Raftsman's journal. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1854-1948, 1871-05-24
THE BRIDES TOMB.

The incident which I am about to relate
is one of the many evidences that the oft
repeated saying, that truth is stranger than
fction Science, which has oDeEed so
many doors, which has solved riddles hard
er than the Sphynx ever propounded to
the Thebans. looks with silence upon Il Ger =
tain kind of phenomenon which has
puzzled wiser heads than mine, and which
Webster classes under the nebulous word
supernatural.
Quite as lucid is the definition of those
who deny the agency of other than physical
or natural causes in producing this class of
events. Imagination, coincidence, optical
illusions, are the wet blankets which these
superbly practical people shower upon the
heads of all who may Ire inclined to exclaim
with the poet, There are more things in
Heaven and earth, Horatio. than are dreampt
of in your philosophy That the writer
was not extinguished years ago by one or
more of these wet blankets, may Re accept
ed as proof that they are not 50 potent for
the purpose as mary good people imagine
them to be. | repeat, truth is stranger
than fiction, which repetition means that !
am not exercising my imagination. beg
to state that | am too profoundly ignorant
ior any such mental exercise. [ wrote. con-
scious of but one rcas1l. 'Tis the 29th of
March, the annive-o"ry of al ever memor-
able night. Like Coeridge's Ancient
Mariner my heart is He'd v.-h wofal
agony, and am constrained 10 repeat the
tale.
Years ago, [ was invited to spend the
month of March with family with whom
| enjoyed the most intimate relations. This
family consisted of three persons-Mr and
Mrs. Linden, AMI their daughter Marie, a
lovely girl of nineteen.
Marie was to be married on he 29th of
the month, and it was the desire of both
mother and daughter that should spend az
much time with them as | could previous
TO the event. 1t has been so often asserted
that there can be no real love between wo-
men, that the saying has come to be accept
ed as truth. ! have no heart to-nghC 10
make any attempt at refuting this absurd
error; but that it is an error nay love fer
Marie Linden would be convincing proof in
my own heart, though had never loved
another woman.
a popular writer has said that TO have
face that can look beautiful for those who
love it, on whom it looks with love. is
enough for ordinary women" Such face
had Marie Linden; yet, dearly as | loved
her, | doubt if | can convey any clear i'm
preston of it to the reader. Hazel eyes,
auburn hair, and a bright complexion, tell
nothing-it was not in form or color that
the beauty lay. Perhaps il was because the
face was so sweet and true, or perhaps it
vas IN the eyes, which were serene to the
very depths-an inward serenity, which
made 1t impossible to associate anything
AKIN 10 sorrow with ny possessor-L know
not-and must proceed with my story.
MIR. Linden's house was situated on a |
crest of rising ground, about mile distant
from an old sea- port town. l, commanded |
a variety of scenery, which must have salts.
fed the most difficult taste The house
faced the north. fronting the broad BAY T.
which swept into the open sea. Between
the bay and the house broad expanse OF
level ground extended for miles along the
coast. On the southern side were richly
wooded slopes, with stretches of meadow
between, where, in the season, the ripened
grain waved ike billowy sea. The east
side command ed a view of the town; here (
distance lent its usual enchantment to the |
picture. Midway between the town and .
Mr.. Linden's house stood the gray church
which Mr.. Linden, with his wife ard daugh-
ter, always attended, and where two or
three generations of Mrs. Linden's family
were buried. The white columns which