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. .THE SEAMSTRESS.
* * '** BT 11. E 3.
Alone in my gsuret T sit,
My 1* if lit fa-t fl ckerinp away;
liv work is unfinished y*-f.—
I've been siitvhit.g, stiubing all day.
Stitehingr, sMtchintr. ’till my eves
Are dimmed bv the tears ih.it flow;
My-fingers are weary, pain flies
Through my limbs—still I must sew.
Who cures for me—(stitehing nil day—
For a pittance niugardh- small,)
If each stitch my fingers I flay,
My heart’s blood st tin the i bread and the pall.
All A*y ’till night comes—stitch,stitch, stitch—
The flume to-morrow —forever—
Mv life's blood doth others enrich,
Till the thread of my life doth sever.
In my garret, weary and sad.
V glhnm-r of fve in iky grate.
I must work, work, if I go mad—
I must stitch, stitch, «xrly and late.
Stitch on—we are slaves to ihe rich ;
They ihink we are made but to toil;
Could they hear us sigh with each stitch,
I thiuk their hard hearts would recoil.
Oh ! why should society frown
On 'hose who-e position it makes,
And strive aspirations io drown
'Till me heart in solitude breaks.
[From New Orleans Mirror ]
HORROR-A TRUE TALE.
I was bat nineteen years of age
when the inciilent occurred which has
thrown a shadow over my life; and
all, me! how many and many a weary
year has dragged by singe lion!
Young happy and beloved. I was in
those long-departed days. They said
that I was beautiful. The mirror uow
mmvn
Ashen lips, aud face of deadly pallor.
I will try and relate, exactly as it
happened, the event which blighted
my life. But as I take the pen, my
hand trembles, my head swims, the
old rushing faintness and horror comes
over me again, and the well remem
bered tea- is upon me. This, briefly,
is tnv story: I was a great heiress, I
believe, though I eared little for the
fact, hut so it was. My father had
great possessions, and no son to inher
it after him. His three daughters, of
whom I was the youngest, • were to
share the broad acres. I have said,
and truly, that I eared little for this
circumstance; anti indeed, I was so
rich then in health and youth and
love, that I felt myself quire indiffer
ent to all else. The possession of all
the treasures of earth could never
have made up for what I then had—
and lost as I atn about to relate. Os
course, we girls knew we were heiress- j
es, but I do not think Lucy and Min- !
nie were any the prouder or the hap- !
pier on that account. I know I was
not. Reginald did not court me for .
my money. Os that I felt assured,
lie proved it, heaven be praised ! when
lie shrank from my side after the |
change. Y r es, in all my lonely age, I
'can still be thankful that he did not;
keep his word, as some would have
done, diil not clasp at the altar a hand
. Le had learned to loathe and shudder
.’at, because it was full of gold—much
gold ! At least, he spared me that
An/1 know that I was loved, and the
knowledge has kept tne from going
mad through many a weary day and
restless night, wljen my hot eyeballs
had not a tear to- shed, and even to
weep was a luxury denied me. Our
house was an old Tudor mansion. It
was a superstitious atmosphere we
children were reared in, and we heard
from our infancy, countless tales of
horror, some mere Fables doubtless,
other legends of dark deeds of the
olden times, exagerated by credulity
and the love of the marvellous. Our
mother had died when we were young,
ami our other parent being, though a
kind father, much absorbed in affairs
of various kinds, as an active magis
trate and landlord, there was no one
te cheek the unwholesome stream of
tradition with which our plastic minds
were-inundated in the company of
.nurses and servants. • It was at a
county assembly that Reginald and I
first met —met and loved. Yes, I ant
that he loved me with all his
heart. It was not as deep a heart as
some, I have thought in my grief and
anger : but I never doubted its truth
and honesty. Reginald’s father and
mine approved of our growing attach
ment; and as for myself, I know I
was so happy then, that I look back
upon thoso fleeting moments as on
some delicious dream. I now come
f<r JMjjtfrt ttefe, SRBs, hm General fnftaifion.
to the change. It was Christmas, al
ways a joyful and a hospitable time in
the country, especially in such an old
hall as our home, weere quaint cus
toms and frolics were much clung to,
as part and paicel of the very dwel
ling itself. The hall was full of
guests—so full, indeed, that there was
great difficulty in providing sleeping
accommodations for all.
