Democrat and sentinel. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1853-1866, 1861-10-16
EBENSBIRG. Pa. WEDNESDAY, OCT. is, 1861.

SUR from the spot as ne placed the Snarp point
at my throat, and Missed in low tone
'' l could kill you now, as easily 1 could
raise my finger to my head, but shall not do it.
l shall torture you with pain more exquisite than
that for 1 will haunt you like deep shadow
l will hang around your path like serpent,
waiting to destroy every blossom of hope or joy,
that will bloom for you. go now, but remem
Der, whan you hear these words, Beware of the
deep Shadow that trouble is near.'
My head swan. violently, a feeling of mum b.
ness prevaded my whole body, and the cold
steel was withdrawn from my throat, and bis
hand relaxed its hold on my arm, L became TN
conscious When / awolle to reason it was four
months later, and was lying in my own room
on the bed. The windows were darkened, and
in the dim uncertain light that glimmered through
the half open door, saw nurse sitting near me
with something in her lap. 1 called her to me,
and she placed Carrie on my arm. / do not
think that ever felt as / did when l gazed at
the helpless infantiIe face before me. A tide of
yearning plying tenderness went out for my
little one. as if 1 had faint foreknoweledge
Of the darkened life that awakened her and as
clasped her to my heart, L prayed that l might
have patience and resignation to support me in
any coming trial,
80 You were very young then Camerone. but
presume that you have an indistinct reccollec-
ton of my long and dangerous illness, and the
little baby sister you thought was so beautiful.
The first words Carrie ever lsped We're the shad-
ow, and, she echoed it after her father, / shud-
dered with dread. When she was three years
old knew that the curse had fallen upon my
youngest child the pet and the darling of the
houseL old circle was a hopeless victim of her
mothers fright.
50 On, Camerone can never tell you what
at first suffered. l can never convey to you an
idea Of my sorrow and pain. l would have glad
ly given my life if the sacrifice would restore to
my poor Carrie the keen faculties Oc mind, the
perfect health and strength this shadow had i'm
paired. But as time passed On, grew more re-
conciled to the great affcton that had fallen to
her lot, and have striven to make her life as
pleasant as possible, while she remained on earth.
Now this lifeless form is all that remains to me.
and this will soon be buried from my sight; but
/ feel that the soul of our beloved one is now at
rest in that land of eternal light, where no clouds
can dim the heavenly lustre of the day."
Mrs. Southwick's voice had grown more trem-
ulous as she alluded to Carries death, and when
it ceased the long pent up fountain of tears burst
forth, and she wept copiously.
To Camerone the sight of these tears was a re-
lief. Since her fathers illness no moisture had
dimmcd her mother eyes, and throughout Car
ric's last convulsions she had maintained a calm
ness that was painful well unnatural; and
the thoughtful giIl rejoiced when she saw her
mother give vent to her grief.
] The preparations for The funeral were made,
and on the third morning from that on which
/ Moves Willard had met Carrie in the orchard,
she was laid to rest in the quiet village church.
ward And in a few weeks slender monument
marked her grave, on which was inscribed in
ELEGANT chscling-