Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME 11.
C'jjt jfriettlt of £jjt jfnmilij,
A Weekly Southern Newspaper,
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY, BY
EDWARD J. PURSE.
terms:
Two Dollars a year, in advance, or Two
Fifty if not paid within three months.
SUBSCRIPTIONS RECEIVED FOR SIX MONTHS,
AT ONE DOLLAR, IN ADVANCE.
Three copies for one year, or one copy
three years, $5 00
Seven Copies, 10 00
Twelve copies, 15 00
*** Advertisements to a limited extent,
will he inserted at the rate of 50 cents for a
square of twelve lines or less, for the first in
sertion, and 30 cents for each subsequent
insertion. Business curds inserted for a year
at Five Dollars.
CF*A liberal discount will be made to Post
Masters who will do us the favor to act as
Agents.
Postmasters are authorized to remit mo
ney to Publishers and all money mailed in
presence of the Postmaster, and duly for
warded o* him, is at our risk.
EF* All communications to be addressed
-paid) to E. J. PURSE,
Savannah, (la.
JOHN POOLE,
1 WHOLESAT-F. AND RETAIL:
paint and oil store,
No. 11 Whitaker Street,
Ke*ps constantly for sale White Lead, Pure Nos.
Ind 2 English. Ground Paints: Black. Yellow,
Brown, Chrome Green, Paris Green, and Prussian
Blue; Dry Venetian Red, Spanish Brown, Lamp
black. Yellow Ochre, Red Lead, Litharge, Paris
and Chrome Green, Prussian Blue, Chrome Yel
low, Umber, Terra de Sienna, Drop Black, and a
▼arietv of fancy colors; Linseed Oil, Sperm do,
Neatsfoot do. and Spirits of Turpentine; IVhite
Wash Brushes, Paint, Varnish, Graining and Ar
tists Brushes; Window and Picture Glass of all
qualities; Copal, Japan, Light and Dark Coach
Varnish; Mixed Paints of all Paper Hang
ings, Fire Board Prints and Borders.
The above articles will be sold on reasonable
trms.
CTF” House, Sign and Ship Painting done in a
workmanlike manner, and at reasonable prices,
oct 19 ly
G. BUTLER,
MASTER BUILDER,
DEALER IN WHITE PINE LUMBER,
York Street, Oglethorpe Square.
N. B.—He is prepared to put in Iron fronts
in Stores, &e. ly oct 19
T. R. CLARKE,
FASHIONABLE BOOT MAKER,
Next door to corner Bull and Broughton-sts.
oct 10 lv
A. PONCE,
Importer and Manufacture r of Scgars,
No. 13 Whitaker Street,
Keeps on hand a well selected stock of impoited
Sugars; also Manufactured Tobacco, Snuff, Pipes,
and nil other articles usu ally kept in itis line or
business, which he offer* on the most reasonable
terms. ly oct 19
SAM L. L. SPEISSEGGER,
TUX Ell A REPAIRER PIAXO FORTES.
# HAVING been engaged in the above husi- j
aiess for the last 3”> years, Mr S. trusls that
special references are unnecessary.
Orders left with Mr H. S. Bogardus, Bull-st.,
Messrs K. Zoghaum & Cos., or Messrs I. W. Mor
r<*jl & Cos., will he attended to with promptness
and fidelity. lm oct 12
W. A. J. WYLLY,
CABINET MAKER <s• UNDERTAKER, j
Corner of Broughton and Bull Streets,
Under the Lyceum Hall.
Coffins of all kind* made of the best materials, and j
furnished at the shortest notice.
Also, new and second hand Fu niture bought
and sold, and repaired with dispatch.
ect 12 2 m
N. ELLS,
FASHIONABLE BOOT MAKER,
No. 140 Broughton-st., near the corner of Bull-sf.
oct 12 if
J. S. SOLOMONS
WILL contract to execute Plastering, of all kinds ■
and styles, at the shortest notice.