At last the unexpected arrival of an |
elderly relative, who had been asked
months before, but scarcely exported, j
caused great commotion. ~My aunts
went abofft wringing their hands dis
tractedly. Lady Spebtlrtirst was a !
personage of some "consequence ; she;
was a distant cousin, and had been for
years on cool terms with us all, on ac- |
count of some fancied affront or slight :
when she had paid her last visit, about t
the time of my christening, She was
seventy years old ; infirm, rich and
testy ; moreover, she was my grand- \
mother, though I had forgotten the
fact, but it seems that though I had j
formed no expectations of a legacy in ;
my favor, my aunts had done so for
me.
The matter ended in my giving up
my room. I had a strange reluc
tance to making the offer, which sur
prised myself. Was it a boding of
evil to come ? I cannotrsay. It may
have been. At any rate, I do not
think it was any selfish unwillingness
to make an old and infirm lady com
fortable by a trifling sacrifice. The
chamber to which I removed was a
dim little tn’arigular'foom in the West
ern wing, and was only to be reached
by traversing the picture-gallery or
by mounting a litt-io flight of stone
stairs w hich led directly upwards from
the low-browed areh of a door that
opened into the garden. There "as
one more room oh the same landing
place, and this was a mere receptacle
for broken furniture,--shattered jnys,»,
and all the lumber that will accumu
late in a country house, 'ihe room I,
was to inhabit for a few days was if
tapestry-hung apartment, with failed
green curtains of some costly., stuff'.
contrasting Oddly with anew carpet :
and the bright fresh hangings of the
The furniture was halfoM,,FisTTncw
uhd 'on the 'dressing table stood a very
quaint oval mirror, in a frame of
black wood—unpolished ebony, I
think. I can remember the very pat
ern of the carpet, the number of (
chairs, the situation of the bed, the
figures on the tappestry. Nay, J can
recollect not duty the color of the
dress I wore ori that fatal evening, hut
the arrangement of every scrap of
lace and ribbon, of every flower, every
jewel, with a memory but too perfect.
Scafftely had my maid finished spread
ing out my various articles of attire
for the evening (when there was to be
a great dinner-party,) when the rum
ble of a carriage announced that Lady
Speldhurst had arrived. The short
winter day drew to a close,-and a
large number of guests gathered to
gether in the ample drawing room,
around the blaze of the wood fire, af
ter dinner. Need I say that Reginald
was there? He sat near me—my ac
cepted lover, my plighted future hus
band. We were to be married in the
spring. My sisters were not far off;
. they, too, had found eyes that spark
led and softened in meeting theirs, had
found hearts that beat responsive to
their own. And, in their cases, no
rude'frost hipped the blossom ere it
; became the fruit; there was no can
ker in their flowerets of young hope,
jno cloud in their sky. Innocent and
| loving, they were beloved by men
worthy their esteem.
I remember still how- tall and man
ly and handsome Reginald looked that
night, taller by the head than any
there, ami full of high spirits and
gaiety. I too, was in the highest
spirits; never had my bosom felt
lighter, and I believe it was my mirth
which gradually gained the rest, for I
recollect what a blithe, joyous compa
ny we seemed. All save one. Lady
Speldhurst, dressed in grey silk and
wearing a quaint head-dress, sat in
her armchair, facing the fire, very si
lent, with her hands and her sharp
chin propped on a sort of ivory-handled
crutch peering at me with half-shut
eyes. She was a little spare old wo
rn.in, with very keen delicate features
of the French type. Her grey silk
dress, her spotless lace, old fashioned
i jewels, and prim neatness of array,
were well suited to the intelligence of
her face, with its thin lips, and eyes of
a piercing biack, undimmed by age.
Those eyes made me uncomfortable,
in spite of my gaiety, as they follow
ed my very movement with curious
scrutiny. Still I was very merry and
gay; my sisters even wondered at
my ever-ready mirth, which was al
most wihl in its excess. I have heard
since then of the Scottish belief that
those doomed to some great calamity
become fey, and are never so disposed
for merriment and laughter as just
before the blow falls. If ever mortal
GREENVILLE, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, MARCH 6, 1861.
was fey, then, I was so on that evening
Still, though I 9trove to shake it off,
the pertinacious observation of old
Ludy Speldhurst’s eyes did make an
impression on me of a vaguely disa
greeable nature. Others, too, po
ticed her scrutiny of me, but set it
down as a mere eccentricity of a per
son always reputed whimsical, to say
the least of it.
| However, this disagreeable sensa
| tion lasted but a few moments. Af-
{ ter a short pause my aunt took her
l part in the conversation, and we found
j ourselves listening, to a weird legend
[which the ohl fady told exceedingly
j well. One tale led to another. Ev
j erv one was called on in turn to con-
I tribute to the public entertainment,
' and story after story, always relating
! to demonology and witchcraft, succeed
ed. Before we had made an end of
this talk, my father and the other
squires catne in, and we ceased our
ghost stories, ashamed to speak of
such matters before these new comers'
—hard headed, unimaginative, • men,
who hail no sympathy with idle le
gends. There was now a stir and
hustle.
