A beautiful bird without a name, or, A true Kentucky girl

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

Preface

Miss Belle Peterson, the Authoress of this work and whose name is familiar to us all, is a native of. North Carolina, but for several years has been a resident of Kentucky, where the plot of her story is laid, and where she now resides upon one of the most popular streets of Louisville. She is a descendant of Daniel Boone, the great Pioneer of the West, and of Mary Slocum, distinguished in the Revolutionary struggle of the colonies with the mother country. She is also a grandniece of the celebrated William Rufus King, once Governor of the State of Alabama and afterward Vice-president of the United States.

Miss Peterson deserves the success she has attained in the literary world, this being her fourth production, all of which have received the high commendations of the press.

The style of the present story is pleasing and graceful, also stirring and vivid ; being a touching tribute to woman’s constancy and devotion, and man’s gallantry and bravery, and which we hope will grow rapidly into public favor.

And now, with our best wishes for the success of this interesting work of the fair Authoress of Kentucky, we commend it to the public.

Mrs. B. Kennedy.

Contents

PAGE.

I. A leap from the midnight train — A mother’s wild despair —

A sad funeral, 5

Chapter I

A LEAP FROM THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN A MOTHER’S WILD DE- SPAIR A SAD FUNERAL.

White-winged peace sits enthroned on yon fleecy cloud, and the day-god, clothed in majesty sublime, shoots forth his golden arrows, spreading bright effulgence through my rippling hair, and playing hide-and-seek around my pen as I endeavor to gather up a few scattered links of memory’s broken chain. Had my pen been plucked from some beautiful bird of paradise and dipped in the dyes of the rainbow as it steeps its lovely form in the rays of a midday sun that turns the dewdrops into sparkling diamonds, and makes rainbow bridges of the seven precious stones, and builds castles of ruby with gates of pearl, I might attempt to paint in glowing colors the story of one whose life I am about to narrate; and should these written pages rest beneath the critic’s eye, deal gently with the one who traced them there, for my pen is but a steel one, and is dipped in blue ink ; and my readers will have to accept the plain truth from my simple and unsophisticated pen.

It is a calm, hazy October morning. Soft, golden-edged clouds float peacefully over the blue vault of heaven and 2 (5)

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cast their shadows upon my table as I write. A fragrant breeze, so fresh and pure that one feels sure its original home must have been in some far-away paradisical island in a southern sea, is holding sweet communion with the dying leaves as they breathe a sad farewell to the parent oak that stands like a sentinel in triumphal security, twining its leaf-clad arms in close embrace. A pure stillness is floating through the air, while the silver gleam of the reaper’s blade flashes mid autumn’s generous sheaves, and all nature seems to sink into one grand repose, wherein strife and misery and death appear to have 10 part.

The ocean of life may present a calm, unbroken surface to the eye — the very picture of repose — while beneath, the dark and turbid current is surging to and fro, black and angry. The sky may smile without a cloud, as its blue depths are bathed in a flood of sunshine; and yet the storm be brewing and the lightning be heating its red bolts and the storm-troops marshaling for the onset. The human countenance may be as calm as that ocean, while bitter waters are welling up in the heart as bright with sunshine as that sky unclouded, and yet the fierce tempest be sweeping across the soul, or the echoes of sorrow’s wail linger mid ruins of hopes which have been destroyed. As we bury the past and write its epitaph we turn a new leaf in the volume of time and enter upon the future with rekindled hopes and aspirations.

Perhaps it is well for us that an impenetrable veil of mystery hangs over our future that is unsolvable by human reason. “What a world of chance! Fortune may make us her idol to-day and her foot-ball to-morrow.” Nothing in this world ever turns out just as we expect it. You can go on and plan and contrive and say you will do thus and so, and when the time comes round you will be thunder-struck at the odd turn every thing has taken, totally different from your plans, no matter how carefully laid and arranged. We must go through the world not knowing, taking every thing on trust. And the person is wise indeed who has courage enough to take the world just as he finds it, without any absurd expectations.

“Blessed is he who expects nothing,” says the old proverb, “for then he will never be disappointed.”

