late that you were mistaken, as many others have done before; so, take my advice and remain at home. You are now hanging on the very edge of the precipice, as it were, and I, your mother, implore you to look once more before taking the fatal leap."

        After mother and I had finished our conversation I ran back upstairs and began my toilet for the afternoon, as I had promised John to meet him precisely at 3, so thought it best to be in readiness by that hour.

        I donned a cream-colored dress, trimmed with

garnet silk. I remember of saying to myself, "This isn't the costume a bride should wear on the eve of her marriage, but, as my parents have everything else under lock and key, I suppose I will be compelled to put it on and think nothing about the omen."

        I was in the act of putting the finishing touches to my toilet, when I heard mother say to one of the servants, "Bettie, be sure you serve dinner at 11 o'clock sharp, as Ida will be eighteen then, and I have never failed all these years to have her noonday meal prepared on time, so that she could remember the hour in which she was born."

        My toilet being finished, I was standing by the window whiling away the moments by looking down into the little rose-garden, where I had played so often when a child. While thus employed I heard the first tap of the dinner bell, and, knowing how peculiar mother was in regard to our being punctual at meals, I immediately repaired to the dining-room.

        On reaching there I only found my little sister Eva seated at the table. She remarked that we would have a nice dinner all to ourselves, as mother and Sister Flora had gone out shopping and would not return until late in the evening.

        Now, I knew very well the cause of their being absent, so ate but little on account of it. Eva began teasing me and said that I had better eat all I possibly could, as she would be willing to bet a penny I would not have any supper. I then told her to bet some of her small change and not be so extravagant with her money.

        She joined me in a hearty laugh and our noonday meal was over.

        I ran back to my room, while Eva to the parlor went and began playing, "See That My Grave's Kept Green," my favorite she knew.

        I did not remain long in my room - just long enough to kneel and ask God's blessing upon the step I was about to take. Then the thought occurred to me that perhaps mother had returned and I would yet have the pleasure of bidding her goodbye, at any rate, so I ventured down to her room, but was doomed to disappointment, as she had not returned, and the stillness of death reigned within.

        Ah! what a feeling came o'er me when I realized that I was gazing perhaps for the last time upon the scenes of my girlhood.

        Why did not Fate interfere and cause me to remain within the portals of the dear old home instead of venturing out alone and unprotected, as it were, into the cold and cruel world?

        Alas! I could not see until it was too late; but Time's a great healer, and it may yet pour its soothing potion upon my torn and bleeding heart, causing me to exclaim, "It was all for the best."

        When I found that mother was not within her room, I said to myself, "Perhaps it is better so, as it would only add to her suffering to say goodbye to me after all these years of care and painstaking in order that she might behold the fruits of her labor by seeing me, her eldest child, become the wife of some good and noble man"; and now that I was going to disappoint her, I thought it best to go without wounding her feelings any more.

        I penned a hasty note, however, and left it upon the dresser. In my note I implored mother to forgive and forget the act I was about to commit and to think of me kindly when far away.

        I then rapped gently upon the parlor door. Eva opened it immediately and I said, "Well, little sister, I must be going now, so come kiss me goodbye, as

you may never have the opportunity of doing so again."

        She placed her arms around my neck and I noticed tears gathering in her eyes. After kissing me twice, she said, "Ida, please do not go, but remain with us."

        I felt a great lump rising in my throat, and it was sometime before I could reply to her remarks. Finally I did so, by saying, "No, Eva, I can not, as I have promised John to meet him without fail, and it's now near the hour."

        On seeing that I was determined to go she exclaimed, "Well, Ida, I am not going to cry any more, but will present you with a large Buckingham apple instead, as I am afraid you will be compelled to retire supperless, and it will also be a souvenir of your departure."

        I thanked her for being so thoughtful in regard to the apple. I then picked up my hat and gloves, which were lying on the piano. As I did so I slipped sister's gift under a sheet of music. I did not want her to know but what I had concealed it somewhere about my person and fully intended taking it with me.

        Now, everything was in readiness for my fatal leap, as mother termed it, and I was only waiting for the old town clock to chime out half-past 2. I intended leaving home at this time in order that I might spend a few moments with a friend of mine before meeting John.

        After putting on hat and gloves I placed my arm around Eva's waist and pressed my lips to hers once more ere I became a bride.

        Neither of us spoke and I passed out through the parlor door, closing it behind me. On reaching the hallway I could go no further, but stood gazing around, feeling as one who had or was about to

commit some terrible deed. My limbs refused to move and I felt as if glued to the spot.

        Finally I moved on, and shall never forget the last call I made upon my friend. She was expecting me and gave me a cordial reception, saying, "Ida, I am glad you decided to spend the remaining moments of your girlhood with me."

        We chatted pleasantly for some time; then I remarked that I had better be going, as I did not care to disappoint my lover by being a few minutes late.

        I bade my friend an affectionate goodbye, and at the same time insisted that she accompany me as far as the Baptist church. I had promised John to meet him there, as papa and momma had forbidden him calling for me at my own home.

        Miss Hollister and I had scarcely left her father's residence when she exclaimed, "O, Ida, look, yonder comes John now. I wonder why he did not wait for you at the church? I suppose he became impatient and thought he would come in search of you."

        John noticed my friend and I coming toward him, so drew rein right in front of R. J. Reynold's tobacco factory and waited for us.

        On reaching him he clasped my hand in his, saying, "Well, I guess you are mine now regardless of all your father's threats."

        He then drew forth a brand new Smith & Wesson pistol, remarking as he did so that if my father attempted to follow us he would receive a bullet through his heart.

        I insisted on his putting the ugly weapon out of sight, as it only reminded me of death, and such a thought should not occur to us on the eve of our marriage.

        My lover then said, "All right, little one, just as

you say; I am your slave from this time forth. And where shall we drive to first?"

        I remarked that I had thought of calling on Miss Nading before repairing to Mr. Pegram's residence. So we drove up Liberty street to the home of my friend, and after remaining there a short while we then set out for T. H. Pegram's, on Old Town street, where we were to be made one.

        Upon our arrival there, someone remarked that guards had better be placed at the gate, as my father was superintending the painting of F. G. Crutchfield's residence, and that he might interfere while the marriage ceremony was being performed.