Servants wsre handing round tea
apd coffee, and other refreshments.—
Then there was a little music and sing
ing. I sang a duet with 'Reginald,
who had a fine voice and good musical
skill. I remember that my singing
was milch praised, and indeed I was
surprised at the power and pathos of
my own voice, doubtless due to my ex
cited ncives and mind. Then I heard
someone say to another that I washy
far the cleverest of the Squire’s
daughters, daughters, as well as the
prettiest. It did not make nie vain.
I had no rivalry t»jtli Lucy and Min
nie. But Reginald whispered some
soft fond words iff my bar, u little be
fore he mounted his horse' to set off
.hotul wai-ds-, which didf make toe happy
and pioiid. And to think that the
next time u'e me:— but I forgave him
long ago. INior Uegjnald ! Ajul lioty
shawls and cloaks were in request, aud
'carriages rolled up to the porch, and
j the guests gradually departed- At
last no one was hut those visitors
’trTTotiaiT'TieTni ca I led out to speak
with the bailiff of the estapfe e-yme
hack tyth a look of .-aunoya
i’age’. “A strange story I ha?b just
been told,”, said he, “ here has been
my bailiff to inform me of the loss of.
four of the choicest ewes out of that;
little flv.ck of Southdowns I set such
store by,' and .Which arrived in the
North buv'two months since. And
the poor creatures ha ve been destroyed
in so strange a manner, for their car
casses are horribly mangled,” Many
were the ejaculations o's wonder and
alarm, and many Bndjshrewn the con- !
jectuies, but none seemed exactly to
suit the hearings of the case. And
when my father went on to say that
two lambs of the same valuable breed
had perished in the same singular
manner three days previously,•and that
they also were found mangled and
gore-stained, the amazement reached
a higher pitch, Old Lady Speldhurst
listened with calm intelligent atten
tion, but joined in none of our excla
mations.
One by one the guests dropped off.
I was the member of the family se
lected to escort old Lady Speldhurst
to her room—the room I had vacated
in her favor. I did not much like the
office. I felt a remarkable repugnance
to my god-mother. “ Where have
they put you, child ?” she asked, “ in
some cockloft of the turrets, eh ? or
in a lumber-room—a regular ghost
trap ? I can hear your heart beating
with fear this moment. You are not
fit to be alone.” I tried to call up
my pride, and laugh off the accusa
tion against my courage, all the more,
perhaps, because I felt its truth.—
“Do you want anything more that I
can do for you, Lady Speldhurst?”
I asked old dame’s keen eyes upon
me. “I rather like you. my dear,”
she said, “ and I liked your mamma
well enough before she treated me so
shamefully about the christening din
ner. Now I know you are frightened
and fearful, and if an o«l should hut
flap your window to-night, it might
drive you into fits. There is a nice
little sofa-bed in this dressing-closet—
Call your maid to arrange it for you,
and you can sleep there snugly, under
the old witch’s protection, and then no
goblin dare harm you, and nobody will
he a hit the wiser, or quiz you for be
ing afraid. I declined, with an af
fected laugh, and she said, in a thought
ful, half abstracted manner, “ Well,
well ! we must all take our own way
through life.' Good night child —
pleasant dreams!” And 1 softly
closed the door. As I mossed the
landing a bright gleam came from an
other room, whose door was left ajar;
I it (the light) fell like a bar of golden
sheen across my path. As I approach
ed the door opened, and ioy sister Lu
cy, who had been w*tch,ng ; for nte,
i came out. She was already in a white
cashmere wrapper, over which her
loosetted hair hung darkly and heavi
ly, like tanglSs cf silk. “ Rosa love,”
she whispered, “ Minnie, and I can’t
bear the idea of your sleeping out
there, all alone, in that solitary room
—the very room, too, nurse Sherrard
used to talk about! So as you know
Minnie has given up her room, and
come to sleep in mine, still we should
so wish you to stop with us to-night,
at any rate, and I could make up a
Ltd on the sofa, for myself, or you—
apd——” I stopped Lucy’s mouth
isa. I declined her offer atul
w*uH not listen to it. Yet, as I look
ed back into the dark corridor, and
saw the friendly door still ajar, the
ytHlow bar of light still crossing from
wall to wall, the sweet kind face still
pigling after me from amid its clus
tering curls, J felt a thrill of sympa
thy, a wish to return, a yearning after
'hitman- love ’ and companionship.—
.False-shame Seas strongest, and con
quered.* t .Ifr’atiefd a gay adieu. I
turned .the corner and peeping over
my shoulder., 1 saw the duor close ;
the Uar ©!' yellow fight was there no
•longer in thS the tiSi kness of the pas
sage. I thought? at that instant, that
I heard «t heavy sigh. I looked
sharply round. No'one was there.—
Nb door was open, yet I fancied, and
fancied with wonderful vividness, that
-Lflid In-nr :rtt actual sigh breathed not
fir off, and plainly distinguishable
from t lie groan of the sycamore
brunc.lics, as the wind tossed them to
and fro in the ouier blackness.