Residence. President Street, next door to Air B. |
Snider's. 2m oct 12
BOOK*~ANI) job printing.
GEO. N. NICHOLS,
Owex*’ Building, opposite the Pulaski House,)
SAVANNAH, GA.
I* prepared to execute all work in his line, with
neatness and despatch, and in a style
not to be surpassed.
Trice* as reasonable as any other establishment
In the city. ly Be p( *S
JOHN F. SHEEN,
FASHIONABLE TAILOR , j
Over J. M. Havwood’s Hair Dressing Saloon,
OPPOSITE THE PULASKI HOUSE.
Cutting, Mending and Cleaning done with neatness
and despatch. Work made up as cheap as a any
other establishment in the city. sep f -l
J DE MARTIN,
DEALER IN
Fruits, Wines, Liquors, Segars,
PICKLES, PRESERVES and GARDEN SEEDS.
—: also:—
APPLES, ONIONS <s• POTATOES,
When in eaon, received fresh by every vessel.
—: also :
Oysters put up to order in from 1 to 10 gallon kegs.
Corner of Bay and Whitaker Streets,
JOHN OLIVER,
HOUSE AND SIGN PAINTER,
GILDER, GLAZIER, &c.,
No. 121 Broughton Street, a fete doors east of
Whitaker Street, Savannah, (la.
tW All kinds of Paints—Paint Oil, Turpentine,
Varnish, Glass, Putty, for sale. July 20
EDWARD G. WILSON,
JUSTICE OF THE PEACE,
Conveyancer, Collector, Accountant Jj- Copyist,
Office uiuler J. M. Haywood’s.
R -turn Day, Wednesday, November 27th.
JOHN MALLER'Sf,
DRAPER AND TAILOR,
No. 55 Bay-st. joining the City Hotel.
Invites the attention to his Stock of New and
Seasonable. Goods, now opening, consisting of
choice READY MADE CLO I HJNG and 1 LR
NISHING GOODS, comprising every article
of Gentlemen’s apparel.
Also, a full supply of CLOTHS, CAS ft IM E RES
and VESTINGS, of various shades and qualities
—which will be made to order in the most ap
proved style, by competent and experienced
Workmen, warranted to give entire satisfaction,
and at prices to suit the times oct 18
Jlinintfii fn literature, unit M s tlje §nno of (teinjieranre; (Dili jfrllotusljiji, jteonnj unit tjie linos of tjje Dm}.
McARTHOR & MORSE,
Manufacturers and Dealers in
PLAIN, JAPANNED & BLOCK TIN WARE,
HOLLOW & ENAMELLED WARE,
STOVES AND COOKING RANGES,
Lead Pipe, Sheet Lead. Copper and Zinc,
STORE, |;t BARNARD STREET.
All kinds ot Copper, I'm arid Sheet Iron Work,
done in the best manner, at the shortest notice.
se pt 21 lyr
ALLEN & BALL,
FACTORS & COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
No. 112 BAY STREET,
SAVANNAH, GA.
J. M. BALL & CO.,
Commission fHcrchauts,
MACON, GEORGIA.
ROBERT A. ALLEN, JAMES M. BALL,
sept 2ft ly
JONES & PAPOT,
Shipwrights, Spar Makers,
AND CAULKERS.
Yard opposite R.&. J. Lachlison’s Foundry.
R. H. DARBY,
jel ~
Comer Broughton and Whitaker Streets,
SAVANNAH, GEORGIA.
R. H. D. is prepared to execute all orders for
Making or Cutting on reasonable terms,
mar 9 ly
J. S. STURTEVANT,
MASTER BUILDER,
Corner Montgomery and Liberty Sts.
All orders in his line will be promptly attended
to, and faithfully executed. ly june 1
JOHN V. TARVER,
FACTOR # COMMISSION MERCHANT
EXCHANGE WHARF, SAVANNAH, GA.
RABUN & FULTON,
COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
No. 207 Bay Street, Savannah, Ga.