        I remember of Mr. Pegram's telling me not to take the time to fasten my gloves, as he was afraid father was going to cause trouble.

        He did not, however, and everything passed off just as if though it had been in church, with papa and mamma waiting to congratulate me upon my choice and wishing me all the happiness possible.

        Ah! I was so happy then; the dark future I could not see.

        I did not become frightened until a few moments after being married, and would not have done so then if it had not been for Mr. W. Y. Revelle introducing me to L. L. Stein as Mrs. John Beard.

        We had quite a swell wedding, as several of our friends had gathered at Mr. Pegram's residence to witness the marriage ceremony. Miss Lelia Webb played the wedding march, and we were as happy as bride and groom ever were.

CHAPTER II.

SOME INTERESTING STATEMENTS AND FACTS.

        After receiving the congratulations of our friends, we repaired to W. H. Beard's residence on Main street.

        Upon arriving there we found his wife very ill, suffering with a disease from which she afterwards died, or, at least it was thought so by the outside world; but I would suggest that the public question closely W. H. Beard in regard to an overdose of chloral administered by him to his wife a few hours previous to her death.

        At that time the venerable old Dr. R. D. Hay, who has slumbered beneath the sod these many years, was charged with the above crime, but I for one believe him to have been as innocent as a newborn babe of the charges preferred against him.

        Shortly after breath had left Mrs. Beard's body her husband, W. H. Beard, stepped to the mantel and took therefrom a small phial, placed it into his coat pocket and then summoned the physician at once. Upon Dr. Hay's arrival he called for the phial containing the remaining portion of the deathly drug, but it was nowhere to be found. I alone had been an eye-witness to the concealing of the bottle.

        Whether the one stored snugly away in Mr. Beard's pocket was the one in question I do not know, but to the best of my knowledge and belief think it to have been the same. On the following day, after Mrs. Beard had been borne to her last resting place, and the family once more at home, W. H. Beard, thinking himself alone in the room, stepped to the mantel,

then placed his had into his pocket as if in search of something, and afterwards remarked that "no one would ever know."

        John remarked on taking me to his father's residence that we would only remain there a few weeks, then go to housekeeping to ourselves; but owing to the death of his mother we remained four months instead of a few weeks.

        Oh! those miserable months I passed while being compelled to reside beneath W. H. Beard's roof.

        I spent some of the most wretched moments of my life there; and they, like many other things, will never be erased from memory's page.

        After my mother-in-law's death all the responsibility of housekeeping fell upon my young shoulders, and not only the housekeeping exclusively, but had two small children left in my care also.

        Dora, the eldest girl, was of an obstinate nature, and I could scarcely do anything at all with her, so far as training was concerned.

        Jennie, the younger of the two, possessed a very affectionate disposition, therefore was more easily managed, and, of course, this caused me to become attached to her at once, and I did a great deal more for her than for Dora.

        Now, all this housekeeping and managing children was entirely new to me, as I had never had any experience in this line before; I did my best, however, and took great delight in making everything appear neat and clean about my father-in- law's residence.

        I would always tidy up his room with my own hands, and on returning from his daily labor he was sure to find a cheerful fire burning upon the hearth. I also took great delight in having his favorite dish in readiness when meal time came.

        I have often wondered since why it was I made myself such a slave for one who was not at all capable of appreciating my worth.

        My father-in-law would say to me, "Well, I declare, you are doing better than I thought you would; so just keep on in the way you have started and you will make John a real good housekeeper after all."

        I suppose he meant a slave, or at least one would have thought so from the amount of work allotted me during the day. I bore with him for awhile, then made up my mind that I wasn't going to be a slave for the whole Beard family any longer, as I did not bargain for but one of them, so informed John accordingly when he returned home that evening. I told him that I was willing to work for he and I until I dropped dead, but not for the other members of his family.

        Then he and his father held a private conversation and afterwards promised me a home of my own, but did not state how soon I was to take possession.

        However, I went to work again with a right good will, doing willingly whatever my hands found to do. But oh, the hard battles I was compelled to fight, all for my husband's sake.

        His sister Dora and brother Clarence did everything within their power to tease and worry me. They would come to the door of my room and say, "Ida, bring out mother's bed, chairs and carpet, then what would you and John have? Nothing but the bare room."

        Not being satisfied with saying all this, they would begin knocking upon the door as if they fully intended it should fall to the floor. They would continue at this rate until I was forced to open the door, only to have them enter for the purpose of upsetting and soiling everything within the room.

        Dora would say, "Oh! Clarence, just look at Ida's nice, clean curtains; come, let's make a black spot upon them." The words would scarcely leave her lips ere the print of her smutty hands would be left upon the curtain.

        This was a little too much for me, and I made up my mind to have a home of my own, if I had to live in a rail pen with a ground floor. And on finding John to be a person who could be easily persuaded into doing almost anything, I began insisting that we move away from our tormentors as early as possible.

        I not only received cruel treatment at the hands of the children, but their father's also.

        On seeing that I was determined not to cook and work myself to death for the whole family, he began locking up everything within reach of me. I was not allowed a mouthful to eat, and I suppose if it had not been for Mrs. B. J. Shepherd and others I would have perished during the last few days I remained.

        Oh! how many castles in the air I built while awaiting my husband's return home from the store at night. I would often say to him, "Pet, we will be very happy when once we are living together in a little home of our own; won't we?"

        But, somehow, he never seemed to like the idea of going to housekeeping, and would always insist upon our remaining with his father for awhile longer.

        I, being of a domestic turn of mind, knew that we would be far happier in a home of our own than with his father, or anyone else, so persisted in having a little cottage all to ourselves, where we would not be called upon to set out mother's furniture, but would try if possible to accumulate a few pieces of our own.

        When John saw that I was bent upon keeping house

for us two, and us two only, he began looking around for a suitable place, but found it to be quite a task to do so, or at least to find one where he could pay the rent.

        He at last heard of a little two-room cottage on Depot street, own by Peter George, Esq. Mr George informed us that we might become tenants of his by paying $7 per month for the house he had to let. We accepted the offer, and on January 1, 1881, John and I took our first lesson in real housekeeping.

        I will never forget the first meal we partook of in the home we had established. It consisted of light-bread, or so-called baker's bread, butter and sugar.

