Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1873-09-04
WOODSTOCK, W., THURSDAY, SEPT. 4, 1878.

was ohiy oAa'liuiiE tuc illdCillli
cry, to see that everything was right,
he answered, sullenly, and turned
away.
i carefully examined the cords by
which the Car was raised. Everything
appeared to be secure and in good
order; and went back to my place.
trying to laugh myself out of my ap.
prehensions. But though it was eaay
to argue that all was sight, and that
my fears arose merely from some mex
plicable disorder of the brain, | could
not feel secure. | was positive that
some frightful misadventure would
occur before the play was over; and
every nerve was strained in the effort
to maintain calm exterior.
The play progressed. The cnrtain
rose upon the magnificent trrnsfor-
nation scene; and the plaudits of the
audience grew tumultuous as the
splendoIs unrolled before them. AT
length the Car began to rise slowly
and majestcally, to low, sweet strains
of music. | watched, with scarcely
beating heart and bated breath, the
first appearance of the beautiful Wis
ion-tor like vision it looked, rising
and still rising, the car resplendent
with all the tinsel which shone like
gold, and silver, and diamonds. A
sound as of many tinkling fountains
mingled with the strains of delicious
music. fairy-land seemed opening
upon the sight, with arching bowers
and far-reacdng vistas, and myriads
of elin forms disporting on the
ground and in the air. For mo-
ment | was fascinated, when Ada and
Dora, in all their beauty, rose above
the lake, their stately car seemingly
lifted by invisible hands. l forgot
my apprehensions, and once more
breathed freely.
Suddenly there was dreadful crash
and a wild cry filled the house. The
Car had fallen. For an instant, | felt
rooted to the spot where | was stand
ing, and then recovering my senses,
rushed forward to learn the worst.
AS | made my way through the mar
row passage under the stage, l heard
some one say in applying tone: "Poor
thing, she will never dance again ?"
Which was it ? Ada? q? Dora l fought
my way through the crowd of actors
and attendants, and saw my little Ada
lying senseless in D6ra's arms.
Throwing myself on my knees, took
her cold hands in both of mine. "My
dear friend" said Dora, who was
weeping silently, "she is not dead,
though dreadfully hurt The sur
geon will be here directly. Compose
yourself. She is reviving!' y
My little darling opened her eyes,
with deep sigh, and looked about
her with a bewildered gaze
"Hush, little one" said Dora, softly,
as she saw Ada was about to speak.
'Lie still and be patient till the sur
geon comes"
The gentle sufferer closed her eyes,
and her little hands pressed mine with
a tender grasp. The surgeon was
soon on the spot. He assured me
that Ada had sustained no fatal in
Jury, but it was doubtful whether she
would be able to walk again. With
a piteous cry, she fell back in Dora's
arms, and tainted dead away.
had noticed no one but Ada and
Dora, but at this moment was con-
scious that the count was knceling
beside me, and had clasped Dora's
hand. "Better she than you, my
love !" he murmured.
Dora gave him quick look ofre-
proof "This is no time for love
making," she answered, withdrawing
her hand. "Have you no feeling for
the poor girl lying here, whose whole
life must be one of misery and sor-
row?'
"What is this ballet girl to me p
answered the count, stung to the
quick, and for moment thrown off
his guard. "Of course, | am sorry
for her," he added the next moment,
"but-"
At this moment Ada opened her
eyes again, and a faint blush struggled
with the paleness in her cheeks, as her
gaze fell upon the count. a beautiful
smile played on her trembling lips,
and she reached her hand toward him.
"Oh, my love- she said in low
whisper-a whisper which first sent
the blood mantling into Doras face
and then left it paler than snow