I had to go through the picture
gallery. I had never entered this
apariment by candle-light before, and
1 was st tuck by ihe gloomy array -of
the tall poi traits, gazing moodily
from the canvass on the lozenge-p ined
or painted windows, which rattled to
the blast as it swept howling by.—
MatlV l)f the faces looked stern, and
very different Goto their day-light ex
pression. In others a fut live, flicker
ing sin le seemed to mock ting 1 even
laughed as I confronted them. No
echo had my short-lived laughter but
from the hollow armor and arching
ruof, and I condoned un uiy way ju
loWPed, Fheie was a sie collection of
plate, and mail, for my father was an
enthusiastic antiquary. In especial
there were two suits of black ainwr,
erect, and surmounted by helmets
with closed visors, which stood as if
two mailed champions were guarding
the gallery-and its treasures. 1 had
often seen these, of course, but never
by night, and never when my whole
organization was so overwrought and
tremulous as it then was. As I- ap
proached the Black Knights, as we
liad dubbed them, a wild notion spized
on me that the figures moved; that
men were concealed' in the hollow
shells which had once been borne in
battle and tourney. As I entered my
chamber, I thought I heard something
stir in the neglected dumber room,
wdiich was the only neighboring apart- |
rrkmt.“ - 'But I determined to have no ;
more panics, and resolutely shut my
Oars t-o this slight and transient noise, ;
which had nothing unnatural in it ; j
for surely, between rats and wind, an
old maaiu-house on a stormy night
needs bo sprites to disturb it. So I
entered - iny room, and rang for my
maid.. As I did so, I looked around,
me, an'd a most unaccountable repug- '
nance to my temporary abode catne
over me, in spite of my efforts. My !
maid entered, and assisted me to lay
aside the dress and ornaments I had
worn, and arranged my hair as usual.
At last, she had done all that could
be done, and all my questions were
answered, and iny orders for the mor
row reiterated and vowed obedience to '
and «Jyck on the turret struck one.
The slidning of the door, .gently as it
was. closed, affected me unpleasantly. '
I took a dislike to the curtains, the
tapestry, the dingy pictures—every
thing. I hated the room. I felt a
temptation to put on a cloak, run,
luilt-dressed, to my sister’s chamber, 1
and say I had changed my mind, anil
come for shelter. But they must be
asleep, I thought, and I could not be
so unkind as to wake them. 1 said
mv prayers with unusual earnestness
ami a heavy heart. 1 extinguished the j
candles, and was just about to lay
mv head on mv pillow when the idea [
seized me that I would fasten the door. !
The candles were extinguished, hut the
life-light was amply sufficient to guide
me- I gained the duor. There was a
lock, but it was rusty or hampered ;
my tittlfflil strength could not turn the
key. The holt was broken and worth
less. . Baulked of uiy intention, I
consoled myself by remembering that
I had never had need of fastenings
yet, and returned to my bed. I lay
awake for a good while, watching the
red glow of the burning coals in the
grate. I was on the point of drop
ping asleep, when I was twice dis
turbed. Once, by an owl, hooting in
the ivy outside —no unaccustomed
sound, but harsh aud melancholy ; 1
once by a long and mournful howling
set up by the mastiff, chained in the
yard beyond the wing I occupied.—
A long drawn, lugubrious howling,
was this latter, and much such a note
as the vulgar declare to herald a death
in the family. This was a fancy I
had never shared ; but yet I could not
help feeling that the dog’s mournful
| moans were sad, and expressive of ter
ror, not at all like his fierce, honest
bark of anger, but rather as if some
thing evil and unwonted were abroad.