        The few pieces of furniture purchased by us had not been delivered yet, so we were compelled to partake of our dinner in Turkish fashion, by sitting on the floor before the fire with our food beside us.

        We would each take a slice of bread, then spread on the butter and sugar, with no thought of economy.

        When the furniture arrived, I began placing it around the room where it would show to the best advantage. I worked on in this way for an hour or two, then asked John to assist me in giving the finishing touches to everything, as I was beginning to feel somewhat tired.

        He seemed to have no desire to lend me a helping hand, and I soon found out that he was not at all domestic, and that all housekeeping had fallen to my lot again, and I would have no one to share life's burden with me.

        I had a great deal of perseverance, however, and consoled myself with the thought that perhaps in time my husband would become interested in domestic affairs, and I would yet have the pleasure of knowing that it was I and I alone who taught him his first lesson in domesticity.

        But I learned to my sorrow that I was never to realize that which I had hoped for, as John cared only for hunting, fishing and making a collection of different kinds of minerals.

        This occupation often caused him to be minus his meals for days at a time, and also gave me a great deal of uneasiness. Each time he failed to make his appearance at the usual hour I would think someone had killed him.

        On returning from his hunting expeditions he would promise me never to go again, but his promises were like piecrust - easily broken - so I at last made up my mind to let him have his own way, and if trouble came to him he must accept it as his share.

        It seemed as if though nothing gave John more pleasure that to relate to me how near he would come to losing his life while out hunting. I suppose he did this in order to tease and frighten me, or at least I tried to think so at the time.

        My husband did a great many things I did not approve of, one thing especially, and that was fighting game chickens on the Holy Sabbath day. He and his friend, A. L. Payne, would start out early on Sunday morning for the purpose of witnessing a chicken battle. They would repair to some place just beyond the city limits and remain until late in the evening. Upon their return I was very often called upon to prepare for our evening meal a poor bird who happened to have both eyes plucked entirely out during the battle.

        These chicken battles worried me no little. I remember of one incident in particular. I had dressed myself for the purpose of attending services at the Baptist church, but owing to my husband's proposed chicken fight, I was compelled to remain at home. I read my Bible, however, and passed the remaining portion of the day as best I could.

        I was not alone in my trouble on account of these hunting expeditions, as John caused Mrs. Leroy Tise a great deal of mental anxiety also by persuading Mr. T. to accompany him on several occasions.

        Mrs. Tise has since remarked that my husband would do well to remain away from Winston, as she intended making things warm for him on his return.

        Another trait of John's, for which he was widely known, was cutting different designs upon canes. Very often the wee hours of morning found him engaged in this way.

        Now, you must bear in mind that my husband did not sit up alone during this time, but would force me to remain with him until he was ready to retire. Then, after a few moments rest I arose for the purpose of shining his boots, building fires and preparing our morning repast. This being done, I would begin clearing away the litter made by John while whittling his sticks a few hours previous.

        I never complained of the litter he made, nor the amount of work I was compelled to do on his account; but, on the other hand, led him to believe I thought it a mere nothing, and that I was never happier than when engaged in doing something for him. All that I complained of was his Sunday chicken fighting and hunting expeditions.

        John also had quite a mania for the skating rink and would often spend the greater portion of his time and earnings there. After passing an evening at the above- named place he would come lagging home and say to me, "Well, Ida, have we any supper or not? I was just wondering whether we would and what it would be. I only had a nickel left after paying my fees at the rink, so take it and go buy whatever you like."

        I would look at my husband, then at the coin, saying "John, you know it isn't much that we can purchase with a nickel; however, I will do the best I can toward getting something you will enjoy."

        My husband carried in his pocket a peculiar kind of whistle, which he always brought into use when calling "Mice," his little pet dog. He also used the whistle as a signal when we were to have something nice for supper. Oh! how my heart sank within me when I failed to hear the familiar sound before hearing his footsteps upon the veranda, for then it was I knew that we would be compelled to retire supperless.

        Our early married life reminded me of Charles Dickens and Dora, his first wife. You remember what an awful time they had with their housekeeping. Their larder was always empty, and so was ours as it was very seldom John ever bought more than a nickel's worth of anything at a time, and expected me to make it last quite a long, long while, and also to prepare lots of good things from this.

        I always tried to have something nice for Sunday, then on Saturday eve my father-in-law and the children would come over to sit until bedtime, notwithstanding they very well knew I did not care to have them around me.

        Before taking their departure at 10 p. m. John would say, "Ida, go get papa and the kids some of the cake you baked to-day." Oh! how I hated to cut it; but, in order to please my husband, did so.

        After eating what I had placed before them they would say, "John, do you know what this tastes like? Why more, course," and very soon the remaining portion of the cake I prized so highly would disappear, leaving me nothing for Sunday's dessert.

        John and I lived on together in this way for eleven

months. Then a little boy came to brighten our home. We afterwards called him Robah, in honor of Dr. R. F. Gray.

        My husband seemed perfectly devoted to our boy until he was between four and five months old. Then all at once the fond father displayed a coolness for the little lad. Why it was I could not well make out, unless it was on account of my divided affection between father and son.

        John often remarked that I seemed to think more of the boy than of him. I laughingly told him one day I believed he was jealous of the babe. He then said, "Well, there is one thing certain, I don't like to have a kid come between you and I."

        I said, "All right, darling, I will cease to care for our child and devote my whole life to you, and you only"; so, whenever John was present I tried to study his ways and do everything within my power to entertain and please him, but the moment he was out of sight I turned to my boy, giving him a mother's love and attention.

        When he was about three months old my husband left me for the first time in order to attend the Yorktown Centennial. I thought it would kill me to be separated from John for a single day, let alone one long, long week; but when I saw that he was determined to go, I made up my mind to bear the separation as best I could, so took little Robah and went to stay with my parents until John's return.

        I passed a lonesome week, notwithstanding Sister Flora's efforts to make me do otherwise. I made sure my husband would be killed ere he reached Winston again.

        I will never forget his home-coming. I remember it was on Saturday, about 2 p. m., when he arrived all sun-burned from exposure at Yorktown.

        John seemed perfectly delighted to see baby and I. We remained with my parents that night and the following day went back to our own little cottage on Depot street. On arriving there we found the larder entirely empty, but I told my husband it didn't matter as I was only too glad to have him at home with me once more.