Life, however, has some sunny spots, but they who seek happiness only from this world find but few of them. The gifted Byron, possessed of rank and talent by which he swayed at will the human heart, and the waking of whose harp nations heard entranced, was most unhappy. Ambition is a demon ; and Fame has eagle’s wings, and she mounts not as high as we desire. When all is gained, how little then is won ! And yet to gain that little, how much is lost! Let us once aspire, and madness follows. Could we but drag the purple from the hero’s heart ; could we but tear the laurel from the poet’s throbbing brow, and read their doubts, their dangers, their despair, we might learn a greater lesson than we shall ever acquire by

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musing over their exploits or their aspirations. Think of unrecognized Caesar, with his wasting youth, weeping over the Macedonian’s young career ! Could Pharsalia compensate for those withering pangs? View the obscure Napoleon starving in the streets of Paris! What was St. Helena to the bitterness of such existence? The visions of past glory might illumine even that dark imprisonment, but to be conscious that his supernatural energies might die away without creating their miracles — can the wheel or the bastile rival the torture of such a thought ? Behold Byron bending over his shattered lyre, with inspiration in his very rage ! And the pert taunt could sting even this child of light! To doubt the truth of the creed in which you have been nurtured is not so terrific as to doubt respecting the intellectual vigor, on the strength of which you have staked your happiness.

The glorious king of day had finished his grand parade, ,and his flaming banner of bronze and gold was waving triumphantly in the western sky, when he tipped his royal .cap, and with a low bow bid good-night to the nocturnal queen as she arose in her chariot of silver, surrounded by her maids of honor, trembling lest they should offend her majesty. The distant hills blushed under the good-night kiss of the setting sun ; and as if for shame twilight shut her curtain down and pinned it with a star ; and the limpid, silvery waters, as if offended, hurriedly left their mountain home, gurgling and foaming and moaning as they threw themselves upon the rocks below, breaking into snowy spray, and then gathering themselves together again, leaped into the deep, quiet waters of the Ohio.

Away in the west a few golden-edged clouds lay along the horizon, illuminated by the rays of the setting sun which had just sunk to rest behind the treetops as if loth to leave to the shadows of night the beautiful scene it so lately had clad in a sheen of gold, until the waters of the Ohio seemed turned into a sea like unto that which the wise king added to the glories of the temple.

Dr. St. George had been standing at his office window for some time watching the beautiful scene. Though his face bore traces of sadness, his eyes were bright with the fire of youth, and hope was strong in his manly breast. Though young, he had aspired to the topmost round of his profession, and stood among the first physicians of the day. No man was more loved in the community where he was reared ; and no physician was more honored and respected in the field where he labored. He had married quite young, and eighteen months of perfect happiness had passed over his head. Nothing had come to disturb the quietude of his short but peaceful wedded life, until one day he found the canker-worm eating into the heart of his flower, and the hectic flush burning like rubies upon her cheek. While in this deep reverie, a hand was gently laid upon his shoulder, and turning round he beheld one of the disciples of Blackstone, who said :

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‘ ‘ I have been standing at your elbow at least a half hour, and must say that I have never seen any one so completely lost in thought. Why, doctor, what is the matter? You would impress one with the idea that you were contemplating suicide.”

The doctor smiled as he gave the lawyer a warm grasp of the hand, but it was any thing but a mirthful flash ; there was something lacking in that smile, and something, too, was there which told of a sorrow deep down in the hidden chambers of his soul that had never been resurrected.

“You take me rather by surprise,” said he; “I thought you had left the city.”

“ I have been away from the city several days,” said the lawyer, “ and have just returned. I saw your’s and your wife’s departure for the White Sulphur in the socials this morning, and thought that I would drop round and see you. I suppose you leave to-morrow morning.”

“Yes,” replied the doctor; “all preparations have been made to start on the 26th.”

“ By the way, have you obtained a nurse?” said the lawyer. “ I saw your advertisement for one ; if you have not, I think that I can send you a most excellent one, and one, too, who has had considerable experience.”

“Yes; I was fortunate enough to get one this morning,” said the doctor; “and I think my wife will be pleased with her. She is an old Spanish woman, and has

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II spent her whole life in the nursery. She says she is formerly of Cincinnati.”

“I am sorry to see you leave just at this time,” said the lawyer ; ‘ ‘ for I think that it would be very essential that you should be at court when that case comes off. ”

“I saw your partner, Mr. Calhone, this morning, and he told me that it was not necessary that I should be there,” said Dr. St. George, looking very much disappointed.

“I know,” said the lawyer, “we did think so at first; but something has caused us to change our minds, and we think it is very essential that you should be there in person. I am sorry to disappoint you,” he continued, “ but one should look after his own interest.

“I must first look after the interest of my wife,” said the doctor ; “I can not see her dying right under my nose and not make an effort to save her, for the sake of a few dollars ; no, not for millions. She has been neglected too long already,” and he turned and gazed out of the window for several minutes.

