New Orleans daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1851-1866, 1852-03-15
CRESCENT
From the Carpet Bag.
THE BETROTHAL RING.
by PAUL cREyroH
1.--rNDER A CLOUD.

1.--rNDER 4 CLOUD.
GO Oh God, am | not dreaming Can this be
real Have sense, thought, memory still 4"
Cttering these passionate words, the speaker
pressed her thin hands to her brow, while her
bosom heaved with p wild tempest Of grief, and
her whole frame quivered and shook, as if q
tortured soul were struggling to escape its tene-
ment of clay
All! she was young creature to have en-
dured so much sorrow! Not more than twenty
eight, if she was so old; pale care-worn, clad
in poor habiIiments, yet strangely beautiful!
No wonder she cried, in the agony of her soul,
&c Can this be real,'' No wonder she doubted
her own sanity. and pressed her brow. as if to
aid her sick and wavering brain in the task of
reaiization.
For terrible indeed was the contrast between
the past and present: the sunshine of yesterday
and the cloud of to-day: the happy scene to
which her bewildered memory Travelled back.
and the wretchedness around her, and the Bit
terness of grief into which her soul was plunged.
She was sitting upon broken chair in a mis-
cradle garret Her work had fallen from her
hands upon the bare, cold floor. By her side
| two children were sleeping, under the thin, tat
tered covering of her poor bed.
| 1t was midnight. The winter wind howled
| through the dreary streets; the storm lashed
the low roof and narrow window Of the desolate
room with sleet and freezing rain.
| The scanty fire in the CRATE was smouldering
into dull and desolate ashes, and the apartment
was cold, cold and comfortless and the poor
woman's shawl had fallen from her shoulders,
unobserved, and she sat there still.
| 1t would have chilled your blood to look at
her. so white, so motionless, so like statue of
speechless grief!
Her hands fell, one by her side, the other
upon her lap. Her large eyes became fixed,
gazing at the dying embers; yet not so much at
the dying embers, as at something beyond,
something afar off in the embers of the past.
And out of those embers she saw arise visions
bright and beautiful, scenes Of sunshine which
painted with a golden glow even the dark and
heavy cloud of sorrow which oyerhung her pre-
sent-a fairy-lan of bliss, you would have
called it, which filled all the cold and comfort
less apartment, and in which she was lost. a
clarvoyant exploring the realm of dear and ten
der memories.
Let us question her, to know what she sees,
not with those large, touchingly beautiful eyes.
but with the eyes of her spirit, of which those
are but the type.
A young girl just budding into womanhood,
is the most prominent figure. She is so beauti-
full that the heart feels a pang of pleasure
looking at her; so happy, that you would say
the darkest trouble that ever threw its shadow
over her youth, was no more q trouble than the
golden fleece which floats above the glory of 9
sunset, is cloud
She is in the midst of q garden She is bend
ing over a lowly flower and blushing; for s
handsome youth is bending over her, and talk
ing eloquently Of love.
She raises her head now. With smile o
happiness on her lip, and tear of happiness il
her eye, she gives the youth her hand.
His fine face is all alive with the love and de
votion Of his heart. He cannot utter his thank
for the silent expression of sentiment, the gift
| n J l. L. il l. l,,,,
draws her gently within the shadows of an arbor
! then fondly to his heart, and kiss has scale
!, their bethrothal.
y There is slight change of scene. One or tw
. days appear to have passed. The youth is ono
a more with the maiden. He holds her beautifr
i hand. There is the same smile on her hps-tl
same tear in her eye--as she suffers him to ell
circle her delicate taper finger with a ring.
Uttering a cry OF agony, our clairvoyal
), starts from her seat She raises her hand 81
5 eazes eagerly at glittering bauble that 81
: circles one of her own thin fingers. The flame
=, her chamber lamp is feeble and dull; tea
swell beneath her eyelids and she sees the rir
but dimly. Pressing it to her lip with a so
: she falls again upon her chair.
n Again her large eyes are fixed, gazing at Il
embers of the CRATE; again the eyes of her spir
i, are looking into the embers Of the past.
u What do they see'
l
= maiden He has grown more manly-not lie
fond she more womanly-not less beautiful
q | Both have grown more thoughtful-not lie
.n happy.
ss Oh how they love each other They aresi
ting, it seems, in a little parlor of their owl
She has been reading to him a touching tale,
l. am sure, for her eyes glisten, and his face
On sutfused with tenderness. A touching tale il
L. deed it was; a simple, truthful narration of
| nD11,1a 1il-a themselves who Il ,l
" beautiful child, and loved it. and lost it, al
IN morrned for it with broken hearts
~ The young wife leans towards her husban
who presses her to his bosom; and both rise t.
: gether, and enter a fairy-like chamber, wher
lls nestled in the midst of luxury, an infant
sweetly sleeping, They gaze at it with owe
flowing hearts it awakes, looks up, laughing
y Our clairvoyant utters stifed scream, al
\ springs to the miserable bed, where the childr,
: are sleeping. She gazes at the eldest-a pal
: suffering boy, of perhaps seven or eight yeal
i He wakes, as that infant woke he looks up in
y his mothers face, and smiles sadly not as tn
infant smiled--she clasps him in her arms, so
4 bing and weeping, and holds him there until
nd is again asleep, and his fair locks are moist wi
~, vi her tears. Then she gently removes his ar
iii from her neck, and placing them around that
the younger child, leaves them to their repo.
'u. Again on her wretched chair, her neglect
Z, work lying upon the floor, and the storm las
ion ing the window, she gazes at the dull ashes
n' the CRATE.
sm What does she see?
SK The same parlor, the same woman sitti
IT. IT. there alone; sitting and watching
Yet can it be the same: This woman is IL
n happy. She has been weeping. That 0
sle never shed tears-except tears Of happiness.
9S 9S All there has been a sad change in this f;
the young creatures life You can hardly real
tif-but her husband, the youth into whose kee
!. ing she gave her dcstiny-the man whom she
loved that she forgot the world-the heloy
father of her beloved child
Can it be she is watching for him2 Can it
his footsteps She strains her anxious ear to hea
Can it be that noble-hearted youth, who lea'
X her, at this desoate hour of night, to watch Il
=, weep, awaiting his return:
!" Alas, that the truth should be told son
q | thing has allied her husband of late. Trou
N weighs upon him by day he grows hagga
R and morose.
y At length the lonely woman hears the We
Il known footsteps. He enters; she raises l
. anxious eyes to his flushed face and shudde
He speaks to her unkindly, and she weeps.
usy throws himself upon chair, and gazes savag
ns,, at the floor Forgetting, torgiving his unki
low ness-feeing only that he is unhappy, and Il
arf it is her duty to console him, comfort him,
loss folds her arms around his neck, she kis
his fevered brow. She endeavors to express
Ion Ion love- and tells him it is killing her to see