Prescott journal. [volume] (Prescott, Wis.) 1861-1871, 1864-03-19

New York from Portland, where he had been
in his capacity of an officer of engineers in
the United States army, to inspect some for
tifications. and that he had with him this
same dog Bran about two years old then, and
which he had raised from puppy. All that
day it had blown gale They supposed
themselves in the neighborhood of Montauk
Point, though the captain had not had an OBJ
servation in forty-eight hours. That night,
or rather in the morning, about two, when
the wind had lulled somewhat, and-whilst the
brig was still laying to, he went on deck and
stood by the forward bulwarks, talking TO
the captain. Hardly had he been there five
minutes-Bran standing close beside him
when sudden sea struck the vessel so vio-
lently as to throw him into the sea. The
captain Immediately cast him a life-preserver
which fortunately hung in the companion
way, right at hand but before that Bran had
sprung after his master, and was beside him
when he caught the life-preserver. In few
seconds more, he had hold of the rope the
captain had also thrown, and with the help
of some of the crew, was got safely on deck.
The danger had been extreme as it was brief
All attempts to lasso Bran, brave fellow, and
rescue him were in vain. He was tossed past
them on the waves, and was soon lost sight
Of After he had told me that much, Mr..
Manton hesitated for while, and then smil-
ed as he said that the strangest part of his
adventure was yet to be told. While buffet
ing with the waves in those moments of dark
ness and danger, he had seen, as he might
in a startling dream, a girls face looking at
him with fearful anxiety. The appearance
was but for flash of time, yet it had chung
to his memory ever since, perhaps impressed
the more because he had again and again,
since the occurrence, wondered in metaphys-
| zeal speculation over it. At the ball he re.
| eognized in my face the prototype of his Wis
| ion.
did not tell him then of my spectral Wis
itation; of the wonderful coincidence in
our experience on the same night and at the
same hour. My astonisbment almost amount
| ed to terror as heard his story.
1t was again the twenty-seventh of October,
but very different night from that two years
ago-calm and mild, with some Of summers
warmth yet lingering in the evening clouds
After tea, which Mr.. Manton had taken with
us, he and l walked out on the beach, as we
had done almost every evening in the three
months that had passed so happily to me-
We had the hard, shell-sprinkled bed of the
low tide before Us; the indistinct BROWNIES
of the fields and bluff on one side /; the vast
soft-spread CLEAN of the waning twilight OF
the ocean stretched on the other. We walk
ed on. Night came; it was black about us
only the white rim of the little breakers
| splashing near as the track for our path. Out
of the darkness on the ocean side of us, there
spread from one spot half-circle of Just per
ceptible mellow light-it increased, grew
brighter, softer throwing silver-like tentacles
into the waves that rolled between it and us
The sky became visible, and a small, DARK
cloud just above was trimmed with silver.
moment later, and the yellow rim of the moor
peeped above the sea-line, and grew and deep
ened in fullness and warmth until its sphere
was perfect. The light showed seine house
near US, and the skeleton of an old boat. In
that found seat, and Mr. Manton spread q
shawl for me. He sat on the sand with his
back against the broken bow. Neither of us
spoke for an hour, l suppose, until Mr.. Man
ton rose and walked up and down by the boat
and said -
Miss Observation-Disclosures filter time
than this to say what my heart urges-I love
you" Leaning his arms on the boats side
he asked: "Alice-will you be mine ?"
made some answer, | suppose, for he came
and sat beside me. 1t was then, with my
hand in his, and Bran looking up into oul
| faces, that / told him of what had seen two
years ago that night, and how | knew now
| that had loved him ever since that time
| We were married in the spring. 1t was he,
my husband, Theodore Manton, who; five
years ago, carried Bran down to the seaside,
| for he had grown too old and feeble to walk
without pain. There, as l told you before,
Bran died with his head in my lap, and Theo-
dore made his grave on the little bluff we
always called aved-Craig-a-Bran." A part
of every year we still pass at my old home,
and my white-haired father has found new
| friends and his dearest comDaniOnS in two
wild, sturdy Observation-Disclosures