J. W. RABUN, R. L. FULTON, I. P. WHITEHEAD.
LANIER HOUSE,
BY LANIER & SON,
june 22 Macon, Georgia.
J. HASBROUCK & CO.,
Wholesale and Retail Dealers in
CHINA, GLASS AND EARTHENWARE,
sept 21 BROUGHTON STREET, SAVANNAH.
S. Y. LEVY,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
Office, No. ISS Bay-Street.
E. T. SHEFTALL,
ATTORNEY A T L AW ,
may 25 Dublin, Georgia.
MEDICAL NOTICE.
DOCTOR MOREL. Office No. 157 Brough
ton Street. ts mar 23
FRANCIS WAVER,
IMPORTING 8c COMMISSION MERCHANT,
No 107 Bay Street, Savannah, Geo.
PHILIP KEAN,
DRAPER AND TAILO R,
AND DEALER IN
READY MADE CLOTHING.
Penfield s Range, No. 98 Bryan Street,
Store formerly occupied by J. Southwell &, Cos
G. W HEDRICK,
HOUSE AND SIGN PAINTER,
Gilder, Glazier, Graincr & Paper Hanger.
No. 12 Barnard Street, South ot the Market,
IS always ready to execute all orders in his line
with dispatch, and at the lowest prices. All
kinds of mixed Paints, Glass and Putty kept
for sale. lyr Dec 22
J. T. JONES,
MANUFACTURER AND DEALER IN
Double & Single Guns, Rifles, &c.,
West .Side of Monument Square.
SAMUEL S. MILLER,
MANUFACTURER OF
CARRIAGES AND WAGONS,
DEALER IN HUBS, SPOKES, FELLOES, &e.
No. ]4O llroughton St., Savannah.
A SHORT,
MASTER BUILDER,
Will take contracts for Building and Work in
Masonry of every description. Cornet of South
Broad and Whitaker streets. may 26
CONTRACTOR AND BUILDER.
The subscriber is prepared to execute with
neatness and despatch all work in the above line.
142 Broughton St. Two Doors West ot 1. W.
MORRELL’S Furniture Store,
june 1 ly I. SOLOMONS, Agent.
CLOTHING,
PIERSON & HE ll)T offer for sale CLOTHING,
Wholesale and Retail, at New lurk prices, No.
10 Whitaker Street. apl 26
DR. J. DENNIS,
BOTANIC DRUGGIST
Next door above L. C. Warren &. Cos,
Augusta, Ga.
Keeps constantly on hand a choice assortment,
selected from the best establishments in the United
States, consisting of Emetics, Cathartics, Diapho
retics, Diuretics, Expectorants. Emmenagoaues,
Stimulants, Tonics, Astringents, Nervines, Alka
lies, Alteratives, Rubefacients, and Compounds
for family use. Composition Powder, No. Six,
Lobelia in its various preparations, &c., also
Medical Books. may 4
ALFRED HAYWOOD,
CORNER BRYAN AND BARNARD STREETS,
Market Square, Savannah,
Dealer in Choice FRUITS, CANDIES. NUTS,
ORANGES, LEMONS, APPLES, AND PO
TATOES, \Y holesale and Retail.
First quality Thunderbolt Oysters, Fi-h, &,c.
Newark refined Champaigne Cider, and Albany
Cream Ale, by the bbl.
f-© 5 * Orders from the Country, accompanied
by the cash or City reference, punctually attended
to aug 9
GAS PIPES AND FIXTURES.
STRATTON & DOBSON,
Having received an assortment of Chandeliers,
Pendants, Brackets and Portable Gas Burners,
respectfully invite the citizens of Savannah to
call at their store, No. 72 St. Julian street, and
examine the same * 4t June 1
G. M. GRIFFEN,
ig>L HA\ ING purchased the stock in trade of
JuVjthelate M. Eastman, would solicits the con”
VMiflfr;inued patronage ot all the friend of the
establishment. All customers shall be pleased
with goods and satisfied with prices.