But Boon I fell asleep. How long I
slept, I knew not, I awpke at .once
with that abrupt start which we
all know well, and which carries us
in a second after unconsciousness to
the full use of our faculties. The
fire was still burning, but was very
low, and.half the room or more Was
in deep shadow. I knew, I .felt, that
some person or thing wasirj.tha room,
although nothing juuwvui'-waß to be
seen by the feeble light. Yet it was
a sense of danger that had' aroused
me from slumber. I experienced,
while yet asleep, the chiil and shock
of sudden alarm, and I knew, even in
the act of throwing oft .sU-ep like a
manile, why lyi’wjd>e, and that scorn
intruder was present. Y'et, though I
listened intently v no spinal was audi
ble, exept the faint murmur of the fire
—the dropping of a cinder from the
ba’r*—the loud- irregular heatings of
mv own heart. Net withstand ing ibis
silence, by some intuition 1 knew that
I had not been deceived'by a dream,
and felt certain that I was nut alone.
I Waited. My heart beat on ; quick
er, more sudden grew its pulsations,
us a bird in a eugti might flutter in
presence of the hawk. And then I
heard and sound, faint, but quite distinct,
the clank of iron, the rattling of a
chain ! I ventured to lift mv head
from the pillow. Dim and uncertain
as the light was, 1 saw the curtains of
my bed shake, atul 'caught a gliuqise
of something beyond, a duiker spot
in the darkness. The confirmation of
my tears did not surprise the so much
as it shocked me. Throve to cry
aloud, but could unt utter a word.—
The chain rattled agam, bjAfchthlSMi l
( r <Te t- STol ’SetH'WT mtt
though I strained my eyes, they could
not pentrate the obscurity that
shrouded the other end of the cham
ber, whence came the sullen clanking.
In a moment several distinct trains of
thought, like many-colored strands of.
thread twining into one, became pal
pable to my mental vision. Was it a
robber ? could it be a supernatural
visitant ? or was I the victim of a !
cruel trick, such as I had heard of, j
and which some thoughtless persons
love to practice on the timid, reckless j
of its dangerous results ? And then a |
new idea, with some ray of comfort in |
it, suggested itself. There was s fine
young dog of the Newfoundland breed,
a favorite of my father’s, which was
usually chained by night in an out
house. Neptune might have broken
loose, found his way to my room, and,
finding the door imperfectly closed,
have pushed it open and entered. I
breathed more freely as this harmless
interpretation of the noise forced .it
self upon me. It was—it must be—
the dog, and I was distressing myself
uselessly. I resolved to call to lhtn ;
I strove to utter his name—“ Neptune,
Neptune !” but a secret apprehension
! restrained me, and I was mute. Then
the chain clanked nearer and nearer
to the bed, and presently I saw a
dusky shapeless mass appear between
the curtains on the opposite side to
where I was lying. How I longed to
hear the whine of the pooranitnal that
I hoped might be the cause of my
alarm. But no; I heard no sontul
| save the rustle of the curtains and
the clash of the iron chain. Just
then the dying flame of the fire leap
1 ed up, and with one sweeping hurried
glance I saw that the door "as shut,
and. honor! it is the semblance of a
human form that now throws itself
heavily on the bed, outside the clothes
and lies there, huge ami swart, in the
red gleam that treacherously dies
away after showing so much to af- [
fl ight and sinks into dull and rkness !
I tried to speak, to scream wildly for
help; my mouth was parched, my
tongue refused to obey. I could not
u ter aerv, and indeed, win* could
; have heard tne, alone as I was in that.
; solitary chamber, with no living neigh
bor, and the pieiure-galh-ry between
me and any aid that even the loudest,
most piercing shriek could summon.
And yet, in the extremity of tuy fear,
1 dared not speak ; I was strangely
cautious to be sitenf, even in moving
farther off; for I had a wild hope
that it—the phantom, the creature,
whatever it was—had not discovered
my presence in the room. My heart
labored as if crushed beneath some
vast weight. Sometimes it appeared
to stop its frenzied beatirrgs, some
times its failsatioTis were fierce and
! Lurried; my breath came short ©ml
with exit-cine difficulty, and I shiver
ed as if with cold; yet I feared to
stir. It moved, it moaned, its fetters
clanked dismally, the couch creaked
and shook. Tin's was no phantom
then—no air-drawn spectre. But its
very solidity, its palpable presence,
were a thousand times more terrible.
