Delaware Republican. (Wilmington, Del.) 1843-1874, 1873-04-17
For the Delaoare Republican,
A SKETCH.

The dying EN- hers lii ile apartment, an
made light the wasting candle no longer fnr
nislcd; a dismal, spectrous light it seemed
though, rs its dull rays fell upon tile worn fur
niture in the shade of the dim far corners.
haggard old man with great hollow eye.
that looked pitilessly wild In their bleak de
spalr, sat with bowed head just within th,
deepest gloom of tile iire-shadow.
A deeper shadow than that the fire cast Law
upon his soul for here too were slowly dyinf
the smolderin9 embels of a cruel, cursed exls
tence.
Natures store had lent bountftllly to the aid
of Art in heaping high the generous fire, eDer-
gy, and good ambition that God had lighted
years ago upon his hearts hearth-stone--and
left in angel hands.
But ah these Vestals of Heaven, had long
since forsaken in sorrow the shrine whose al.
tars glowed with other fires.
And next its flames were fed, and kept by
devils; fed by savage ambition, sortlil desire
relentless getting and bitter hate and stony
heartedness to iiercest heats that consumed
IIife's precious fuel, and blasted where they
shone, not blest Gas should the fire on every
humanS hearth-place divinely kindled) with
genial warmth and kindly lislt eartl's benight-
ed and shivering ones.
Yes, burned its mad fire almost out, and, save
the warped fender of Reason, lett naueht but
mocking CLEANS of fast fading fire among dead
ashes, growing yet fainter upon the chilled
hearth-stone; its vengeful fury spent had left
that hearth cold, oh, so sadly cold at Life's
dusk-when at best light and heat fail mems
hearts-thus 10 enter the night Of the shades,
cold cold !! cold..i
The night without was wild, and filled with
bitter, bowling voices as if the cohorts of oppos-
ing demons did join battle in rage, shaking earth
and rendine heaven with the horrid cry of
strife.
Rising high above the blast, ever and anon
the doleful creaking of the old tavern sign was
heard.
An old, old sign was this, SO quecrly carved
with ancient fable horror, and so black wthal
that the village stood in awe of it, and'the
very school-boys, who feared scarce else be-
side, shunEed 1t of dark nights.
Once came "a fearful sweep of wind that sent
it swinging wildly and with rodoubled cry of
creak and moan, startling the old man from
his sad unconscious revery of other times.
clark heard you that old sign creakp What
voices ofwoe, of horror and of crime doth 1t so
hoarsely speak out?
What tales OF bitterness and death, wassail
and riot, Of widows prayer and orphans cry do
struggle for utterance from out its storm.rough-
ened and ancient breast clad in such vestment,
nights complexion doth pale around itp
Hark! What? hath it such horrd memory
that speaks itself in curses, shrieks and mad
dening prayers?
Hear it say, this wierd old sign hath a
thousand prophet tongues inspired to tell the
awful Past, il prays now, a wild, despairing
prayer.
"God, o, God have mercyw
All. those dreadful words how feal fully
will remember them; Wat Croslie's drunken,
dying plea for Heavens mercy struck by the
muderous blade my rum had whet.
"Mercy, o God, mercy"-and so he died.
Curses on the thing why Goes it bring such
memories from the mouldy vault where
thought they had been buried forever"
The wind had lulled; the sign was no longer
heard.
"Still, at last, thank God" and the weary
head leaned forward to snatch a moment re-
spite in broken slumber.
Another blast swung the sign gently and IA
mournful moan was borne on the night wind
20 the ear of the nervous sleeper.
"Hark. again did hear that omnous thing
that tells horrors that rend my soul with awful
recollections9 Heaven it moans a dire, q
drunkard's dismal dirge!'
The half crazcd wretch sat upright In terror.
his eyes glazing tn ough his thin, gray hairs, far
ont into tho deep darkness where moan after
moan In funeral cadence, rose and fell upon
the signing wind, like some sad requiem chant
ed low by aerial sprites.
"Moan on ye winds, sing the melanch ,ly in
cantations OF remorse over his nameless grave,
his shameful rod of fellow clay, that my insa-
tiate inhuman lust for gain got him IN yon
lonely potter's field. Howl on sayl
/ But ye breath the bated voices of Despair, OF
/ grim, wasting melancholy that rise, laden with
Deaths damp from out his tomb to choke
mer'
The wind sank lower still, aud again stirred
not the remorseless oracle without.
As If spteful spirits did tend the winds tc
bid them taunt him, soon once more the swing
ing fiend found its unseem'y office at the hand,
of whistling Btr.as. This time its note SCENE,
in higher key; rang out shrill like infants wal
or hurt mothers cry.
Siung by the fresh torments of his ieryid fan
cy, he started as though some long-forgottel
deed of horror had swept a'ross his vision il
all its first fearfulness.
o God! and did 1 sacrifice them also TO m
yellow Moloch gold--Alice! Allie wife, chill