New Orleans daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1851-1866, 1852-03-03

at the good services rendered, him by his liege
vassals. The snow fell fast and thick, and the
mountain burns foamed, and boiled and roared
like mighty rivers diverted from their proper
Echannels. The next morning some pitying
neghbors sought the lone cottage on the hill
but what scene presented itself! There lay
the martyr, calm as when he first entered into
his rest, half shrouded in the drifted SNOW and
by his side his young widowed wife, cold and
stiff and dead, the big tear drops frozen on her
wan cheek. But they had been tears of holy
rapture and Joy; she had found comfort in
death, for calm smile still seemed to linger
about her mouth, and, like the holy Stephen,
those who stood around 50 saw her face as it had
been the face of an angel .-...s-.a
They both lie here, doubtless in hope Of glo-
rious and blessed resurrection, and in that tomb
sleeps their murderer, till the thunder of the last
dread trumpet calls the oppressor and oppressed
bhefore His throne, who will judge all men ac-
cording to the deeds done in the flesh, whether
they be good whether they be evil. God
alone knows his fate; but, sir, not for all the
wealth Of the Indies ten times told, would | ex-
change that little neglected hillock of earth for
yonder proud sculptured tomb The curse has
not yet fallen on the house of the spoler but as
sure as that noontide sun is shining over our
heads, it will come, and thatquickly. The blood
Of Abel cried not in vain from the earth, neither
will that of John Craig and Isabel Ross: for pre-
cious in Gods sight is the blood of his saints.
1t was long after the old man had ceased to
speak, that looked up, and when l id dso he
was gone. was sitting alone, between the pa
trician tomb and the humble earthen mound
through the long lank grass of which the piping
wind whistled with ftful gusts, as if the inhab-
itants of the tombs were la1nenting their desti-
MES and woes.
When at last rose, l felt as if l were recov-
;o1-, llol
dream. 60 The third generatioa, continued
repeating, over and over to MYSELF the third
generation. 'Tis indeed come. What if the
strange legend of that old dotard should be
true But no! tis but an idle tale-the in
vention of credulous superstition-an old wife's
fable. to frighten children withal. May the
curse light on the inventor of such an improba-
BILE farrago!" But for all this, felt kind OF
nameless awe and apprehension hang over me.
and / half wished | had never seen the peasant,
and never heard his tale.
| When going out of the enclosure, saw some
farmers ride past in the direction of my father
house, with favors in their hats, as if for a bri-
dal; and between intervals of joyous shouts Of
laughter, heard mention made of Rath house
as the scene of some such festivity. l could not
prevail on myself to question the many groups
as to particulars. but rode on, congratulatine
myself on my good fortune in reaching home on
such an occasion, when all would be mirth and
happiness, and rejoicing.
Rath house, the seat of my fathers, stands al
the extremity of steep perpendicular line OIL
, curtain of rock, which, without break OF stay
goes sheer down full twenty fathoms, till it ends
in deep and rapid stream, rushing through a
narrow gorge, and scantily studded with a sort
of dwarfsh stunted brushwood, through which
the boiling and bubbling of the water is seen al
broken intervals
Along the ridge of this steep it was the Gus
tom, when any marriage occurred in the family
!, for the bridal procession to ride to church
which stood in glen about half mile distant
, and such occasion the bride and bride
groom rode double, that is, on one horse, thu
; lady sitting behind on ancient pad used only
for that purpose. Twas one of those old anti
n quated observances which almost every famil,
of any standing has, and which is kept u
merely because praeticed by former generations
and as the ceremony generally took place a lit
!, tie after midday, 50 fully calculated on meet
s ing the joyous throng, midway at least. 81
"a will be my brothers bridal, said l, ''and m
m father will be there; and my uncle, Heave
N bless him! will be there's and Helen We're, pei
N chance, will be there as bridemaid Littl
l does she dream how soon she may ride tt
+ principal feature in similar solemnity. Th
d thought Of Helen inspired me with new yigor
n the legend of the church yard all forgotten
n spurred my horse, and ere long the gray tow
\ ers and turrets of my father house rose befor
+ me, gloriously sprinked by the fervd beams G
an unclouded July sun. | recognized frien
in every stone, an old acquaintance in ever,
q tree. l even thought l knew the crows nest
which | had so often despoied; and | coul
. swear to the initials of my name which, witt
: Helen's assistance had teloniously carved ou
i, OF the smooth bark of huge chesnut tree.
e But other thoughts now occupied my mind
s for I heard the joyous shouts of many light
t hearted boy and maiden; and presently, turn
ing corner of the way saw indeed hrida
: procession, advancing in all its glittering cir
r cumstances and panoply. My heart beat high
y 81 will meet them on foot said, ms an I'm
! known individual, and their joy and surpris
. will be the greater So / turned my hors
t into an adjoining field, and, mantlins my fac
;, in my capacious cloak, pursued my way
b illed with a variety of contendng feelings
A which can neither analyze nor describe
e On came the procession. My father-accord
ling to usage-rode first, on an ancient steed
/ which had faithfully served him for more thai
u twenty years. The old man was feeble, ant
e more bent than when | parted with him; ye
still was rcjoiced to see that time had laid hi
y hand but gently on his honored head His ey
: had waXel dim, however, and he rode past MT
d without stop or recognition. Then came my re
}. lations; distant connections, whom had neve
e seen, or, having seen them merely as children
o did not know. The ignorance was mutual.
was merely regarded as a spectator OF the so
If lemnity of the day. AT last the bridegroom
$ appeared, on a gallant piebald steed, whic
t proudly pranced beneath his joyful burden. as
h he gloried in the weight. ] could not be mis-
taken; it was indeed my brother, who, from
$ laughing lad, had grown up into noble man
: a man whom in crowded street you would tu1
a back and gaze up at, as perfect model of h
. race. Grace and power were in every motto
1 and look; the light ease of the Apollo was adm
h rably blended with the nerve and muscle of II
y Hercules.
$ He rode up, and, as usual the bride sat b.
a hind him, TALL slender, and nobly fashione
e and bashfully retiring as the graceful gazell
d ] was about to speak, when a passing gust
| wind blew aside her veil, and there | behe
e Helen! ay, Helen We're, my first, my only lov
It and my all but pledged bride. What miser.
IL and despair, and rage, were concentrated in th
(; little moment All my hopes, all the wander
'e ing, and tolls, and privations, became but
empty wind by that look. | seemed i'll th
Of moment to live over fifteen long years of N
Sc life. My first feelings of love, my parting kis
is my dreams of her when far away, danced Wild
is in my brain. She was anothers bride! III
|! sudden shock was too much for feeble, fra
A. reason to sustain. | forgot where was what
! was doing. rushed forward; l threw out N
is arms, like one battling with some tempest-vexe
sea. | screamed, laughed, shouted ha HI