Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1837-11-10
NO. 10.
THE LIVING rHANrom--A True story.
ny THE LATE CHARLES LAMB.

When was young boy had delicate.
health, and was somew hat Of a pensive and
contemplatiye turn Of mind; il was my de-
light, IN the long, summer evening, to slip
away from my noisy aud more robust COM
panions, that might walk in the shade OF
n venerable wood, my favorite haunt. and
listen 10 the cawing OF the old rocks, who
seemed as fond Of this retreat as was.
One evening l sat later than usual,
though the distant sound Of the cathedral
clock had more than onece warned me TO
my home There was a stiffness in all ma
ture that was unwilling TO disturb by the
least motion. From this reverie was sud-
denly startled by the sight of tall, slender
female, who was standing by me- looking
sorrowiully and steadily in my face. She
was dressed in white from head 10 foot, in a
fashion had never seen before; her gar
menls were unusually long and flowing, and
rustled as she glided through the low shrubs
near me. as il they were made of the rich
est silk. My heart beat as if was dying,
and knew that could have stirred from
the spot: but she seemed so very mild and
beautiful, did not attempt it, Her pale,
brown hair, was braided found her head
but there were some locks that strayed upon
her neck; aud altogether, she looked like Il
lovely picture. but not like lovely woman
| closed my eyes forcibly with my hands,
and, when looked again she had vanished.
| ] cannot exnctly say why did not, on my
return. speak 10 this beautiful appearance
! nor why with strange mixture Of hope and
fear. went again TO the same spot that
might see her. She always came and Of
ten in the storm and FLASHING rain. that new
er seemed 10 touch or annoy her. and look
ed sweetly on me, and silently passed on -
and though she went so near 10 me, that
once the wind lifted those light, straying
locks, and lelt them against my cheek yet
| never could move or speak TO her felt
i'll /; and when recovered, my mother close
y questioned me Of the tall lady, of whom,
in the height of my fever. | bad so often
spoken.
| cannot tell you what weight was taken
from my boyish spirits. when learned that
this was no appariiion, but most lovely
woman-not young though she had kept
her young looks; for the grief which had
broken her heart seemed 10 have spared her
beauty.
I When the rebel troops were retreatng af-
ter their total defeat, in that very wood
was so fond Of young officer, unable any
longer TO endure the anguish OF his wounds,
sunk from his horse, and laid himself down
TO die He was found BY the daughter of
Sir Henry r. and conveyed, by
trusty domestic, to her hther's mansion
Sir Henry was loyalists; but the officers
desperate condition excited his compassion,
and his many wounds spoke language a
brave man could not misunderstood. Sir
Henry's daughter, with many tears, pleaded
for him. and promised that he should be
carefully and secretly attended. And well
she KEEP, that promise; for she waited upon
him (her mother being long dead) for many
weeks. and anxiously watched for the open
ing of eyes, that langud as he was, looked
You may fancy. better than l can tell
) you. as he slowly recovered all the moments
, that were spent in reading, and low-roiced
, singing. and gentle playing on The flute -
and how many fresh flowers were brought
II bear him 10 gather them Tor himself and
how calmly the days glided on in the bles-
sedness OF returning health. and in that
4 sweet silence so carefully enjoined him.
. will pass by this, 10 speak Of one day. which,
!. brighter and pleasanter than others, did not
e seem more bright or more lovely than the
2 'oohs VI the young uhiutn, as she Sally
3 spoke Of "a little festival. which Though it
must bear an unworthier name) she meant
. really 10 give in honor Of her guests reco-
y very" "And il is time lady," said he, .'lor
$ that guest, so tended and so honored, to tell
/" you his whole story. and speak to you Of
one who will help him TO thank you: may
ask you. fair lady, to write little billet for
i me, which. even in these times Of danger, l
\ may find some means to forwardn TO his
!. mother, no doubt, she thought, as. with light
e steps and lighter heart she seated herself
. by his couch, and smingly babe him die
. tate: but, when he said, my dear wife,"
/, and lifted up his eyes TO be asked for more,
he saw before him pale statute, that gave
. him one look Of utter despair, and fell, for
he had no power to help her, heavily at his
feet Those eyes never reflected the pure
. soul again, or answered. by answering looks,
s the fond enquiries Of her poor old father
, She lived TO be as saw her, sweet and gen.
. tie, and delicate always; but reason return
ed no more. She visited, till the day OF her
death, the spot where she first saw that
young soldier, and dressed herself in the
very clothes that he said so well became
r her. iist 80 anR sme aism4 q
II i.,,f nAtsts4