        We did without food until the next day. Of course I could have brought something from father's, but would much rather have died than to have let my people know that John did not keep me supplied with the necessaries of life.

        After my husband's return from Yorktown he seemed dissatisfied with his surroundings and never cared to remain at home for any length of time, and would often remark that he was going to get a position travelling. I could never get him to abandon the idea, and while in this frame of mind God gave us another boy. I was almost sorry the little fellow had arrived, as I was afraid my husband would form a dislike for him also. But somehow or another he became attached to this one immediately upon his arrival and took great delight in trying to amuse him.

        For some reason God did not intend that little Bertram should remain long with us, and when he was only sixteen months old he was called from earth back to his heavenly home.

        I came near losing my mind upon the death of this precious babe. I will always remember his bright blue eyes and golden curls. One of the latter I have in my possession now. Yes, I have in my possession one tiny golden curl. It is my blue-eyed baby's curl. I also own one spot of earth, my baby's grave, and mine alone.

        Twelve months after the death of little Bertram

another stranger arrived in our household. My husband and I were at a loss at first as to what we should call him, but finally decided upon naming our third boy Basil Gray, in honor again of the family physician, so now we have Robah Gray in our midst, and very proud are we of the name.

        Two months previous to baby Basil's birth the death angel visited my father's residence and bore away from earth to heaven Sister Eva. On Sunday morning, September 20, 1885, after six weeks of suffering and solicitous watching, little Eva passed over to the Golden Shore, at the age of 14 years 4 months and 23 days.

        It was a touching yet glorious scene which transpired a few hours before Death unlocked to her sainted spirit the portals of Eternal Life. After calling papa and mamma, my two remaining sisters and I to her bedside, she, with earnestness in her weary, flute-like voice, asked for the assurance that we would all meet her in the home of God, telling us that Jesus and the angels were with her, and that she would soon be safely on the Golden Shore.

        About 4 a.m. little Eva gave herself into the hands of Jesus, and after a short prayer, in which she plead that she might be spared to see another precious Sabbath, the sweet flower ceased to speak and it was apparent to all that the end was nigh. She remained peaceful and quiet until about 8 o'clock, when she fell gently into those slumbers from which God's children never wake to weep.

        'Tis hard to part when friends are dear. I weep when I think that her merry, ringing laugh will never again gladden my heart; her footsteps will make no more music as they rush to meet me; but, through the dense shadows, I know that Eva still lives amid

the transporting prospects of the Heavenly City, and that it will not be long before I shall press the sands of gold and revel in Heaven's splendors yet untold; then I shall know that it was God, and He did as He thought best.

        Sister was perfectly devoted to her Sabbath School class, and her last request upon earth was, "Mamma, after I am gone take the pennies I hold in my hand and give them to my Sunday School teacher. Then send a message to Aunt Maria, who lives in far-away California, that I am dead." With these remarks she breathed her last.

        The day following her death was a dismal one, but as Dr. Rondthaler remarked on the way to the cemetery, it was in keeping with our feelings. Notwithstanding the inclemency of the weather, quite a host of friends and relatives turned out to pay their last tribute of respect to little Eva by attending her funeral and burial. Her Sabbath School class, and also the day school she attended, joined in the procession; so, amid showers of rain, tears and flowers, we committed her remains to earth.

        After the death of my sister, it seemed as if though I had nothing to live for, with the exception of my boy, so I gave him my full attention, often amusing him for hours at a time by relating stories of the cruel war, in which my father fought. I can almost see little Robah now as he clapped his hands with childish glee when I tried to imitate the cannon's roar and the rattle of the kettledrum.

        About that time I also began teaching my boy the English alphabet. I had a peculiar method of doing so. I would take a long sharp stick and form the different letters upon the ground. I adopted this plan in order to please and instruct him at the same time.

Then, at nightfall, when my husband returned home from his work, or hunting expeditions, I would relate to him how baby and I had passed the day.

        Oh! how many lonely hours we were compelled to spend together, as John seemed to have more than a mania for frequenting the theatre and other places of amusement. I often asked him whether he didn't think he would be far happier at home with Robah and I. The only reply he made was this, "Well, Ida, I will soon be through sowing my wild oats; then I will remain with you." I used to say to myself, "Will that time ever come?"

        The night baby Basil was born my husband remarked to me on coming to supper that he would not be home until about 11 o'clock, as he would be compelled to remain at the store in order to mark a bill of goods.

        Of course I thought that what he told me was true, and never doubted it in the least, and when I was taken violently ill I dispatched a messenger to the store in order to inform my husband, but he was nowhere to be found, and the boy was in the act of returning home without him when someone remarked that he thought Mr. Beard was at the theatre. Sure enough, there he was, sitting right up in front of the footlights when Usher White informed him that he was wanted at the door.

        Now, I knew nothing at all of this affair until several days afterwards; just thought that John came from the store when sent for, and it was by mere chance I learned otherwise. But murder will out, and my husband gave himself away before knowing it. I have always imagined since that he felt guilty over what he had done and that was why he spoke so unthoughtedly.

        A few days after the birth of our child John was sitting in the room and all at once he began laughing to himself. I asked the cause of his mirth. He remarked that he just happened to think of something one of the characters in "Esmeralda" had said a few nights before.

        I then asked him what he had referred to, and he said, "Oh, I see I have given myself completely away, so I suppose I might as well tell you about it."

        Then and there I lost confidence in the man I thought the one among all others.

        Oh! God, my life was a burden to me from that time forth, but I still hoped for the better, thinking perhaps there would yet be a change in regard to John's mode of living.

        Instead of what I had hoped for, the worst came, and one evening my husband informed me that he had accepted a position at travelling and would start in a few days, as he was tired of remaining in Winston, and thought his health would be better elsewhere.

        I told him I did not think he needed a tonic of this kind, as he never looked better than at present. He paid no attention to my remarks, and about the middle of July, 1886, he started out upon his first trip, selling tobacco for T. L. Vaughn, a wealthy manufacturer of our city.

        After remaining away for about six weeks his employers ordered him home, for what reason I have never been able to learn, or at least to learn anything definite. I have heard several times that it was on account of his extravagance in regard to stopping at the best hotels, etc. Whether this report be true I do not know, but there is one thing I do know, and that is, he never made the second trip for T. L. Vaughn, or anyone else.

