The Independent Press

A Scene from Real Life.-Woman's Love.

We saw last evening an apt illustration of the affection of woman. A poor inebriated wretch in the afternoon had been taken to the calaboose. His conduct on the street, and after he was placed in the cell, was of such a violent character that it became necessary to handcuff him. The demon of rum had possession of his soul, and he gave vent to his ravings in curses so profane as to shock the senses of his fellow prisoners, one of whom, in the same cell, at his own solicitation, was placed in a separate apartment. A woman appeared at the grating, and in her hands she had a rude tray, upon which was placed some slices of bread, fresh from the hearthstone and other little delicacies for her erring husband. She stood at the bar gazing intensely into the thick gloom where her manacled companion wildly raved. Her voice was low and soft and as she called his name its utterance was as plaintive as the melody of a fond and crushed spirit.

The tears streamed from her eyes, and there, in the dark prison house, the abode of the most wretched and depraved, the tones of her voice found their way into the wicked man's heart, and he knelt in sorrow and in silence before his young and injured wife while his heart found relief in tears such only as man can weep.

Though the irons still bound his wrists, he placed his hands with their heavy insignia of degradation, confidingly and affectionately upon the brow of his fair companion and exclaimed, "Katy, I will be a better man." There upon a rude seat she had spread the humble meal which she had prepared with her own hands, and after he had finished rose to depart, bidding him be calm and resigned for her sake with the assurance that she would bring friend to go on his bond and that she would return and take him home. And she left him, a strong man with his head drooping upon his breast, a very coward humiliated before the weak and tender being, whose presence and affection had stilled the angry passions of his soul.

True to the instincts of her love and promise, she did return with one who went on his bond for his appearance next morning, and with his hand clasped in that of his loving wife, she led him away a penitent and we trust, better man. There were those who laughed, as that pale, meek woman bore off her erring husband, but she heeded them not, and herself sacrificing heart knew or cared for nothing in its holy and heaven born instincts, but to preserve and to protect him whom she loved with all the devotion of a wife and woman.

St. Louis Republican.