The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1867-03-27
[Original.
THE WORK OF Il NIGHT
By e. 3. CHEESBOROUGH.

By E. b. CHEESBoRoUGH.
Great heavens! what a shrek!
arose hastily, and approached the bed
on which lay the almost dying lady.
She had started up. Her eyes were
looking wildly around, and her pale
face cleaned out like wan spirit
face. I put aside the heavy crimson
silk drapcry that curtained the bed,
and approaching her, I said:
''Madame, are you worse?"
"Oh. Catherinc!" she family arti-
culated, ''did you hear it?' And she
clasped her thin hands together, with
an expression of terror and agony in
her face which I can never forget.
eyes, madame, thought it was
your voice, although it seemed to
come from q greater distance
eyes, yes she said, hurriedly;
';oh! that voice! how it haunts me!'
AS she spoke, again there arose q
loud, prolonged shrek I never but
once had heard anything like it. 1t
was shrek of mingled pain and de-
spair, and, at the same time, there
blended with it cry as if for mercy.
l can compare it to nothing but the
first long waiiing uttered by the con
demned sinner when the dreadful fiat
goes forth, depart from me, We
wicked, into everlasting fire. I had
often, IN no irreverent spirit, but with
an awful awe, thought of the fearful
ness of those wailings which will at
the final judgment pierce the courts
of Heaven, and reach the confines Of
hell, as the gates Of mercy close for
ever upon the sinner doomed to pu-
mshment that is eternal.
AS that shrek arose, madame threw
: er arms around my neck; large drops
of agony stood on her forehead; she
gasped out family: "No more! No
more! Oh! have I not been sufIi-
GENTLY punished, oh! my God?" and
she moaned heavily. Her clasp grew
more rigid; with difficulty loosed it,
as l laid her gently down on the pill
low. She had ceased to breathe.
Poor Madame de Foe! for her this
life, with all it's sorrows and its JOYS,
was over forever. [ stood and looked
at the pale face with an awe which
had never before affected me when
gazing upon the dead. She neve,
could have been beautiful, even in
her young days; she was now about
forty, yet she was the most fascinat.
ing woman [ have ever met. She
taught me this lesson: that, without
possessing one ray OF that light called
beauty, q woman can be both attract
i've and fascinating. [ believe tha-
Charlotte Bronte was almost the frs
writer to make her heroine plain, anG
yet, even with her plainness, she wo1
a love as constant as it was deep. II
looking at Madame de Foes picture
you would exclaim, ''What plail
woman!" but when you knew tn,
original, you never uttered such
remark. for the fascination of name
and Of intellect utterly destroyed he
plainness, and you felt in your inmos
soul that she was beautiful. She wa
one OF the few women who neve
wearied you with gossip or mere per
sonai details. Her conversation wa
''everything by fits, according to he
mood; sometimes philosophical, Otter
poetical, frequently religious, an,
always original. But there was
yelied sadness, SO to speak, about her
the source OF which you in vail
attempted to reach. She was exceed
lngly reticeat about herself, and neve
expatiated upon her own feelings Q
actions. There was Il naturalnes
about her as rare as it was charmino Q
and l never heard her utter remar
that was not sensible and appropriate
The year previous, I had met he
at Genoa-"Genoa, the superb" w
were domiciled in the same hotel, an
though I am naturally shy of ne,
people, / found myself at once al
tracted to the fascinating stranger
We soon became friends, and durin
my stay i'll Genoa I found my grea
est pleasure in her society.
Once, when standing together j
the Cathedral Of San Lorenzo,
heard that same awful shrek. "
were examining the Emerald Vas,
said to have been presented to Sole
mon by the Queen of Sheba. AS W
*The leading idea of this story NAV
found In .'Footfalls on the Boundaries