“You must excuse me,” said the lawyer; “this is the first of my knowing about her illness ; I thought you were merely going on a pleasure trip.”

“My wife is not confined to her bed, and never has been, but any one can see that she is dying by degrees ; that cough is wearing her life away, and unless she has a change I am afraid there is not much hope. And I never

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can forgive myself for not sending her sooner, for it was only selfishness in me ; I could not bear the thought of her leaving me for even a week.”

Then there was silence, when the lawyer said, ‘ ‘ I am sorry for you, my friend, and hope it is not as bad as you think, and perhaps this trip will be beneficial to her. Judge Holliday and family are going to start to-morrow evening, he continued, “and I know the old judge will take great pleasure in doing any thing for your wife that lies in his power, besides he has a most excellent one himself, and I don’t think you would have any cause to be uneasy should she go in company with them.”

“I know the judge quite well,” said the doctor, “and I am glad that he and his wife are going ; I think I will go around and see him after tea, and see what arrangement we can make.”

“I have no doubt but that your wife will consent to your remaining until after court, when you explain every thing to her,” the lawyer replied.

“She will consent to any thing that will promote my welfare,” said the doctor; “for if any man was ever blessed with a good wife I am.”

The two men walked out of the office, and after bidding each other good-night each sought his respective home ; one pondering over perplexing questions and tangled problems of law, the other trying to decide whether or not to permit his wife to go alone to the springs. But he

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could not decide, and said to himself, “Well, I will leave it to her, and whatever her decision is I will abide by it, let it be whatever it may.”

At the window of a beautiful mansion stood an exquisitely beautiful, high-bred woman, whose every motion was replete with grace and harmony. Long she gazed upon the fading loveliness ; and when at last the glorious clouds had lost their splendor, and lay dense and somber, as if in grief that the glorious king had departed ; and the lakes and rivers also seemed to join in the same aspect of regret, the full moon rose up into the sky, and both clouds and lake caught up her smiles, and lay like islands of silver in earth and heaven.

“We will soon see papa,” said she, as she knelt down beside the crib and kissed her babe that was cooing and smiling and throwing up its little dimpled arms and tiny hands, with one little foot peeping out from beneath the white spread. Long the beautiful mother gazed upon her smiling baby from out the inner sanctuary of her souk Then she kissed its little face and hands and feet; now’ and then pressing it to her throbbing heart with an eagerness that seemed as though she expected every minute something would tear it from her embrace; and then she uttered a prayer, that He who holds the world as water in the hollow of His hand would wratch over her precious darling, and protect it from the storms of life, and from the temptations of this cold, fallacious world, and guide its tender footsteps over the rugged and stony paths as it ascended the steeps of Time ; for ere long she would impress the parting kiss upon its white brow, and seek a home in that land from whence no traveler returns, and its tiny feet would have to travel the thorny labyrinths of life without a mother’s tender care and loving counsel. As these truths flashed before her she buried her face in her hands, and slow, scalding tears trickled through her slender fingers and dropped upon the white spread. What a ray of sunshine connected that mother and child, for holy as heaven is a mother’s tender love ! It is the love of many prayers and tears ; time but strengthens it. It is pure, unalloyed, unselfish. It is the only love which in this teeming earth asks no more.

**********

Dr. St. George walked with hasty steps toward his dwelling. When he reached the front steps he paused for a moment, and then walked round to the back of the house and ascended the back steps to his wife’s chamber and entered unnoticed. What a spectacle presented itself to his sight. The mother of his child kneeling over her baby, bathing its face in her tears, and that baby laughing and frolicing as hilariously as if it was taking a warm shower bath, and had never known an hour of baby-grief. This was too much for him. A man can stand any thing but a woman’s tears. He knelt down beside her and gently raised her head and said, in a low, measured tone, indicative of suppressed emotion :

“What is the matter with my darling? What are all these tears for, mamma?”

“Nothing, dear,” said she, drying her eyes with baby’s dress. “I was only feeling sad.”

“Only feeling sad?”

“ Yes.”

“ What made you feel sad, darling? Is there any thing troubling you ? ”

“No, dear; nothing. Perhaps it is foolish of me, but I have felt all day that some great sorrow was going to befall us in some way. I have a presentiment of it, and I never felt as I do now — never! I can not account for it, unless it is my bad health, for nothing can happen to us, surely, Robert. Nothing that is very bad, do you think?”

