Bradford reporter. [volume] (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, 1860-06-07
ID EVERY THURSDAY TOWNDA OMEARA GOODRICH

throbbed her pulses it was nothing but the
thought Of the log-house and of what might
be passing within it. She fancied the baby
stirring in his sleep and moving his pretty lips,
her husband rising and opening the door
looking out after her, and wondering at her
absence. She fancied the light pouring through
the chink and then shut in again with all the
safety and comfort and JOY, her husband tax,
ing down the fiddle end playing lightly with
his head inclined, playing while she sang, while
she sang for her life to an Indian Devil
Then she knew he was fumDling for and find.
ing some shining fragment and scoring it down
the yellowing hair, and unconscousIy her voice
forSook the wild war-tunes and drifted into
the halfgay, halfmelancholy Rosin the Bow.
Suddenly she woke pierced with pang, and
the daggered tooth penetrating her flesh =
dreaming of safety, she had ceased singing and
lost it. The beast had regained the use Of all
his limbs, and now, standing and raising his
back, brStling and foaming, with sounds that
would have been like hisSes but for their deep
and fearful sorority, he withdrew step by step
toward the trunk of the tree, still with
his flaming balls upon her. She was all at
once Free on one Of the boughs, twenty feet
UuEdSuEG
the distance, bur rose to drop herself down,
careless of any death, so that it were not this.
Instantly, as if he scanned her thoughts, the
creature bounded forward with 9 yell and
caught her again in his dreadful hold 1t
might be that he was not greatly famished
for, as she suddenly flung up her voice again,
he settled himself composedly on the bough,
still clasping her with invincible pressure to
his rough, ravenous breast, and listening in a
fascination to the sad, strange U-la,lu that
now moaned forth in loud, hollow tones
above him. He halfopened his eyes, and
sleeply re-opened and shut them again
What rendng pains were close at hand -
Death and what a death ! worse than any
other that is to be named Water, be it cold
or warm, that which buoys up blue ce-felds,
or which bathes tropical coasts with currents
of balmy bliss, is yet n gentle conqueror, kiS
ses as it kills, and draws you down gently
through darkening fathoms to its heart Death
at the sword is the festival of trumpet and
bugle and banner, with glory ringing out
around you and distant hearts thrilling through
yours. No gnawiag disease can bring such
hideouS end as this ; for that is a fend bred
of your own flesh, and this-is it fend, this
living lump of appettes What dread comes
with the thought of perShing in flames but
fire, let it leap and hiss never so hotly is some
thing TOO remote, too alien to inspire US with
such loathly horror as a wild beast ; if it have
a life, that life is too utterly beyond our COM
prehenSion. Fire is not half ourselves as it
devours, arouses neither hatred nor disgust is
not to be known by the strength of our lower
natures let loose ; does not drip our blood in
to our faces from foaming chaps, nor mouth
nor Snarl above US with vitality. Let US be
ended by fire, and we are ashes, for the winds
to BEAR the leaves to cover let rs be ended
by wild beasts, and the base, cursed thing howls
with us forever through the forest All this
she felt as she charmed him, and what force
it lent to her song God knows If her voice
should fail ! If the damp and cold should
give her any fatal hcarseness If all the sill
ent powers of the forest did not conspire to
help her ! The dark, hollow night rose indif-
ferently over her the wide, cold air breathed
rudey past her, lifted her wet hair and blew
It down again the great boughs swung with
ponderous strength, now and then clashed
their iron lengths together and shook off
sparkle Of icy spears or some long lain weight
of snow from their heavy shadows The green
II.
These beautiful haunts that all the summer
were hers and reioiced to share with her their
bounty, these heavens that had yielded their
largess, these stems that had thrust their bios
SONS into her hands, all these friends Of three
moons ago forgot her now and knew her no
longer.
Feeling her desolation, wild, melancholy,
forsaken songs rose thereon from that fright
full @rie,-weeping, wailing tunes, that sob
among the people from age to age, and over
flow with otherwise unexpressed sadness,-all
rude, mournful ballads, S,-od fearful strains,
that Shakespeare heard the Vagrants sing, and
that rise aud fall like the wind and tide
sailcr-songs, to be heard only in lone mid.
watches beneath the moon and stars, s,-ghast-
ly rhymiag romanceS, such as that famous one
of the Lady Margaret" when
She slipped on her gown of green
A piece below the knee
And twas all a long, cold winters night
And dead corse followed She"
Still the beast lay with closed eyes, yet
never relaxing his grasp. Once halt-whine
of enjoyment escaped him,-he fawned his
fearful head upon her once he scored her
cheek with his tongue: savage CareSses, that
hurt like wounds How weary she was and
yet how terribly awake How fuller and
fuller of dismay grew the knowledge that she
was only proonging her anguish and playing
with death ! How appalling the thought that
with her voice ceased her existence Yet
she could not sing forever her throat was
dry and hard her very breath was pain /;
her mouth was hotter than any desert-worn
pilgrims ;-if she could bat drop upon her
burning tongue one atom of the ice that gilt
tered about her but both of her arms were
pinioned in the giants vice. She remembered
the winding sheet, and for the first time in her
life shivered with spiritual fear. Was it hers?
She asked herself, as she sang, what sins she