The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1885-01-17

journey suddenly there came crash,
a jar, a violent, sudden shock that
flung us from our places; and engine
and cars went over a steep embark
ment, dragging their stricken
human freight to black destruction and
swift death.
Oh, the horror of the scene that fol-
lowed Language fails to describe it.
Shrieks, groans, oaths, prayers-a roar
OF mad confusion, an awful mingling
OF living and dead in one mangled,
bleeding, wildly struggling mass like a
dreadful dream that lurid vision of
death and despair scorched itself into
my brain, and then, physical torture
overcome all else, and l found relief
from agony in Inconsistencies.
Months elapsed ere l awoke to a
full realization of the terrible misfortune
that had overtaken US. Weak as an in
FAINT l opened my heavy eyes one day
and recognized Frank, seated beside
my bed. Frank, safe and well, with
out bruise, or scar; Frank, who
fell upon his knees and wept and
thanked God aloud that reason had re-
turned to me.
"Where, where is Hugh?" l whis-
pered, feebly. He turned away; the
tears rolled down his face. Alas poor
Hugh was dead
Then, by slow degrees, 1 learned the
full extent of my misfortune. l had
| been crushed, wounded, broken, scald-
ed, almost out of the semblance of
humanity my health and reason, in
deed, would be restored but through
all my years of life to cone l must
limp painfully; poor, repulsive MAIN
ed, disfigured cripple.
"Better to have died. Better to
have died!' l cried in agony. ooh,
would to God that l could change with |
Hugh"
"They had taken him alive from the
wreck of the ruined train. and he had
fingered several days. Almost his last |
act had been to dictate letter to me
in which he bequeathed to me, and
| solemnly commended to my care all |
that he had IN life-his little orphan !
girl.
A sacred legacy. The dying fathers |
parting agony his deep anxiety and |
tender love, his pure and simple faith
in me, spoke in those lines and earn
estly | resolved that the trust he had |
given me should be fulfilled that the
child should be to me as a young sis
ter. The first CLEAN of comfort came
to me as thought of her. Having her
and Frank to care for, life was not
worthless would still prize it for
their sakes.
wrote to the lady who had the
care OF Blanche, charging her to break
the sad news Of the girls bereavement
as gently and tenderly as possible. l
inclosed also poor Hugh's last lines to
me, and wrote her a few kind words,
assuming the character of her guardian
and nearest friend, and instructlng her
to apprise me of all her wishes and
necessities. That done, | sent Frank
whose highest ambition was to study
for the law-away to college, and then,
retiring to secluded country place,
shut myself up in absolute retirement
with only books for my companions.
So passed two years. l had become
a sad and melancholy man. Constant
solitude, bitter brooding over the
wreck of bright career and the mourn
full possibilities of the lonely, cherries
future, had imbittered my temper and
weighed down M heart. What hap
piness had life to offer me? The solace
of friendship, the fond ties of love,
were not for one whose very appear
ance must inspire disgust and pity; l
must 60 lonely to my grave.
Since that miserable day, two years
ago, when rising for the first time from
my couch of pain, limped to a mirror
and gazed upon my distorted form and
disfgured face with feelings that can
not be described, l had never beheld
myself. There were no mirrors in the
rooms | occupied, save that gastly re-
Election which my memory preserved,
and upon whose sad reality I had no
wish to look again in those two years
l had grown beard, and my lameness
had so far passed away that required
only the aid of a cane in walking, but
l was not conscious of-did not dream
of-any improvement otherwise, mag
nation still presented to my memory
the pitiful, CHASTITY image in the glass.
What were my suferings then, what
was my humiliation on discovering that
in spite of ALL loved. Loved?
adored, worshiped a being so bright,
so good, SO beautiful, that avery prince
of meE could scarcely have been worthy
to be her mate
She had broken in upon my solitude
like vision of youth and joy she had
dissipated the gloom of my dark and
lonely home like burst of warm and
radiant sunshine the sound of her
sweet voice, caroling like a happy bird,
brought comfort and joy to my sore
heart, my darling, my sister, my ward,
poor Hugh's legacy, my dear adopted
daughter Blanche.
1t was thus | had thought of her at
first. She had come, at her own earn
est request, to spend her vacation with
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