“No, darling,” said he, drawing her closer to his bosom. Nothing shall ever come to mar one single hour of your happiness if I can help it, and you must not make any more mountains to climb, for I am afraid you will never be able to climb them by your little self, and have baby to carry too. Now promise me that you wont be foolish again, nor shed any more tears. Will you promise, dear?”

“Yes,” was the faint reply. “But why did you come up the back steps?”

“Why just to catch you crying, and baby laughing at you. You have no idea what a spectacle you two made; ” and he stooped down and imprinted a kiss upon the lips of the laughing baby as two little hands made an attempt to grasp his whiskers. “That is right, baby,” said he,, “always laugh at mamma when she makes mountains and cries over them ”

“Our nurse has come, Robert,” said she, as they walked out upon the veranda.

“And do you think you will like her?” asked he, looking down inquiringly into her face.

“I don’t like her much, Robert,” said she; “but I suppose it ’s only another silly whim, and perhaps I may like her after all. She seems to love the baby very much.”

“I am sorry you are disappointed, but perhaps you will like her after you become better acquainted; but I have argued that first impressions are always best. If you don’t like her, dear,” he continued, “ Mr. Wellington, my lawyer, says he knows of one he is sure that we can get, and he recommended her very highly to me.”

“Perhaps we had better take this one,” she said, after a few minutes’ deliberation. I think I will try to like her, because she loves the baby, and the little thing seemed to take to her immediately,” she continued, smiling.

“And you think you will keep her?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I hope you wont have cause to regret it,” said he;” and he related to her the conversation he had had with his lawyer that evening with regard to her going in company with Judge Holliday, that he might remain until after court. “Only one week, dear, ” he continued, “and then I will start immediately.”

To this proposition she consented, but in her heart she felt sadly disappointed at not having her husband with her as she anticipated ; but for fear of making him feel badly (and woman like) she concealed her real feelings from him with the shadow of a smile.

A good wife is to a man wisdom, strength, and courage. A bad one is confusion, weakness, and despair. No condition is hopeless to a man that possesses a good wife — one that is possessed with firmness, decision, and economy. Man is strong, but his heart is not adamant. He needs a a tranquil home, and especially if he is an intelligent man, with whole head, he needs its moral force in the conflict of life. To recover his composure, home must be a place of peace and comfort. There his soul renews its strength and goes forth with renewed vigor to encounter the labors and troubles of life. But if at home he finds no rest, and there is met with bad temper, jealousy, and gloom, or assailed with complaints or censure, hope vanishes and he sinks into despair.

**********

It was ten o’clock when the great iron steed thundered up to the railway depot, puffing and blowing as if the monster were tired out, and there it stood still panting.

“ But now unheard, I saw afar His cloud of windy mane ;

Now, level as a blazing star,

He thunders thro’ the plain.

“ The life he needs, the food he loves,

This cold earth bears no more ;

He fodders on the eternal groves That heard the dragons roar.

“ Strong with the feast, he roars and runs, And in his maw unfurled Evolves the folded fire of suns That lit a grander world.

“ Disdainful from his fiery jaws He snorts his vital heat ;

And easy as his shadow draws, Longdrawn, the living street.”

The train that evening was an hour late, and the little party for the springs had grown impatient, all save two, and to them time was like the locomotive which*would soon separate them.

After securing a sleeping-car for his little family, and assuring his wife that he would be with them as soon as business would permit him, he kissed her and baby good-bye. For a moment her arms clung around his neck and her head rested upon his bosom, which had been its resting place for eighteen months, little dreaming that it would be the last time her head would rest there in life. Only a

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moment, and the signal-bell sounded ! Another moment, and the train was lost to view, dashing through the midnight blackness.

The travelers were soon tucked away, each in his berth, and oblivion closed their eyes to the headlong career of the iron steed that seemed to lead them to destruction. But there were two, at least, that refused this sweet nectar. One, the schemer and plotter of a hideous crime; the other, the victim.

For a long time Mrs. St. George lay tossing upon her sleepless couch, trying in vain to banish the sad and gloomy forebodings that assailed her pillow, and .to find rest in a haven of sleep ; but she could not sleep, and she arose and drew back the curtain and sat gazing out vacantly into the shadows with fixed and fascinated eyes, watching the. gloomy hills and the black, mysterious woods that seemed to her as if their density shrouded nameless horrors. Then watching the tall, dark, motionless trees that seemed to stand like specter-sentinels stretching out their long arms beside the line, watching the wayside stations where the men waited to wave aloft the light that was the signal of safety, and where with a shrill shriek cutting the pall of smoke, and without a pause or an instant’s slackening the iron monster tore past in a storm of thunder and fire— the red sparks flying and flashing up in showers from the glowing wheels. It was now twelve o’clock, but sleep refused to comfort this weary traveler