Upon his return home he seemed more dissatisfied than ever with his surroundings and took great delight in relating to me how many pleasant evenings he had spent with his lady friends while in Knoxville, Tenn., and other places. He seemed to admire one certain married lady, or woman, in particular, or at least would refer to her more frequently than to the rest.

        I paid no attention to all this at first, just took it as a joke until I at last realized that John really meant what he said and seemed anxious that I should think the same.

        Well, such things are calculated to bring about the family stew, and this affair caused no little one in ours. I plainly told my husband that I was sick and tired of all this, and, furthermore, he could pack his grip, or I would mine, and put an end to the life which had grown to be a burden to both of us.

        When he saw I was determined to retaliate in regard to his conduct he at once informed me that the remarks made by him were only meant as a joke and not a reality. But I was not so easily beguiled into this way of thinking. Still, I let it all pass and endeavored to do my duty, as a true wife should, though at times while performing my household duties I was compelled to shed many bitter tears on account of the cruel treatment received at the hands of my husband.

        It seemed to give him a great deal of pleasure to see me in tears, so I tried very hard to keep them back. When I felt them being forced to my eyes, he would always say to me, "Now, just look at that little cry-baby. Ain't you ashamed of yourself? You ought to return to our mamma and remain with her a few years yet; then, perhaps, you would be able

to understand the duties of a wife and not cry at every little thing that happened to cross your path."

        But, reader, how could I refrain from relieving my feelings in this way when I realized at the last moment that I had no one to sympathize with me in my affliction? It's true, I was wedded to the miserable being we call man, but not to a kind and affectionate husband.

        My grief was unbearable and at times I was almost tempted to take the life God had given me, but after reconsidering the matter, I came to the conclusion that it would be a cowardly act to commit suicide; and, furthermore, I was determined not to send my soul down to perdition on account of the cruel treatment received at the hands of one vile wretch.

        My husband's presence grew more and more obnoxious to me as the days passed, and it was very seldom that I even looked at him, lest I should be compelled to cry out in my despair, "You murderer," as I then considered him nothing more nor less than one.

        While undergoing this mental strain my mother was stricken down upon a bed of sickness, and after five weeks of the most intense suffering her attending physician informed us that the end was nigh. But father, thinking perhaps there was yet a chance for her recovery, wired Dr. McGuire, of Richmond, to come at once to her bedside. Immediately upon his arrival he also informed us that we need not entertain the least particle of hope in regard to his being able to prolong her life for any length of time, as the disease had assumed a malignant form, therefore he could do nothing. The noted physician informed mother as to her critical condition, and after doing so she insisted that he perform an operation upon her body, as she was very anxious to ascertain the cause of her suffering.

        On performing the operation it was found that mother's suffering was caused by an immense tumor, and to remove it would be instant death, so we were obliged to let nature take its course and await the result.

        A few weeks previous to mother's being stricken down with this terrible disease my sister Flora had promised her heart and hand in marriage, and when mother learned that it was beyond all earthly aid to prolong her life she insisted that the wedding take place immediately, as she could then die better satisfied, knowing that her child would still have a protector when her dearest friend had passed away.

        We did everything within our power to please and comfort our beloved parent during the last few days allotted to her upon earth, so sister and I began making preparations for her wedding. We at first decided that it should take place at home in the parlor, in order that mother might be an eye-witness to the marriage ceremony. But, as the event drew near she grew much worse and it was thought best not to excite her any more than necessary, and that it would be advisable for us to repair to the Baptist church in order to have the marriage rites solemnized.

        It was on the 10th of November, 1886. I can almost see sister now as she came stepping down the aisle to the sweet strains of the wedding march and leaning upon the arm of W. R. Meroney, who was soon to become her protector through life. I prayed very earnestly for the moment that my fate would not be hers also. I afterwards felt that my prayer was answered, as Flora always appeared contented and happy during her married state.

        She was perfectly devoted to her husband and children; never seemed happier than when engaged in

doing some little act of kindness for them, and as the Salisbury News remarked, in speaking of her death in after years, that no husband nor children ever had a more devoted wife and mother. Her life was completely wrapped up in them and she gave herself as a sacrifice for the life of her boy.

        Upon our return home from church, after sister's marriage ceremony had been performed, we found mother very ill indeed. It was at first thought she would not survive until morning, but she again rallied and remained with us for several days afterward.

        During this time she suffered the most excruciating pain. Everything was done for her that loving hands could do, and we at last realized that we could do no more, but would be compelled to bid farewell to the dearest friend we had on earth. It was very sad indeed to think that mother would never meet us again at the door with her bright smile and cheerful voice, saying, "Come in." But such must be before the end of time.

        Then there was one great consolation, and that was our mother was perfectly willing and prepared to go, and no doubt rests peacefully to-day in heaven, free from all earthly sorrow and cares.

        The day before mother passed away, she called us one at a time to her bedside and asked for the assurance that we would all try to meet her in the home above. After receiving this promise she turned to father and said to him, "Pa, take good care of my baby Nell; be both father and mother to her, as she will have no one to look to now but you; therefore see that you do your duty, lest some sad fate befall our child, and cause your gray hairs to be brought down in sorrow to the grave."

        On the day following these remarks, between 12

and 1 o'clock p. m., mother breathed her last. She died just as if though she were falling into a quiet and peaceful slumber.

        I remained standing by her bedside for a few moments afterward, then left the room and never beheld her face again. On account of John's being ordered out of the house by my father, of course I accompanied him; was it not my duty to do so, as years before I had given up parents and everything dear to me; yes, all for my husband's sake?

        I was afterwards told that mother's remains were beautiful to behold, as she lay within her casket awaiting burial.

        We laid her to rest beside my sister Eva in the family plot in the cemetery, and wondering all the while which one of us would follow next.

        I did not return to my old home for several months after this sad event, and when I did I found another reigning in my own mother's place.

        This strange woman afterward proved herself to be a very cruel step-mother, as all of you will see. She formed a great dislike for Sister Nell, and began treating her harshly almost from the very day she entered my father's residence.

        Sister was not even allowed the privilege of having her friends visit her. If they did attempt such a thing they were ordered out of the house immediately by father's second wife. She always forbade them coming back again. She also forbade me putting my foot inside the door, and told me that if I persisted in doing so she would blow my brains out with her pistol; and in fact, at one time she snapped it in my face, saying, "I will not only put one ball into you, but three."

