The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1860-01-26

Think the shadow on the dial
For the nature most undone,
Marks he Passing OF the trial,
Proves the presence ofIhe sun


For the nature most undone,
Marks he Passiag OF the trial,
Proves the presence ofihe sun!n
Even out doors it is cloudy and damp, this
morning-for not even in Genoa is every day
serenely bright-and, within the Oubliette, the
damp and chill and gloom are most forbidding
The lamp has been burning all night, and now
its obstructed wick, almost exhausted, and hint
ing, to superstitious eyes, of collins and shrouds
burns with dull, red glare, sullen and unwill-
ing. The banker is seated at his desk, not
writing, nor indeed doing anything but think
ing, with scowling brow and chin dropped upon
his breast. Last night he took an unusually
large dose of opium, and, after term of horror
exaggerated beyond aught he had previously
known, his waking looks betray how the thing
is telling upon him. What with his haunting
shame and guilt, his torturing thoughts, his
poisoned draughts, his dwelling here in the
damp and murk and dark, and the many ways
in which he has abused his mind and frame,
the man is failing fast. He has grown sudden
ly old his hair is become thin and whitened:
his cheeks are wrinkled into deep lines, as is
his brow his lips are shrunken, blue, and
culver increasingly the neither one dropping
every now and then in an inane feeble sort of
way, which is most strikingly and painfully in.
dicative of failing mind and body. His eyes
are red and gloomy, the whites of them injected
with bilious brown, which shows disordered
functions, while the pupils begin already to be-
tray the influence of the poison with which his
system is sureharged. These eyes also, as
windows to the soul, show how all within is per.
turbed, rebellious, phantasmic, morbid, and
gloOm-deluged. AT times sullen and fierce,
they seem full of quick resentment and hasty
passion, that warn every one to stand out of the
way OF his unjust fury at other times they stare
apart, as If their focus were peopled with
strange images, ghostly shapes, and fantastic
objects, such as come within scope of the clair
voyant's illuminated vision. His hand is thin,
wrinkled, dry in the palm, and nervous and if
he walks, he does not lift his feet confidently,
but shufies along, like one whose sight is flmy
and INSTRUCTED.
Yet his mind is strong, his power Of work
enormous, and-he is not humbled. Remorse,
pain, shame, terror, dread, all these he knows,
feels, acknowledges, yet, with the same strong
s.llshness as of old, he asserts himself to every
one-except George. His wife dares not ad-
vise--her remonstrances are met with frowns-
he has known what was best all along; how
should she acquire this very superior Judgment
so suddenly ana at this tate day? PsirJrw! If
Helen questions, or Rupert sneers, It's the
same. Let Helen go to her piano, or harp
let Rupert lounge about Hotel FEEDER, or the
billiard rooms. What conception have they
OF the nature, the exigencies of his business
much less, Of his X? He knows best.
So, thus miserably defiant without, thus ter.
rbly haunted and Economically possessed with
in, he had gone on with his system of self
destruction, deliberately, and without any ma
teral interruption or impeachment. And now.
it seemed indeed, the end was not very far off.
What the shame and agony born of crime
of nil oh ad h.,
coed from the cravings of positive disease. The
damp, the darkness confinement, and the poi
sonous fumes of bis familiar drug, were gradual
ly but surely dragging him down into the pit.
The luxury of life for its own sake was long
since departed, and now came on a season of
detection, of WEAKNESS, of lassitude of weakness,
that rapidly merged into a condition of positive
despair. He had fled, he thought, from the
scenes and objects so associate with his vio-
lated pride, but he had discovered that there
WAS no flight possible from the pain of that
violation it was already an integral part of
himself, to obliterate which required to wipe
himself out also. Signs and longing were his
happiest portion. And then, to endure this
weary lassitude, this torture of the waning mind,
this being tied ever at the stake, to be gradual
ly consumed by the smouldering flames of
memory and reflection, embttered, mordaceous,
corrosive, cancerous because of the ever-at-
tendant thought of what might have been!"
Distraction, this How strive against such
foes, or, indeed, ,cly strive against them? To
curing often enough for him to takes its meas
ure very accurately. How often and in lowell
est guise it visited his mind Gifts, endow-
ments not yet spoiled for use, nor fully brought
into play? To be sure he had them, vet twas
they chiefly had brought him to this strait
Family? They were better without him and,
the thought of them only plunged him deeper
into shame. They did not console him could
not. Their presence rather added a poignancy
to his woe, q deeper shadow to his detection
they were rebuke to him whose pride did not
tolerate rebuke. And, if he waited, hoped, if
even he extricated himself from his crime, and
went again before the world with clean bill of
health, would he also be able to..conquer the eff.
fects ofthis long grief and pain? He might crush
the scorpion under his foot, but, was he not al
ready bitten, was there any specific antidote that
would be efficient in his case? Like the
Princess in the Arabian tale, he might conquer
and slay the Afrite, but, like her he had breathed
the fatal flames of the combat, and his vitals
we're shrivelled within him, There we're dark
and bitter remembrances that would not yield
their keen edge to the sohening touch of Time
and the violent hand of passion, sweeping rude
" over the strings, seemed to have Jared and
weakened the instrument forever. Memory
was synonymous with Vengeance, and welded
ever over his head q ruthless, two-edged sword.
Suffering had soured and made bitter his
thoughts and now, with weakness, detection,
and lassitude, his reflections took on sombre
hue indeed. Rhipwrecked in the waters of sor-
row he had been, and his craft, going to pieces,
had broken up and been scattered over the sea.
There remained at the bottom now only the
heavy fragments, the sogged and soaked tim
bers, the bolts, the bars, the cables, all dull,
and brown, and rusty. The senseof his own weak
ness ever increased upon him, and ever upbraid-
ed him more and more, more and more drag
ging him down into the regions of despair. He
had learned to weep for his weakness and those
tears had taught him to curse the shame which
was the cause of that weakness, while he des-
paired of ever recovering from it. His pride
was such, that 10 feel shame, to shed tears, to
shun men, and especially to hare to do these
things, from circumstance, and because of weak.
ness, was the greatest torture he had to endure.
Impatient, 6ery spirit, his,
"La msns Il COG in ps,peiua iit,"
and from that strife proceeding only bitterness,
premonitions of madness, and despair. What
availed waiting--what pro6ted working? Even
if his work prevailed, it would not restore him.
He could never go back-his pride and his
shame forbade that. Why work, then, and
sweat, and toll, for nothing? Who knew bet
ter than he did, that,
Gwork without hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And hope without an object cann1t live"
What need of waiting longer, then, in these re- |
Qions of torture, of woe, of haunting spectre
and damned unrest? Why wait, delay, put of ;