Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1883-09-01

4 reinorse had not mingled its bitter
/; ness with my other sensations. Nov
] l could only answer my fathe
with look of despair, and endeay
or to hide myself from his view.
| About this time we retired to ou
. house at Belrive. This change wa
particularly agreeable to me. Thi
shutting of the gates regularly a
ten O'Clock, and the impossibilitN
of remaining on the lake after tina
: hour, had rendered our residenc,
within the walls of Geneva very
irksome to me. was now free
Often, after the rest of the family
had retired for the night, tool
the boat, and passed many hour.
upon the water. Sometimes, will
} my sails set, was carried by the
wind, and sometimes, after rowing
into the middle of the lake, I lefl
the boat to pursue its own course,
and gave way to my own miserable
reflections. J. was often tempted
when all was at peace around me
and l the only unquiet thing that
wandered restless in a scene SO
beautiful and heavenly, If / except
some bat, or the frogs, whose harsh
and interrupted croaking was heard
only when | approached the shore,
often, say, | WAS tempted TO
plunge into the silent lake, that the
waters might close over me, and
my calainities forever. But / was
restrained when l thought of the
heroic and suffering Elizabeth,
whom L tenderly loved, and whose
existence was bound up in mine.
! | thought also OF my father and
surviving brother. Should by my
base desertion leave them exposed
and unprotected to the malice OF
the fiend whom 1 had let loose
among them? t...... ....-..r.
AT these moments wept bitterly,
and wished that peace would re-
visit my mind only that / might
afford them consolation and happi-
ness. But that could not be. Re
morse eXtinguished every hope.
/ had been the author of unalterable
evils; and / lived in daily dread
lest the monster whom I had crea-
ted should perpetuate some new
wickedness. l had an obscure feel
ing that all was not over, and that
he would still commit some signal
crime, which by its en0rmity should
almost efface the recollection of the
past. There was always scope for
fear, so long as anything loved
remained behind. My adherence
of this tiend cannot be conceived.
When / thought Of him l gnashed
my teeth, my eyes became inflamed
and ardently wished to extinguish
that life which | had so thought.
lessly bestowed. When l reflected
on his crimes and malice, my ha-
tired and revenge burst all bounds
of moderation. / would have made
pilgrimage to the highest peak OF
the Andes, could /, when there,
have precipitated him to their base.
! wished to see him again, that l
might wFeak the utmost extent
of anger on his head, and avenge
the deaths of William and Justine.
Our house was the house of
mourning. My fathers health was
deeply shaken by the horror o. re-
recent events. Elizabeth was sad
and desponding; she no longer
took delight in her ordinary occu-
patiOns all pleasure seemed to her
sacrilege toward the dead; eternal
woe and tears she then thought was
the just tribute she should pay to
innocence SO blasted and destroyed.
She was no longer that happy
creature, who, in earlier youth wan
dered with me on the banks of the
lake, and talked with ecstacy of
our future prospects. She had be-
come grave, and often conversed on
the Inconsistency of fortune, and the
instability OF human life.
"When reflect, my dear cousih,"
said she, con the miserable death
OF Justine Moritz, / no longer see
the world and its works as they
before appeared TO me. Before,
looked upon the accounts Of vice
and injustice, that had read In
books or heard from others, as tales
Of ancient days, or imaginary evils;
at least they were remote, and
more familiar to reason than 70 the
imagination but now misery has
come home, and men appear to me
as monsters thirsting for one an-
others blood. Yet am certainly
unjust. Everybody. believed that
poor girl to be guilty; and il she
could have committed the crime
for which she suffered, assuredly
she would have been the most de-
praved OF human creatures. For
the sake of few jewels to have
murdered the son of her beneiactor
and friend, a child whom she had
nursed from its birth, and appeared
to love as II it had been her own
| could not consent to the death of
any human being, but certainly i
should have thought such creature 4
unfit to remain in the society OF
men. Yet she was innocent you
are of the same opinion, and that
confirms me. Alas Victor, when
falsehood can look so like truth.
who can assure themselves of cer-
tain happiness? / feel as IL ! were |
walking on the edge of a precipice,
toward which thousands are crowd |
ing, and endeavOring to plunge me |
into the abyss. William and JUS
tine were assassinated, and the nur- |
derer escapes he walks about the |
world free, and perhaps respected. |
But even ii | were condemned to
suffer on the scaffOld for, the same |
crimes, / would not change places
with such a wretch F"
| listened to this discourse with
the EXTREMIST agony. i, not in deed,
but in effect, was the true murder.
Elizabeth read my anguish in my
and kindly taking my
hand said, "My dearest cousin, you
must calm yourself. These events
have affected me, God knows how
deeply; but am not so wretched
as you are. There is an expression
of despair, and sometimes of re-
Venge, in your countenanre that
makes me tremble. BE calm, my
dear Victor, would sacrifice my
life to your peace. We surely shall
be happy; quiet in our native cOun-
try, and not mingling In the world,
what can disturb our tranquility 2"
She shed tears as she said this,
the very solace that she
gave, but at the same time she
smiled, that she might chase away
the fiend that lurked in my heart. |
My father, who saw in the unhappi-
ness that was painted in my face
only an exaggeration OF that sorrow
which / might naturally feel,
thought an amusement suited to |
my taste would he the best means
of restoring me to my wonted Sc
renity. 1t was from this cause that
he had removed to the country,
and, induced by the same motive,
he now DrOnOspd that wa-shoIlId nli 4