        Sister Nell had always been accustomed to having

her own way around home, and now the place seemed more like a prison to her than anything else. Finally, she was driven away from the old nest entirely by our cruel step- mother, and my heart sinks within me when I think of the sister who wanders alone to-day, God only knows where.

CHAPTER III.

IN MY OWN HOME.

        A short time after my father's second marriage my husband bought from R. D. Mosley a lovely plot of ground and built thereon a two-story dwelling. You can have no conception of how delighted I was on hearing that I was going to have a real home of my own.

        While the building was undergoing construction, John and I used to take a stroll in that direction nearly every Sabbath evening, in order to behold what progress the workmen had made during the week.

        I always insisted upon these visits, as I was very anxious for the time to arrive when we would be comfortably domiciled in our new abode.

        A few months previous to our residence being completed my feelings were very badly wounded on account of a wrong committed by the husband I at one time loved so dearly.

        He was then employed by D. D. Schouler as auctioneer, and came home to dinner one day bearing a large package in his arms, with no address written upon it. Of course I made sure the bundle was for me and began untying it immediately. All at once John frightened me by saying, "I wish you would let those things alone, as they don't belong to you, but to a young lady who is stopping with Mrs. Britz in Salem."

        I thought very strange of there being no address upon the package and told my husband so. He then became angry and said, "I do know in my soul you

missed your calling when you married me. You ought to have remained single and have practiced law or gotten a position as a detective. I think you could have realized a nice little sum from either occupation."

        I told John that I did not intend making him angry when I asked why there was no address upon the package; only thought it a singular affair, and that was why I had questioned him so closely; but, so long as he had become offended at my remarks, he could just use his own pleasure in regard to getting into a good humor again, as I didn't care which way wind blew.

        After finishing his noonday meal he immediately left home for the purpose of delivering this mysterious bundle. We were then occupying a little four-roomed cottage on Park avenue, and in order to reach Mr. Britz's residence John took the path leading down to the schoolgirls' play ground, our former trysting place, you remember; but things were changed from what they were in days gone by.

        I had formed a habit of following my husband to the door whenever he left home, in order to receive his parting kiss, but this time he took no notice of me whatever, just passed out without saying a word. I remained standing in the doorway, looking after him and brushing away the tears that were trickling down my cheeks and feeling as if though I were entirely forsaken by everyone.

        Just as my husband was turning a curve in the road I noticed a dark-haired female emerge from the bushes and follow in the direction he had gone. I at first thought nothing of this until I discovered that she was conversing with three young gentlemen who happened to be coming up the path. After giving

this vile creature the information she had asked they passed my residence. As they did so I heard one of them say, "I wonder why she wanted to know which way John Beard went?"

        Then I knew who was to receive the package I had thought my own, but, at the same time, hated to believe John guilty of such an act; so I made up my mind not to censure him too severe until I had given him a chance to vindicate himself in regard to the matter.

        I was very nervous all that afternoon, and to make things still worse Basil, the younger of my two boys, was taken ill and I was compelled to send Robah posthaste in search of his father. He was not at his place of business, but was afterwards found down at Shaffner's ice pond skating with a bevy of young ladies and positively refused to accompany Robah home in order to assist me in attending to the wants of our sick child. He did not return until about 11 o'clock that night, and when he entered the door I did not speak, but gave him one long look, which spoke louder than words, and I think he will remember it to his dying day.

        After retiring my husband tried to smooth everything over by explaining why it was that he was found at the pond instead of being at the store. He told me that he happened to meet Mr. Britz on the street and he informed him that the young lady who was to receive the package was not at home but at Shaffner's ice pond skating, so he turned in that direction instead of going on to Mr. B.'s residence.

        I said, "Well, now, what excuse can you give for not coming home when sent for?"

        He replied to me by saying, "There goes the lawyer again. That's so; I had forgotten about your being a near relative to the famous Newton Crumpler."

        These remarks only provoked me, and I said, "You may thank your God if you only become as smart a man as he proved himself to be, so do not cast any more of your insinuations at me, if you please, as I have a little crow to pick with you, anyhow."

        I did not pick the crow that night, as baby was very ill, but next morning I made the feathers fly. The incident reminded me of Lord Byron accusing his wife of her infidelity. I make this comparison on account of the expression on my husband's face being the same as that of Byron's untrue wife as she knelt at his feet, trying to make some plausible excuse in regard to her past conduct and at the same time imploring his forgiveness.

        A few days after this occurrence I was stricken down with a severe case of diphtheria, which lasted nearly four weeks. During this time I was treated in the most brutal manner by my noble protector. One evening he dropped the phial containing a wash for my throat. This raised his ire and he remarked that I could do without having my throat painted until morning, as he did not intend returning to the drug store for more medicine that night.

        Now, I fully understood the nature of my disease and knew that unless it received close attention death would be the result, so I insisted on John's returning once more to the druggist, in order to obtain something that would alleviate my suffering. This he refused to do, and on the following day when the physician arrived he found me suffering very much indeed, and after telling how many hours had passed since my throat received treatment, he looked John straight in the face and said, "Well, do you intend letting her die from want of attention?"

        My husband then remarked that he did not see any

use of buying such expensive medicine when he could manufacture the same from the little red balls that grew upon oak trees.

        The Sabbath that I lay almost at Death's door my husband remained away from home all day, leaving no one but a little girl to attend to my wants. I suppose I would have died if it had not been for the attention I received from Mrs. F. E. Heckard and Miss Ola Leak, neighbor ladies. They did everything within their power to comfort me, and my life was spared, although contrary to John's wishes, I suppose.

        As soon as I was able to be up and around in my room I began packing, preparatory to moving into our new residence, and hoping all the while that there would be a great change in regard to my husband's mode of living. At one time I felt as though there was going to be, as he erected a family altar and seemed to be doing better. He only continued in the right path for three days, then fell back into the old way again.