GEO. M. GRIFFEN.
N. B.—Watches and Chrometers will receive
the personal attention of Mr. G., as usual,
sept 21
Iflrrtrii
THE SISTER'S FAREWELL.
Dear Sister, sit beside my bed,
And let me see your gentle smile,
And let me lay my aching head
Upon your kindly arm awhile ;
I shall not long be with you now,
My time is drawing to an end :
May we our spirits meekly bow,
And He release from suffering send.
The longed-for summer’s drawing near;
The wind is softer, and the sun
Streams down so brightly on me here,
It almost seems already come.
But now—l never more shall see
The fields and lanes, all gay with flowers,
Nor hear the murmur of the bee,
Nor song of birds among the bowers.
For here, no beauteous change we see
In nature, ns the year rolls on ;
No green bursts forth on bush and tree
When winter's chilling frosts are gone.
No gentle flowers or odours sweet,
In summer cheer us as we go ;
Nought see we but th’ unchanging street.
And weary passing to and fro.
The summer, though “tis summer still,
Seems not the same while we are here.
How sweet the thought of that clear rill,
That trembled from the hillock near
To our old house! I sometimes think,
With mj’ eyes closed, and half-asleep,
That 1 am lying on the brink
Os the old fish-pond, still and deep.
Methinks in one of those sweet nooks,
Beneath the hanging willow-trees,
I listen to the cawing rooks
And busy humming of the bees. t
And, moodily, 1 watch the trout
Make circles in the tranquil pool;
And watch the swallows skim about.
And feel the breeze so fresh and cool.
Let me awake—the dreatn was brief—
Be thankful for my sufferings here ;
Be thankful, too, for Heaven’s relief.
E’en though 1 leave thee, sister dear,
Yet let me once more see you smile ;
A Vision opens on me blight!
Lay your hand by me for a while—
And now, God bless you love— Good
Night!
[Household Words.
frlulrii €‘nlc.
IT IS NO FICTION.
“Oh ! I could he bounded in a nutshell, and
count myself a king of infinite space, were it not
that I have bad dreams.’' — Hamlet.
“ I am wrapped in dismal thinkings.”—Shaks-
PEAKE.
I have been a dreamer all my
life. The earliest recollections of
my childhood are of dreams of
greatness. My boyhood’s visions
were peopled with warlike tumults.
There were no spring mornings to
my brain, even in early youth ; my
heart was clouded with shadow,
and sadness reigned when mirth and
careless glee should have been pre
eminent. My manhood has been a
fitful, feverish and painful existence.
I have outlived all whom 1 ever
cured for ; 1 have seen those whom
1 idolized lie before me cold and
senseless; and now,with every event
vividly impressed upon my memo
ry', each tone of the voice of’ her 1
loved dropping like liquid fire into
my brain, and drying up the tears
that would weep away my anguish
—feeling all this with intensity, and
longing for the free air of heaven,
1 find myself alone—desolate—and
here ! !
Oh ! the horrors of this prison
solitude—the anxious watching for
the pale morning after sleepless
nights—the horrible nights when
fantastic shapes are alone visible,
mocking at and jeering me—when
the only sounds 1 hear are the ra
vings of some wretched maniac,
confined, like myself, because we
have made for ourselves a world,
and our imaginations have created
a presiding divinity; and should a
laugh disturb the silence, it is the
outbreak of a maddened spirit seek
ing relief from thought—a laugh
frightful, because a mockery —sad
in iis boisterousness —“ the laugh
which laughs not.”
For many weary years I have
been pent up in this prison, pining
for freedom, hoping for things which
never existed, conjuring up antici
pations of a brighter future, calling
upon her who made
•* The starlight of nty boyhood,”
to look down upon me from her
blest abode, and woo me back to
calmness by one gentle word, one
loving glance ; and then sinking in
to hopeless, bitter despondency,
when 1 remembered that she was
gone, and that I should see her no
more.