I felt that I was in the very grasp of
what could not only affright, hut harm ;
of something whose contact sickened
the soul with deathly fear. I made a
'desperate resolve: I glided from the
bed, I seized a warm wrapper, threw
it around tne, and tried to grope, with
extended hands, my wav to the door.
My heart heat high at the hope of es
cape. But I bid scarcely taken one
step, before the moaning was renewed
it changed into a threatening growl
that would havesuiteda wolf’s throat,
-and a hand clutched at my sleeve. I
stood motionless. The muttering
growl sank to a moan again, the chain
sounded no more, but still the hand
liel*l_ its gripe of my garment and I
feared to move. It knew of my pres
ence, then. My brain reeled, the
blood boiled in ears, and my knees
Install strength, while my heart panted
like that of a deer in the Wolfs j iws.
I sank hack, and the benumbing in
fluence of excessive terror reduced
tne to a state of stupor. When my
full consciousness returned, I was sit
ting on the edge of the bed, shiver
ing with cold, atul barefooted. All
was silent, but 1 felt that my sleeve
was still clutched by my unearthly vis
ir.-int. The silence lasted a long time.
Then followed a chuckling langh;
that froze iny very marrow, and ihe
gnashsing of teeth as in demoniac
frenzy; and then a wailifig moan, and
this was succeeded by silence. Would
it never be light! And yet, when day
should dawn, I should be forced tostc
it face to face. I h»d heard that
spectre and fiend were compelled to
fade as morning hi ightened, but this
creature was too real, too foul a thing
of earth, to vanish at cock crow. No,
I should see it—the honor—face to
face ! And then the cold prevailed,
and my teeth chattered, and shiver
ing ran through me, and yet there
was the damp of agony on piy burst-
a chair within reach, and wrap it
round me. The moan was renewed
and the chain just stirred. Then I
sank into apathy, like an Indian at
the stake, in the intervals of torture.
Hours fled by, and I remained like a
statue of ice, rigid and mute. I even
slept, fori remember that I started to
find the cold grey light of an early
I winter’s day was on my face, and
j stealing round the room from between
the heavy curtains of the window.—
j Shuddering hut urged by the impulse
I that rivets the gaze of the bird upon
the snake, I turned to see the horror
of the night. Yes, it was no fevered
dream, no hallucination of sickness,
no airy phantom unable to face the
dawn. In the sickly light I saw it
lying on the bed, with its grim head
on the pillow. A man ? Or a corpse
arisen from its unhallowed grave, and
awaiting the demon that animated it?
There it lay—a gaunt, gigantic form,
wasted to a skeleton, half clad, foul
with dust and clotted gore, its huge
limbs flung upon the coucii as if at
random, its shaggy hair streaming
over the pillows like a lion’s mane.—
Its face was towards me. Oh, the
wild hideousness of that face, even in
sleep!- In features it was human,
even through its horrid mask of mud,
and half-dried bloody gouts, but the
expression was brutish and savagely
fierce; the white teeth were visible
bet wen the parted lips, in a malignant
grin ; the tangled hair and heard
were mixed in leonine confusion, and
there were scars disfiguring the brow.
Round the creature’s wrist was a ring
of iron, to which was attached a heavy
but broken chain—the chain I heard
claw-king. With a second glance I
noticed that part of the chain was
wrapped in straw, to prevent its gal
ling the wearer. The creature —I
cannot call it a man—bad tlie marks
of fetters on its wrists, the Itony arm
that protruded through one tattered
I sleeve was scarred and bruised; the
feet were bare, and lacerated by peb
bles and briers, and one of them was
wounded, and wrapped in a morsel of
rag. And the lean hands, one of
which held my sleeve, were armed with
talons like an eagle’s. In an instant
the horrid truth flashed upon me—l
was in the grasp of a madman. Bet
ter the phantom that scales the sight
than the wild beast that tends and
tears the quivering flesh —the pitiless
human brut* that has no heart to bo
softened, no reason at whose bar to
plead, no compassion, nought of man
save the form and the tunning. I
gasped in terror. Ah! the mystery
of those ensanguined finders, those
gory wolfish jaws ! that face, all be
smeared with blackening blood, is re
vealed ?
The slain sheep, so mangled and
fsffl'fftic,,, lotHd eiv tKe
print of tKe naked foot—all, all were
NO. 5.