        He afterwards remarked that he had only been holding prayers as a blind and nothing more, so all that I had hoped for was like the foundation built upon the sand - soon washed away - and the home that I had looked forward to being one of peace and happiness was destined to be as the others had been, so I made up my mind to become reconciled to it all, although it was very hard at first for me to do so. After building the number of air castles I had in the past, all the real pleasure I had was in keeping my house and children neat and clean. I also took great delight in raising different kinds of fowls and had quite a number of them around my door.

        One evening Brother Brown, our beloved pastor, called to see me, and remarked that my home

reminded him of a little farm and one that was well kept. Oh! how I longed for a companion in this home, but my husband was never to be one to me. I used to nearly burn my face into a crisp while engaged in preparing his meals over the hot stove. The thanks I received for this was a cruel remark, which hurt me more than a blow would have done. He would say on his return home to dinner, "Why, Ida, your face reminds me of an old turkey gobbler," on account of its looking so red.

        I always replied to him in this way, "Well, John, if you were compelled to remain over the hot stove for the same length of time that I am, your face would be red, too."

        How much further one word of praise would have gone instead of these cutting remarks! Husbands, if such you be, who happen to read what I have written, let me implore you to speak kindly to the wife of your bosom. You have no idea how many privations she endures for your sake, and one cross word from you whom she adores often cuts keener than a knife to her heart and causes her to regret the day she became your bride.

        I was compelled to make this assertion many, many times during my married life. During my housekeeping period my husband would never allow me to live anywhere except in the suburbs of our city, and said that he did not intend dressing me up in the latest style for some other fellow to fall in love with. I used to say to him, "Why, John, you ought to be more than ashamed of yourself for even mentioning such a thing, when you know that I live for you and you only, and, as I am of a domestic turn of mind, take great delight in remaining at home in order to keep everything neat and clean."

        I always tried to have certain day and hour in which my work must be done. I suppose I inherited this trait from my mother. She was of German descent and believed in doing everything, systematically. I also had a place for each and ever article about the house. John often remarked to his friends that he believed I was losing my mind on the subject of housekeeping and that I reminded him of a clean devil. These remarks would bring the tears to my eyes. After working hard to please the man I fairly worshipped, my feelings were very often wounded on account of John's taking no notice whatever of the different articles of fancy work I made with my own hands and placed within our room. I would always call his attention to the things first before he would say one word in any shape or form, then it would be something like this, "Oh! Ida, you know that I do not care for fancy work and such things; so you need not trouble yourself about making any more for my benefit."

        Now, why couldn't he have said, "Yes, the things are very nice indeed, and my little wife was very smart to make them for her old John boy," then I would have felt as if though I had something, to live for, but as it was, I almost wished for death, and more than once was tempted to exclaim, "Is there a just God or no?"

        It seemed to me as if though I had more than my share of trouble, especially for one so frail as I.

        About this time I was thrown into a very excited frame of mind on account of my Sister Nell disappearing suddenly from her home. She was persuaded away by our step-mother's daughter, Octavia Wellons. What Miss Wellon's motives were for causing all this trouble will remain a secret, I suppose, until

the end of time; but there's one thing I will say, and that is, she broke my father's heart. He never seemed to rally from that time forth, and I think his mind was badly impaired on account of it - in fact, he at one time told me so, and said that he did not care how soon death relieved him of his sufferings. Oh! why can't those who suffer die; but, instead, they live on and on for an unlimited length of time.

        Miss Wellons not only broke my father's heart but caused me a great deal of anxiety. I will never forget the many sleepless nights I passed, neither will I forget how I stood in the Western Union Telegraph office anxiously awaiting the welcome message from Detective Pfhol and my husband that sister was found and on her way home.

        When the glad tidings reached my ear that such was the case I felt as if though I must run to mother and clasp my arms around her neck, saying, "Thank God, Nell still lives and will soon be with us once more."

        But, oh! how sad when the thought occurred to me that mother was not at the old home to welcome her child as of yore. So I wired Sister Flora at Salisbury and she came at once. Such a reunion was never known. I will not go into details in regard to Nellie's flight, as I deem it sufficient to say that she had quite a hazardous one; was found in a penniless condition, and on account of being hatless was held a prisoner at the Cortenia Hotel in Covington, Ky., and was more than glad to be released from her situation.

        I made up my mind that on her return she should find a home with me during the remainder of her young life, but father would not consent to this, so she was again placed under her cruel step-mother's control, only to cause me more trouble in days that were to follow.

        Our step-mother declared that Nell should never rest in peace while the blood was warm in her head. She also said that she would never be satisfied until she saw sister laid in her casket - ready for the grave.

        Well, I must say that I feel now as if though my trouble was just beginning.

        At that period of my life it was then that John insisted that we dispose of our residence in order that he might go into business for himself. Whenever he saw my father coming to see us he would say, "Now, Ida, yonder comes your pa, and I want to say to him when he gets here that you are anxious to break up housekeeping and try boarding for awhile, as you are not very strong and think a little rest would do you good."

        I asked my husband why he wanted me to say all this to father. He said, "Oh, well, I just don't want him to think that I am anxious to sell the property after his giving us the painting of the house."

        John told me that if I would agree to dispose of our home he would pay me $100 to sign the deed and that I should be placed under Dr. McGuire at Richmond for treatment, as I was then very nervous. At the same time he insisted on me having my life insured for his benefit. I finally agreed to sign the deed for $100, but told him in plain English that I would never consent to having my life insured for his benefit, nor no one else, as I didn't believe in it.

        This did not seem to set well with him, and he made a few profane remarks, which I took no notice of whatever, but told him I did not care much whether we disposed of our home or not, unless we could realize some clean capital by the sale of it.

        He said, "Well, I am now corresponding with H. J. Thomas, a practicing physician of Wisconsin, who

is very anxious to locate somewhere down South, and thinks our little city the place for him. No doubt he will be the purchaser of our home. In the meantime we will break up housekeeping and advertise the property for rent. I do not think it will be a difficult matter to find a tenant for a place like this."

        The day following the advertisement John came rushing into the dining-room, saying, "Mamma, what do you think? I have had an applicant for the house already." Of course I was curious to know who it was and insisted on my husband's telling me. After his doing so I said, "Well, do as you think best about the matter, but you know the reputation this widow bears in regard to paying her debts, and I believe if I were in your place I would look around for someone else."

        John then turned red in the face and told me to shut up, as he intended giving the widow permission to move into our house, and, furthermore, was not going to charge her one cent of rent.

