Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1886-12-15
Was it a Dream?
BY J. s. WILSON.

|
One day in early spring I was returning
from trip to the country. 1 was tired,
and lay down to rest in the shade of an OLD
oak tree, close by the banks of babbline
river. 1t was at the foot of green mead
ow, and but step from the public road
A oountryman on his way to town stepped
and entered into conversation, in the course
of which he informed me that terrible
murder had once been committed beneath
that tree, close to where was seated. He
could give me none of the particulars
had happened long before his day-a few
years after the close Of the Revolutionary
war he only knew that one Marsden, .
wealthy gentleman, had murdered his
young wife and her supposed paramour
upon that spot If he had the time he
could show me where Marsden's residence
once stood, but he was il q hurry and
passed Oh.
These facts made deep impression upon
my mind, and sat and pendered over
what I had heard without regard to the
flight of time. The sun had gone to rest
behind the distant ridge Of hills /; the cur
tain of darkness was enwrapping the world (;
the stars twinkled forth one by one in the
far-off sky the owl sent forth his dull,
monotonous cry, and the river tinkled
musically onward over its rocky bed, and
seemed to bid me rise and follow it but 1
disobeyed its call and fingered on. I knew
not what strange experience would be
mine ere again left that spot.
] The thunders of the war of the Revolu-
tion have ceased to reverberate among the
hills and valleys Of the newborn America !;
the white flag of peace streams on the
breeze, and the busy hum of active labor
fills the land the soldiers, young and old,
have all returned to their sweethearts,
mothers, wives and children, covered with
glory and renown, and are bending their
energies to the task of making the infant
republic the grandest of all governments
upon the face of the globe.
| A morn in June a bright sun and a
cloudless sky; dew-dropa glittering like
millions of diamonds, strewn by the hands
of fairies, over the waving grass; sweet
song birds on the branches of every nod
ding tree, fill the flower-scented air with
melody. Stretched beneath a sturdy oak,
l rest full length upon the sward, drinking
in all the beauty, the melody, and the per-
fume of this fair morning.
What strange being am have life,
| thought and motion, but am invisible.
know the minds, the feelings and the souls
Of all with whom I come in contact; but
| they never feel or seem to know Of my
presence.
But hist l hear approaching footsteps.
l raise myself slightly, and see coming
toward me tall broad shouldered man,
| in the very prime of life-a handsome man
| with curling hair and blazing eyes. Ele-
| gant!y is he clad in the dress of that period
Immediately succeeding the Revolution.
| Some trouble is on his mind, for his
brews are contracted and his hands tightly
clenched together, and he mutters con-
stantIy to himself. feel that 1 must be
with him, accompanying him, and know
his ways. So, gliding to his side, together
we walk up the sleping pathway in the di-
rection of that white, vine-embowered cot
tage We see yonder upon the crest of that
green hill. am not with the poor fellow
long before 1 know his trouble. His soul
is distracted with jealousy. He suspects
his young bride of infidelity to him.
"What shall / do?' he means almost
woman whom placed above all others,
and whom hold dearer than my own soul,
is false. Perhaps it is the Marsden jeal-
ousy that has possession of me. l can only
wait and see-wait and see."
We are now near the house, and from
cut the vine- wreathed porch girlish figure
springs and with light, graceful steps skins
over the hower-covered lawn to meet and
greet her husband.
What rarely beautiful creature she is
with form SO slight, SO wondrously mold
ed-such dewy brown eyes SO full of tender
ness and sweet expression Her fair hair,
that CLEANS and glints in the sunshine falls
over her shoulders like golden veil, and
her lips, red and clear as cleft Strawberries,
part over teeth whittier than any pearl ever
extracted from the depths of old ocean. l
do not wonder that the husband worships
her as wildly as he does.
She throws her snowy, jewelled arms
around the broad shoulders of Marsden,
and holds up the red and fragrant lips to
be kissed. 1 knew the man feels like
thrusting her from him, and pouring forth
upon her defenceless head the fury long
smothered within his breast. Far better
would it have been had he done so. But
he controls himself by great effort light
ly kisses the little mouth, and walks on in
silence to the house, she clinging to his
arm.
She is q childish, innocent thing, know.
No guile in her heart-no stain on her soul.
How terribly blind humanity is !! I know
| her thoughts, and can even hear the blood
as it ripples through her veins, and know
that every drop drawn from the warm,
| trusting heart is consecrated to the broad
shouldered, jealous creature whose name
she bears.
On arriving at the house Marsden excus-
es himself and retires to his apartment
Bowing his head upon table, he mutters
brokenly,-
"Oh, it must be SO Old Pompey can
not be mistaken. Twice. he says, sho has
met him in the last ten days, at the foot Of
the meadow by the old oak tree. If find
this report to be true, his life, at least, shall
pay the penalty for bringing disgrace on
the Marsden name"
| Out in the garden in the latticed sum-
mer-house little, white-clad figure is
crouched in corner of the rustic bench
sobbing and moaning softly.
81 must tell Silas tonight. This sus-
pense has been almost unbearable. Silas
is SO proud but then be secured his par
don once, and gave him money to start
afresh-and he thinks now he is far away.
Oh, how angry he would be did he know of
this new trouble Poor, erring boy, 1 love
him SO Tomorrow he will be gone, and
then I will tell Silas-my dear, dear hus-
band -
She rises from her seat, but she notices
not the scrap of white paper that has fallen
from her bosom to the ground. By some
strange fatality Silas Marsden enters the
summer-house Immediately as his wife
leaves it. Almost the first object that
greets his gaze is the scrap of paper. I'm
agining evil in everything, he gathers il
eagerly up, and with fast-beating heart
and changing countenance reads the fol
lowing =
DEAREST Meet me by the old oaE
tree, at the foot of the meadow, at dusl
this evening. Tomorrow all will be over
) Do not fail to come.
, sLovingly, H"
Poor, unhappy Silas Marsden f! On
paroxysm after another of rage and jeal
? ousy oonvulses his frame, and he utter
curses loud and deep. Murder is in hi
heart, and it is sometime before he grow
calm enough to form his plan of action.
Out in the sunny world all is joy ant
r gladness. The crickets chirp out clear ant
e shri'l myriads of birds pour forth thei
sweetest songs; and the breeze, as