Sometimes I can think of her in
her exquisite beauty, and my soul
drinks in, as it were, the sweet and
liquid tones of the voice which once
spoke peace to me, and, fancying
her again before me, I sink into an
unquiet slumber, till some hideous
dream oppresses me, and I see ibe
fair brow ot my “Julia” contrac
ted, withered ; and, instead of her
silvery voice of enchantment, a
hissing sound escapes the lips I
have worshipped. I rise and try
to approach, but she recedes. I
awake—l start from my uneasy bed
—I find this horrible picture, which
bore the impress of reality, is but a
SAVANNAH, GA., SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 1850.
dream. I awake to the conscious
ness that my beloved is dead, and
that my eyes will gaze upon lief
beauty no more.
How few there are in this busy
world who, when passing those a
bodes of wretchedness—“ private
madhouses” —can imagine the ag
ony, the misery, the despair that
dwells there! But to my history.
1 was the only child of General
Sir Frederick and Lady Charlotte
B . I was reared in luxury ;
the rude air was scarcely allowed to
blow upon my delicate frame. I
can remember new, though years
have passed, andfeorrow has bowed
me—l can remember the happy
days when my wearied head was
pillowed on the bosom of my moth
er, and, after she had sung me to
sleep with some wild melodv, she
would place me in my small luxuri
ous cot, and watch over me with
those deep-loving eyes, and he the
first to comfort and re-assure me if
uneasy dreams—for even then 1
was a.dreamer—made me awake to
sorrow. But my mother died.—
Even now I shudder at the recol
lection of the desolateness of mv
agony when I knew I had looked on
her for die last time. Even now I
can feel the coldness which crept
over me as 1 laid my cheek to hers.
My blood was frozen. I could not
weep. Oh ! tears would have been
a relief, hut they were denied me ;
and though I saw her taken from
my embrace, and her beloved form
laid n the vault, I could still gaze
with speechless agony—but 1 wept
not.
Howl wished for the quiet of the
grave ; for even then there was a
whirlwind within my bosom, and
my sensitive heart shrank from hold
ing converse with, or bestowing con
fidence on another as freely or un
reservedly as 1 had done with the
dear being whom I had lost.
Shortly after ibis event my father
was ordered upon foreign service,
and my childhood was passed a
rnong relatives who were strangers
to me. it was a childhood without
love. I remembered my mother,
and none could supply her place.
1 could not trust in another as I had
trusted in her. In m v sorrows, real
or imaginary, none other could com
fort me. 1 longed for my child
hood’s resting place, where I might
again pillow my aching head, and
sleep once more the calm sleep
hallowed by a mother’s matchless
love.
At an early age I was sent to one
of our great public schools, and
there, although I endured some
hardships, yet I experienced also
something like the pleasures and
pastimes of boyhood.
From having been a weakly, del
icate child, I Drew strong and ae
live, hut a gloom was ever upon
me.
In my moments of relaxation I
would join some of mv companions
in their games of play ; but even
then a dark phantom pursued me,
and I would fancy a shadowless
spirit was after me ; if I ran it al
ways followed me with its noiseless
steps, and my constant fear was
that it would overtake me. This
was madness —aye, I cart see it now
—it teas madness coming upon me.
I frequently used to endeavor to
dispel the illusion by reading ; but
if I raised my eyes from my book
there was figure, looking at me
and sighing, and its lips would move
as if to speak —but there was no sound.
1 have sat for hours watching this
bane of my existence. 1 have sat
till mv eyes were fixed from fright,
and I have tried to move, hut I felt
chained to the spot, and the fetters
that appeared to hind me, seemed of
cold heavy steel, that fell on my
whole body and paralyzed me.—
Then I could feel my heart growing
dead, and yet throbbing with those
dull, audible throbs, till at last l
have shrieked in the agony of my
horror, and only then would the
dark being leave me —but it left me
moody and mad.
I had one friend at school who
would soothe me by gentle words,
and tell me my fears were but fan
cy, and he would hold m v hands un
til 1 slept, and lost, for the time at
least, the phantom which pursued
me.
