The Xenia sentinel. [volume] (Xenia [Ohio]) 1863-186?, 1863-12-22
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THE SILVER LINING OF THE CLOUDS.


THREE months after I awakened from
horrible dream as it were, with an in
distinctimpression of some sleepless nights,
and days Of intense suffering, and a vague
misery beyond-a darkened room, and
strange, weird faces Peering at me through
its gloom. And sometimes I heard far-off
music and voices murmuring in unknown
tongues. At times I passed from this
dark room and its mysterious shadows and
sitting air to the shade and solitude of
grand forests, and murmuring brooks, and
fragrant wild flowers, and birds chanting
sweet, and, doubtless, acceptable praise to
God. But even then [ carried an insup-
portable weight at my heart, and a fear
that some approaching, unavoidable, evil
possessed me. It clung to me like my
shadow il became part of myself. Again
I foamed in foreign lands-to-day in
Venice, tomorrow in Rome, and then
back to our country; now. in Westville,
now in BaltimOre-and still this inexplica-
bic mystery haunted me. 1 was cOntin-
ually missing something; searching for
an unattainable object that seemed to be
in thevery air about me, and still inyisi-
bic. I came gradually back to the more
thorough consciousness of my sorrow.
When I awoke, as I said, Clara's pale
face was bending over me, and she toldi
me that I had been very i'll of a fever,
and then the sight of the medicine vials
upon her WOrk-stand and the mantel-piece,
brought it all back to me-
I had a tedious eonvalescence, and al
though kind friends, most especially
Clara, were untiring in their care of me,
day and night I felt the need of the little
had ever administered to my wants-the
pale hand at rest beneath the cofin-lid,
whose clasp I had lost forever. I made
no struggle for or against life; I was pas
sive and Indifferent. I had endured the
very worst. But it was only through the
will of God that 1 was restored to health.
Clara was with me always in. our short
walks, and, what were to me, fatiguing
drives. Wenever brOached that one sub
ject, nor when in the familiar room so preg-
nant with associations We speak of other
than the abundance of our hearts, OF
sat mute with throbbing hearts and tear
less eyes.
We took oar last drive through West
vile on one of the closing days Of October,
when the fading glory autumn lay in re-
splendent gOrgeOusness upon the land,
and the air seemed inspired by the pres
ence of angels, as it rose in a golden
haze above the landscape, which met
my vision from the carriage win
dow. I'VE drank IN the beauties of
the scene with mingled sadness and
pleasure. can not tell you the sweet
memories that thronged my bewildered
brain. I knew tomorrow new scenes
would greet me; that 1 was closing this
volume of my life, that had been like a
SOULFUL poem, freighted with anguish
and pain, but set in such sweet rhyme,
and even numbers, that it was pleasant to
peruse but I had no thought, no plan
beyond. All ambition, all energy, all
youthful speculation and expectation were
numb within me. Clara, with her keen
and precocious forethought, had discov-
cred my incapacity to bear the brunt of
the battle awaiting me beyond to-mor-
rows threshold, and, in spite of Miss
Pardoe's theory to the contrary, had re-
solved that a year of rest in her home
would be the only beneficial thing for me.
My acquiescence to her agreeable plans
was readily given, and still, if she had
advised my departure to Cape Palmos, [
would have overlooked her packing of
my wardrobe with as little interest, if l
were assured that she would accompany
me. A kind letter from her father, writ
ten, doubtless, at her suggestion, in which
he called me her younger daughter, and
babe me "come home" touched me ez-
ceedingly.
Weak and detected to a state of utter
depression l was grateful and relieved to
seek the profered home, and experience
a change of scene remote from surround
ings that could remind me of what had
been. sat with my face turned from
Clara, silently imbibing the pleasures Of
the view, while Clara, with the womanIy
tat that had marked her bearing of late,