Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1886-12-15
control, he hurries off and away through
the sweet-scented forest toward the village.

control, he hurries off and away through
the sweet-scented forest toward the village
| 4
| Night, dark, gloomy night. The sky Al
unearthly, lurid hue the atmosphere
heavy and oppressive the occasional fiasi
of lightning the sullen mutterings o.
thunder among the distant hills /; the
| soughing sigh Of the wind in the tall tree
tops the weird wailings of the great.
thrOated frogs in the river; the low flight oi
the leather-winged bat, all tell Of an ap.
preaching storm.
Odd but there, by that old oak tree, at
the foot of the Marsden meadows, man
and woman are lingering. By the strange
light emitted from the clouds I see them
plainly. He is tall and handsome-she is
| slight and graceful. The woman is Silas
Marsdon's wife-the man is-well, know,
because know everything the trem-
| bling, angry man here at my side does not.
Silas Marsden and /, his constant invisible
companion, are here behind the decaying
trunk of tree that has been riven and
blasted by the lightning's bolt. He is
nervously clutching cleaning pistol, l
gazing passively on.
| We hear the voices of the man and wo-
man they are talking low, and it seems
lovingly. Now they are about to part. We
see the man reach out his arms and draw
the woman to his breast. We hear him say,
| Farewell, my love-" and his lips meet
hers in lingering kisses.
My God! The man at my side leaps forth
| from his concealment with an awful cry
such as had never heard before-of min
gled rage and despair, and fires his pistol
| several times in succession at the couple
An owl, alarmed at the unusual commotion,
| flaps heavily away among the trees; q
dreadful, dsathlike silence now reigns; the
sky assumes a blood-red hue, and imparts
| to all objects the same horrible color. Oh,
it is terrible night, and my heart grows
numb with ghastly terror, and the very
marrow freezes in my bones.
We're the shots effective? Yes, very
For the man lies motionless and dead, new
CT moving after falling 30 violently to the
ground. AT little distance frem him lies
the woman-ths poor little woman--moan-
cred and dying from her golden hair, and
the jewelled hands olutching convulsively
at the trembling grass. Oh, it is terrible
night
No sooner are tho shots fired, and the
man sees his dreadful work, than remorse
ssizss upon him, and he rushes to the side
of the prestrate woman, and, tenderly lift
ing her head fren the ground, pillows it
upon his bosom.
The great brown eyes unclose for an in
stant, and light of joy illuminates them,
the pale lips murmur caressingly. "My
pcor brother : -dead-Silas, my husband
my own" But the sentence is never
finished, for the sunny head falls back, the
loving eyes close forever, and the spotless
innocent soul is quietly borne by angel hands
over the jasper sea, through the "gates
ajar," to life and rest eternal
A terrible light dawns upon tho unhappy
murderer. With hoarse cry of agony he
rushes to the dead man, and bending low
he looks closely at tho upturned, rigid face.
The ceuntenancs tells him an awful tale.
''My Godp' he gasps. my wife's out
lawed brother! thought he was far away!
Oh, why was l so fearfully blind ?''
He rises frem the ground and dashes like
a hunted animal into the depths of the
forest.
A flash Of lightning, a burst of thunder,
and the threatened storm bursts forth. Oh,
it is terrible night!
A wretched wanderer in Europe, under
an assumed name. after lapse of two
years, | again see Silas Marsden. Over the
snow-covered mountains of Switzerland,
the sunny slopes of Italy, the vineclad hills
of Germany, the bonny wales of France, the
foggy streets of London, the gay resorts of
Paris-here, there, everywhere, he has
sought the blessed boon of peace-surcease
from sorrow. But, alas it is not granted
him. A haggard, halfcrazed man, he
wanders on and on, plunging into all sorts
Of recklessness and debauchery, seeking
for that which is denied him.
Constantly his innocent victims are with
HMM the waking hours of the dread
midnight, in the full glare of the MONDAY
sun in the crowded city, in the quiet
country, he sees their ,blood-stained forms.
Hourly he curses himself and his blind
jealousy. Poor man, hard, indeed, is his
position
Now we are back again in America, in
the third story of a squalid hotel in a lone
ly quarter of a great city. 1t is midnight
and the anniversary of that terrible murder
in the Marsden meadows. Again fearful
storm is raging. For three days Marsden
has been without rest. For hours he has
lain there upon that miserable cot, listen
ing to the bowling storm, striving to forget
the past
The hour of midnight, rung out by a
clock in neighboring belfry, is borne quiv-
ering by the signing wind to his listen
ing ears. The last stroke dies away
With the old cry on his lips, Marsden
springs from the bed, draws pistol from
his bosom, places it to his temple, fires,
and sinks to the floor bloody corpse.
Beneath the spreading boughs of the
old oak, by the river, at the foot of the
Marsden meadows, 1 rest again.
1t is night, calm and clear, with faint
moon shining in the sky. Suddenly the
air grows dense with a sulphurous odor,
and from out the gloom comes Silas Mars
den, with the same haggard, restless look
upon his face. He lays one skinny hand
upon my shoulder and greets nae as he
would an old acquaintance. The air grows
heavier with the sulphurous smell, ghast-
ly blue light illumines the scene; the hand
resting on my shoulder seems burning ans.
soaring my flesh to the very bone; a
strange horror pervades my system-I try
to scream, and make desperate effert to
leave the spot; bell suddenly booms out
with sulen rear, and find myself stand
ing, dazed and bewildered, in the public
road a few feet from the spot where / lay
down to rest at the beginning Of this story.
had certainly been asleep, and the
night was now far advanced and dark as
pitch. All was still as death save the
murmuring ofthe little river close by. fell
like one who had been suffering from a
terrible nightmare, and it was with difficulty
that found my way back to the village
and to my lodgings.
/ After that [ was sick for several days
but the physician said my illness was caused
from lying on the damp ground. did no
tell him of my strange experience, nor o
the painful condition ofmy shoulders, whicl
fingered with me for many days.
am not superstitious person, but al
ways firmly believe that the ghost of th
dead and gone Marsden returned to eartl
that night and took me with him down thu
vale of years, and showed me his past life
u MECHANISM OF THE FOOT OF THE HORSE
The foot Of the horse is one of the mos
ingenious and unexampled pieces of mech
, anism III animal structure. The hoo