That friend is dead. I have out
lived him. Why should the madman
live ?
When I was about sixteen a new
life opened to me. There came as
a visitor to one of the ladies belong
ing to the establishment, a young
and lovely girl. I first saw her at
the private chapel belonging to the
school. The moment 1 looked at
her a gush of hitherto unknown
pleasure came to my heart. I felt
that I could love her.
I saw her again and again. I
have stood for hours by the house
in which she was, hoping to catch a
glimpse of her. Sometimes I was
successful—more frequently not —
hut it was something to hope for.—
Once I fancied that her eye fell up
on me. Oh, how I was repaid by
that one pure glance !
While she remained at —, my
life was one of bright and vivid fan
cy, and l was cheered by the angel
Hope ; hut at length her visit came
to a termination; yet, though I
knew she had departed, 1 would
go daily to my accustomed place,
and gaze until I fancied the beauti
ful girl was again before me.
A t the usual period my school
days ended, and my college life be
gan. I was entered at Christ
Church, Oxford. I read hard, and
obtained the highest honours. My
fame was brilliant. I was talked of,
and marked by my superiors as a
rising man.
Shortly afterwards, I was returned
as one of the members of a family
borough in my native county, and
my first speech in Parliament met
with general applause. The world
called me a fortunate man. Oh !
ihev little knew the nights of hor
ror I passed—the battling I had
with my attendant phantom, which
still pursued me, blighted me.—
But 1 was mad, and the excitement
of madness was called energy.
How often I have laughed them
to scorn, as 1 have sat alone with
the dark soirit!
My sole ambition was that the
girl whom I had seen and admired
might hear of my career; and that,
with honours crowded upon me, I
nfight see her again, that I might
place my laurel crown at her feet,
lay bare my heart’s best feelings,
my undying love for her, and prove
to her how entire was my devotion,
how earnest my worship.
I saw many young and lovely
girls ; and I was told that mother’s
looked upon me as a desirable
match—hut l was true to my first
love. 1 remembered her in the per
fection of maiden beauty—l wished
for none other ; and to see her again
was my sole hope in life.
After a season of unceasing gaie
ty and dissipation—sick of London
and its vanities—l determined to
travel, and for seven years 1 was
absent from my native land.
1 was recalled to attend the
death-bed of my father. 1 had
seen but little of him ; he had no
sympathy with me, and in heart
we were strangers to each other. —
1 He was proud of my talents, and
I was an only son ; but he never be
! stowed any real affection on me. —
1 honoured him because he was my
parent; but I never loved him as I
ought to have loved a father.
He died, and I succeeded to the
baronetcy and estates ; but I was
already tired of life—wretched in
the midst of my splendour. In a
word —l ivas mad.
At the table of a friend I met a
man a few years my senior, whom I
had known at school. We renewed
our acquaintance; and I accepted
an invitation to dine at his house, to
meet some old schoolfellows.
I consented to go, but not cheer
fully, for a moody state of mind
was coming over me. I can re
member the struggle, the exertion it
was to dress for this party. Twenty
times I was tempted to send a mes
sage saying I was too unwell to go,
but my belter angel prevailed—and
I went. To what an eventful pe
riod was that evening but the pre
; lude !
My friend met and welcomed me
with a cordiality which somewhat
cheered me ; bui I had a weight on
my spirits from which 1 could not
! rouse myself, and most reluctantly 1
accompanied Sir Charles Tracey,
j with faltering steps and an aching
1 heart and brow, into the inner
1 drawing room, to be introduced to
I his wife, Lady Tracey.
She was seated on a low ottoman,
with her back to the door, reading.
She arose as her husband presented
me to her as his old friend, Sir Fred
j erick B . She turned towards
me, and fora moment 1 was over
powered. I beheld before me the
creature 1 had so long pined for—
-1 so earnestly searched for—whose
; memory I had devotedly and en
tirely worshipped.
