The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1868-09-04
A MADSIAN's STORY.
BY T. b. 8. EscoTT.

know all. Quietly, calmly, soberly,
I will tell You ali. You smile you
think I cannot; you call me mad.
Nay, not so. But you point to the
cell in which we are seatedAto the
high walls beyond, which bar egress
to the piteous forms ontside, bow.
ing in the agony of their. impotence,
their hands to- aud fro. What, of
that? what 6of all this which you see
and tell, me of Do these things
prove meSto be madmnn? Listen:
I say toyou, that in the huge city
yonder, beyond the precincts of this
accursed prison house, there wander
at large inSYthe streets and1iN Nthe
thoroughfare men and women mad
der, ay, madden far, than any impri-
= soned here.h Is not all their life one
vast expanser of madnessp They
weave, and the robe thus woven is
one of laughter, derision, and scorn;
p they. spend all their lives in sowing,
and yet they never reap Fame,
name, wealth-day after day, night
after night, they strive for these.
Ceaselessly, painfully, feverishly q
little heap of gilded chaff is got toge-
ther; then comes the whirlwind of
sorrow and death, and sweeps it
poor fools-all away. It is coming
all the time; they might know it
from'afar of, and yet see it not, or
or seeing heed not. This-this is
madness madness pre-ordained of
God, the worst and most fearful
there can be. Thinking. then, of this,
tell me not that I am mad. The
heart is the book Of the German
sage; it will not let itself be read.
But Il I be not madman, you
want to know how came to do what
/ have done? With soberness, calm
ness, deliberation I did it. Hear me,
how quietly I speak to you; think
you, then, that I was madman
whenyI acted2 Ygs~ 90 ,y,,-
Why I loved her I do not know;
by what slow stages I grew to find
that all my life, all my soul. was alb
sorbed in. hers, I cannot tell you. A
face beautiful and bright as that of
an angel, heart pure and spotless
as O sunny summer sky, voice
whose every word was note of
music-these surely were fit rea-
sons for love. And SO gradually did
the spirit OF love take whole posses
sion of my brain and being. Yet,
from the first, believe me, I knew
we'll how it would all end. You may
place no trust in presentiments;
neither do { in the presentiments of
all men alike. But there are some
I am assured of it-with whom to
feel ominously, in however vague
manner, is to know. You cannot
apply one and the self-same rule to
the spiritual organization of all.
Your presentiments may end as they
arose, in vanity or nothingness; not
so mine. Throughout life L have
been able to hear in the midst of
sounds of mirth and Joy, of happiness
and laughter, the unerring footsteps
of coming doom. With some men,
the senses have power of which
those who have not felt it cannot
dream. In the deep darkness of the
night, they can hear the death-watch
ticking in distant walls-can hear the
palpitation of some loved ones heart,
when she whom they loved is far re-
moved. With me it was not the
senses, but the mind-or shall call
it the spirit? which attained this
morbid development. And so, even
in those blessed hours of sunset.
when my darling nestled closer,
closer still to me; when she talked,
with an assurance that nothing could
break, of future hours of sacred
peace; and when L responded to all
she said with words of equally con-
fding and trustful love-I knew
quite well what the end must be. It
was calm then, and happiness; but L
could descry the phantom shadow Of
disaster floating high above-soon to
overcast all.
I was wayward and wild. Her
father distrusted me; her friends in
terposed words of bitterness and
calumny between US. Still she trust
ed me--told me that nothing could
ever shake her trust. I smiled, and
said I knew she would be true; but I
smiled not because my knowledge
was hers, but because it was far more
certain and far less bright. Poor
child what was she to do? We we're
parted, and then when strange
rumors reached her, rnagnifled three
fold by the lying speeches of her
enemies and mine, bit by bit the
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