The Lambertville press. [volume] (Lambertville, N.J.) 1858-1???, 1861-07-03
B. B. BLACKWE EDITOR.

HHeH my eyes "clC Su"t, "Aono"Sn
did not slumber then faint and un-
certain shadow at twilight with open
eve, and now the shadow has grown
dark. and deep, and does not leave
me-"
eyes, friendly, still it gives me pain ;
it makes me utterly wretched, it wears
me out, look at me / am not yet
fifty, would any one have thought it ~
"Can you do nothing to free your
self from it 2"
81 would not be without it. 1t be-
longs to me it is mine f; it ought to
visit me; it ought to be with me. |
could not live without it,"
How inexplicable !"
"To you, not to me. You are
young. Though | am not SO very old,
l have lived q great deal; have
lived fast and had experience that come
to few"
81 am glad to think So" was on
my lips, but I had too much consider
alton to let it fall.
There, now--can't you see this
shadow by my side ?" asked my COM
panion How kind it looks, and yet
it tortures me-"
81 see nothing" l answer ed; "but
it is past my comprehension that it
should give you pain when it appears
TO express kindness"
Still it is So" he said.
There was so much about my new
acquaintance that was my sterious, and
the conversation had become so EN-.
barrassing that I took my leave, plead
ing as an excuse the urgency of
visit to an old friend.
Weeks passed on, and I saw little
more Of my fellow lodger than before,
bnt / observed when we met I hat he
was growing more wan and haggard
his eye was wilder and his step feebler
He was repidly becoming ike the
shadow that haunted him. | was,
therefore, not surprised to miss him
altogether for few days, and then to
receive a request to visit him in his
room, with which complied ! found
him on his bed, half raised by pillows.
Is am dying" he said, as I ap-
preached him, 'ar d so l sent for you.
I have something to disclose. I mast
disclose it. The shadow will not let
me die till I do so.
"Do you wish to die then 2" asked.
ooh, there is little choice to me be-
tween life and death, but I know /
cannot live always; I must die, and
it is hard to be so long dying. l shall
be glad when it is over"
" You suffer greatly, then 2"
" Yes, and without interval +"
Can no relief be found for you ?"
None, | fear. Not even death.
How sorrowful the shadoy looks as /
say it You can surely see it now. :"
ono"
" How | wish you could"
What is it like ?" I asked.
Like Why it is woman and
shall | tell you-it is my wife !"
Your wifs? DO. you mean her
ghost ?"
"No-no No ghost. She is not
dead"
| was silent. He looked at me
intently for few moments, and then
said
"Let me tell you more. Let me
tell you ALL / was young when |
first loved her who is now my wife, |
need not describe her to you. She
was a noble girl, worthy in every way.
| saw that she loved me, and / asked
her to become mine. How well / re-
member the scene So does the sha-
dow. See, she acts it over again to
E the very life. She comes to me- She
r lifts her arm to my neck and clasps it
6 as I benk to kiss her. She kisses me
9 so tenderly, and lays herself against
\ my breast to be folded in my arms
: She does not speak. She did moi
/ speak then. Oh it was beautiful, anG
. so like her-the way in which she tolt
D me she would be my wife /! But bel
kiss, tender as of old, stiles me now
and l cannot clasp her in my arms, fo
her head upon my breast is so heavy
that it stops my heart beats"
Mary and | were happy for TIM
] after opr marriage-yery happy bu
! was foolish. then / grew false, till a
a last Mary knew it, and her heart oil
most broke. Better had it broken
and she died, than have lived ON al
: she lived, as | have forced her to live
She wept when she heard of my faith
: lessness, as other women might have
: wept. She entreated, but / woult
s not hear her, and thrust her from me
, Then she complained and upraideC
me, and my anger rose was violent
$ and wronged her still more deeply
Wrong followed wrong, each growing