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until overcome by exhaustion she dropped into a feverish, troubled slumber. The light from the lamp shone upon her pale, white face, and the long, silken lashes lay heavily upon her tear-stained cheeks. Now and then a deep, heavy sigh escaped her lips, and once a dry sob shook her frame as if she were again passing through the painful ordeal of separation. But gradually the traces of emotion disappeared, and that marvelous peace which is found only in the countenances of children or on the faces of the dead settled like a benediction over her features. Once she was aroused by the cry of her baby, which the nurse had in charge, and who occupied a berth opposite hers, but it was only for a moment, and both mother and infant were again sleeping the sleep of innocence.

It was two o’clock then the train stopped for water and fuel, and a woman with a fiendish smile playing round her mouth, stealthily drew aside the curtain, and with a cat-like tread walked out upon the platform at the rear of the car. She looked cautiously around her. No one observed her now, and the baby was sleeping quietly in her arms. “My time now,” said she with a chuckle, and with this she leaped with the bound of a tiger and disap^- peared in the dark woods, hugging close to her breast the sleeping infant. Again the signal-bell sounded and the train sped on, unmindful of the distance it was putting between mother and child.

And that mother, all unconscious of the fearful leap of

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her wandering babe, slept on, though her spirit was with her darling, for in her wild, feverish dreams she stretched out her arms to catch it as she saw it fall from a high precipice and dashed upon the rocks below. In her exertions she awoke, bathed in a cold perspiration, and for some moments was too weak and exhausted to speak. Presently she drew aside the curtain and called the nurse, but no answer came, and thinking both nurse and baby were asleep she fell back upon her pillow and moaned. "That was a dreadful dream,” she murmured; "but it is so foolish of me to worry over dreams when I know that my darling is so near me and is sleeping so sweetly.” And she imagined she could hear its peaceful, low breathing, and hear it laughing in its sleep, and cooing to the angels as they hovered around it and let their fingers wander through its shining hair.

All was quiet and peaceful within save the gentle footsteps of the night-watch, and the heavy breathing of the weary travelers. Without, the roaring of the train, and the keen whistle of the engine as it plowed through the darkened woods and wound around the rugged mountain sides. Now and then a far-off roll of thunder faintly shook the hills until the heavens, riven by sheets of flame, thrilled with ominous echoes and zigzag lightning whirled down the murky sky. A storm was threatening darkly, but the storm-king had compassion upon the little wandering babe and hung out his flag of peace, and the stars

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stepped forth at the command of their gentle queen, and burned like altar candles around the throne of God, until the sweet red light of Aurora relieved the shining host of their faithful vigil, and placed her flaming banner in the east, as a signal for the coming of the day-god. Its rosy light fell into the rapidly-moving car and cast a glow over the drapery and upon the carpet.

It was now six o’clock, and the travelers were still sleeping, and the morning sun was streaming through the glass doors, its golden rays striking, in discordant brilliancy, between the closely-drawn curtains, and dancing in dazzling gleams on the floor as gayly as though no tragedy had been enacted between its setting and its rising. Mrs. St. George arose and went feebly to her nurse’s bed in order to imprint a morning kiss upon her sleeping babe, but to her horror the bed was empty and the nurse and infant nowhere to be found. She called, but no answer came; she searched for them, but in vain. Her babe was gone; no loving blue eyes looked up into her own ; no cooing laughter fell upon her ear; her darling, her life was gone. Then the fearful vision flashed before her ; she was warned in her dreams, but too late ; and as one stricken by a heavy blow she threw up her hands and fell to the floor. A stifled moan and a ring of blood told where the dagger had pierced — the same dagger, grief, which has pierced the hearts of thousands, and which seldom kills, unless it strikes the vital chord ; it rankles and burns in

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the heart until it ceases to beat, and cuts and festers, little by little, until the victim cries for mercy in the sweet arms of death. The same sunlight that stole in through the closed curtains and kissed her sleeping brow now fell upon her prostrate form and touched, as if in a cruel mockery, with one bright ray the stained and matted hair it used to gild so gayly. She was carried by gentle hands to a country inn, where she was cared for until her husband arrived. Dr. St. George brought with him two of the best physicians in the city, and every effort was made to save her life, but to no avail ; a blood-vessel had been broken, and the grim angel of death bore away victory’s crown, and the fond husband of eighteen months had to yield up his treasure to be the bride of Death.