Prescott journal. [volume] (Prescott, Wis.) 1861-1871, 1870-03-31

of the past, and the fast darkening heav-
ems seem the emblem of my FUTURE
With heavy sigh stirred the snoul-
dering fire into blaze, and stopped to
read by its light those sentences of the
letter / held, and which were already
imprinted in fiery characters on my
brain. 1t was my sister Eleanor's kind,
unconscious hand that had given me this
mertal blow--yes, mortal blow for
that which had been for three years the
life of my life, died out as I read--died
and made no sign. Her story was mere
ly this: Do you remember Ralph
Traford? Perhaps not, it is so long
since you met him; though you ought,
for, by-the-bye, he used to be great ad-
mirer of yours, dear Alics. Welb Mr..
Lewis has been at Munich, whe,e he saw
a good deal of him. Just before he left,
it came out that Ralph had been private
ly married for some weeks to the widow
of Count, who died not above six
months ago. There had been some
scandal about Ralph and this woman last
year, so Mr.. L.. says, but whether the
reports were true or not, of course he
could not say; but, at all events, it was
not the first scandal she has been the
heroine of. My husband is vexed, for
he has always had great regard for
Ralph; and what makes the matter more
annoying is that his elder brother is now
quite given over, and only sent to Ma
deira TO die, so that we may soon expect
the bride and bridegroom to take possess
ion of D Hall, and | must decide
what to do about calling on her." &C.,
&c.
Not /, then, but another. was to share
his home, when he had one to offer. |
crushed the letter together in my hand,
and flung it into the fire. The feelings
of my heart, as l watched it shrivel and
perish, am as unable to describe as to
forget.
had answered quietly and collectedly
when asked, " What does Eleanor say 2"
| remember, as put down the letter to
pour out my mothers tea, that | searched
the sugar basin with minute persever.
ance. in order to find lump of the pre-
else size. went through the ordinary
occupations of the day rs usual. My
inner life had long been too distinct
from the external for this to be difficult;
but at last, alone in my own room, the
icy numbness that had gathered round
my heart gave way. flung myself on
my knees by the bedside, and covered
my face with my hands, though there
was no one to see the tears that came to
my relief. All, my vain trust. All!
my foolish hope. But he had loved me
once, and there was still comfort in the
thought. Who has not once in his life
been happy in visionary Paradise, and
been driven out by the flaming sword
But the degree of suffering depends on
the capacity to suffer, and mine was
great. On some minds an impression
is no sooner made than it begins to be
effaced. Time alone, with light imper-
ceptible touches, suffices to smooth away
its traces; but on others, a strong i'm
preston once made is ineffacable; like
character chiseled on hard stone the
marks may be overgrown, but beneath
the moss and lichen that hide them they
still remain, till the stone itself shall per-
ish. The letter was consumed. l start
ed up, and paced the room with the feel
ing of Gagged animal. | longed to rush
out into the woods and fields, and there,
in solitude, under the stormy sky, do
battle with the fiery pain that gnawed at
nv heart. but no, mus. wrap myself
in the Spartan cloak of resolute reserve,
and l did it, but it was hard struggle.
/ do not love to contemplate it even now.
Let the picture 60.
Years pass away, and another day ar
rives, that last on which l was ever DIES
tined to feel strong emotion.
had arrived at the age of thirty. /
was in the drawing room of small
house in Torquay, where we were pass
ing the winter for the sake of my moth
er's failing health. She, wrapped in a
large shawl, was sitting in the warmest
corner by the fire talking with unusual
cheerfulness TO my brother Charles and
his wife, who were staying with us; but
1, Withdrawn from the bright fire and
cheerful talk, sat by a window looking
into the dreary street, bleak and dismal
in the lengthen-days and strengthening
cold Of early February. All! my poor
mother. l know why she is so cheerful.
l had on that day received an eligible offer
of marriage.
81 can depart in peace now," she said,
when ! showed her Colonel Griffith's let
ter.
81 shall see you in home of your
own, my AliceT'
Yes, it would be better so. / was
very fortunate woman. Colonel Griffith
would have been good match for me
when l was in the zenith of my beauty
how lucky then to make such a mar
riage now! / had struggled with my
wasted love, my vain regrets. There
was something buried deep down in my
heart, but it lay very still. 1t gave no
sign of life. | wished to forget that it
was there. Yet on this Gay there were
omnibus STRINGS and heavings in the
grave where it lay hid, sort of convul.
sive sob; but no, it must be dead, it had
been so long buried. Why should not
my future life be bright? and then my
eyes and thoughts wandered to the op
posite house. 1t had been tenanted by
= H. r. 49,. Ill Epa~v w,oc Il.