        These remarks raised my ire a little too much and I said, "Yes, I would just like for you to attempt such a thing, I would soon show you the fruits of a pine torch."

        My husband left home immediately after this. I suppose he did so in order to inform his tenant as to what had been said between he and I in regard to her taking possession of the house.

        That night he returned home from the store as pleased as a basket of chips, and wanted to know how soon I would be ready to move down street. I said, "Oh, well, if I must I must, and will try and arrange it so that we can move by the first or middle of June," but, oh, how I did hate to leave the home I called my own. At the same time I thought it best to obey the

man whose name I bore, so made no more fuss about the matter, and on the 16th of June, 1890, we broke up housekeeping and obtained board with Mrs. Rose Williams, who ran the City Hotel on Main street, over Jacobs' clothing store.

        We had only been installed in our new quarters about a week when one morning my husband came to breakfast and informed me that D. D. Schouler, his employer, had discharged him on my account.

        I said, "What have I done that would cause Schouler to discharge you?" He refused to answer my question, and I then told him that I intended going over to investigate the matter myself. He forbade me doing so, and I have remained in the dark ever since as to why he received his dismissal.

        We remained with Mrs. Williams six months. Then she informed us that we must pay more than fifty dollars per month for board. I told her that we were not willing to do so and that I would look around for another place, which I did, and secured very nice board and lodging with Mrs. Elizabeth Rierson, in the Buxton Block, on Liberty street. I would have been very happy in my new home if John had acted as he ought to have done, but instead he gave me a great deal of trouble on account of his mode of living. He always pretended to the outside world that he was perfectly devoted to me, but such was not the case.

        Oh! the profane language I was compelled to endure on his return home at night. I remember once of his not making his appearance in my room until 2 o'clock in the morning, and when I questioned him as to why he had remained out until this late hour, he began cursing and told me that it was none of my d---- business where he had been as he was a man of his own, and generally went and came when he

pleased. He finally cooled down long enough to say that as it was a pretty moonlight night he had been showing a shoe salesman over our city. I asked him whether he thought I was fool enough to believe such a story. I said, "You might tell such things to the marines, but not to me."

        He then began cursing again at such a rate that Mrs. Rierson was forced to call in Policeman Hanner to quiet him. When Mr. Hanner came to our door, John pointed a pistol right in his face, and told him to carry himself back down on the street, or he would blow his brains out. The policeman did as requested, but I think it was on my account. Then John said, "Now, Ida, if they try to arrest me to-morrow, you must tell them that I had a nightmare, and that was why I raised such a racket." So I passed the following day almost in agony, for fear I would be compelled to commit this awful sin in order to shield my husband.

        John never allowed me to go anywhere unless he was with me. All that he had to say was, "Ida, you can't go," and that was sufficient. I never asked the second time.

        One evening Mrs. Rierson insisted on me accompanying her to church. I promised to do so, but when I learned that it was against my husband's wishes, I complained of a severe headache and remained in my room instead of fulfilling the promise I had made.

        Oh! why did I do all this for one who appreciated it so little, and afterward cast me aside for another when I grew old.

        Another trait of John's was to fly into a passion in a minute if I happened to address in a friendly manner either of the young salesmen employed in our

store. He formed a great dislike for Allie Hege especially. Why it was, I do not know, for I always looked upon Allie as a mere child, and treated him as such.

        One evening, while at the Rierson House, the children and I were sitting out on the balcony enjoying some frozen cream. All at once young Hege passed and said, "Why, good evening, Mrs. Beard; what are you all doing up there?"

        I told him that we were trying to keep cool, and insisted on his partaking of a saucer of cream also.

        I didn't think there would be any harm in doing this; only thought I was doing something in return for his kindness towards Basil. Allie had not more than seated himself in our midst when my husband happened to step out on the pavement in front of his place of business, and, I supposed, noticed some one besides the children on the balcony with me.

        I tell you the store was closed early for one time, and I enjoyed John's society during the remainder of the evening. He treated our guest politely while with us, but no sooner than he was out of sight my husband began cursing at a terrific rate, and threatened to discharge young Hege on the following morning.

        Now, I thought I had borne enough, and told John so. I said, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself for censuring me as you have during the last five minutes, when you know that I only regard Allie as a boy and treat him accordingly."

        My husband not only objected to my treating Allie in a cordial manner, but young Crowell also. At one time he lay sick at the Rierson in a room adjoining our room, and while suffering from the effects of a high fever he called for water. I knew there was no

one to wait upon him, and I did so myself by placing a pitcher of ice water on the outside of his door. For this act I received the most unmerciful scolding from John. I told him I did not mean any harm by placing the water at the door; was only anxious to do something for Mr. Crowell, as he was suffering and here among strangers.

        The following morning my cousin sent me a beautiful box of flowers and cake. Having more than I desired for my own use, thought I would cheer the young bookkeeper up a bit by letting Basil carry him some of both. The minute I had sent the things I said to myself, "Now I will catch it again," so sat down to await John's return home from the store. When he came, I told him what I had done, and said, "Now, I do hope you will not scold me for this little act of kindness, when it was only to brighten up a poor sick boy's room."

        My husband began cursing as usual, and said, "Ida, try it once more, and I will leave you, so help me God."

        Well, now I have given you some idea of my life at the Rierson House. After boarding at the above named place for nearly two years, we at last had a little misunderstanding - on account of the children. We then tried boarding with Mrs. Westbrook, a cousin of John's; but this did not last long, as she and I could not get along at all.

        On leaving Mrs. Westbrook's residence, we moved to the Jones House, and I must say that some of the happiest moments of my married life were spent with this hospitable family. It seemed as if though they could never do enough for us.

        On going to the Jones House, the proprietor informed us that he could not give us a room in the

main building, as every one was then occupied, but would let us have a little brick structure formerly known as Judge Wilson's law office. We accepted the offer, and moved in at once.

        I said to John, "Now, do please let's begin life anew, and I want you to assist me in arranging our furniture in the room"; but once more he refused to do so, and told me that he was willing to hire Mr. Samuel Miller for the purpose; so, with Mr. Miller's aid I soon had a cosy little nest; but, oh, how much more I would have appreciated my husband's assistance.

        Everyone thought me perfectly happy while at the Jones House, but alas! I was not. It's