With exquisite grace she extend
ed her hand to welcome her hus
band’s guest, and as I held those
small taper fingers in mine, thick
coming fancies crowded upon me.
I was again the schoolboy—the anx
ious, ardent schoolboy, longing even
for a look from this lovely woman
whose band l now held in mine.—
Hot tears rushed into my
and I bent over the fair hand to
conceal them.
i This momentary cloud passed
; away, and while seated by her I for
got that we been parted,
and imagination peopled a world of
love—a paradise of hope.
“ But she in these fond feelings had no share.”
The years which had passed, had
changed her from a lovelv girl into
O J O
the more matured loveliness of the
matron.
When I had last seen her, her
hair, which was a rich and shining
black, hung in natural and graceful
curls over her beautiful and classi
cally formed head. Now the thick
and luxuriant mass was gathered
into a knot behind, and laid in soft
bands over her pure and polished
brow.
Her eyes were of that deep full
blue which is so rare, and were
large and bright, and full of fire
and spirit, which at times gave an
appearance of haughtiness to her
noble countenance ; her throat,neck,
and arms, were white as ivory, and
formed in the most perfect mould ;
her height was commanding, and
her figure exquisitely propo tioned.
Before she spoke l could only
look at her with wonder, that any
thing so glorious could be earthly ;
but the instant she addressed me, a
peculiar witchery played over her
features and about her mouih ; and
my wonder was instantly changed
into love and adoration, and I drank
in with eagerness the silvery sweet
ness of her voice.
I fancied on this night that Lady
Tracey bestowed* more attention on
me than on her other guests ; for
women have an intuitive tact in dis
covering when a man admires de
voted ly.
For that night I lost my dark
phantom, I slept a sweet sleep,
dreaming of things which could
never be accomplished; and my
waking vision, as wild and improb
able, was that she might one day re
turn my love.
1 would not lose sight of my new
ly found treasure. I called at her
residence. 1 was admitted.
Tracey looked more lovely by day
light than with the full blaze of can
dle light upon her beauty. There
was a delicacy about her complex
ion no daylight could impair; but it
spoke also of a delicacy of consti
tution which made me tremble as 1
gazed.
The fascination of her mannei,
the elegance of her movements,
her light and airy tread, her musical
voice, her bright but subdued laugh ;
all these combined made me idolize
her.
There is but one sun in heaven ;
there was but one Julia to my eyes
pn earth. Her shadow had fallen
on my heart as the sun on an is
land far aw;#y from land in the
lonely sea. It was filled with light
and verdure, and all my best feel
ings were warmed to ripeness by
her glowing smile.
W e conversed together on poetry,
music, history, the arts ; and I dis
covered she possessed a refined and
superior intellect. A sparkling
tincture of satire mingled with her
mention of men and things ; but
while she did this with perfect tem
per and gentleness, it gave a bril
liancy to her con versution not to be
described. She expressed a wish
fora hook which 1 had the happi
ness to possess ; here was an op
portunity for another visit# Again
and again we met, and 1 was in
toxicated with love ; but I saw no
reciprocal feeling on her part. She
was the same gentle and charming
o o
being; but she bestowed no love
upon tho poor visionary who adored
her.
On the days we met I was gay
and happy ; but on the intervening
ones I was in despair. All my
darkest thoughts came back upon
me, fraught with even greater hor
rors. I tried to battle with my evil
spirit, but I could not subdue it. It
grasped me tightly in its fetters ;
and I had no respite until I was a
gain in the presence of my Julia.
The smallest sound of her voice,
with its silvery sweetness, broke the
sad chain which had bound me, and
I was free to 100k —to love—to wor
ship again. Oh, why did not these
moments of rapture last forever!
This holy calm, like an enchanted
circle, into which my spirit of evil
not venture, why was it bro
ken l Why did sickness, and sor
row, and madness —yes, furious,
hopeless, desponding madness—
darken those sunny days? Why
did death come to her, and thick
clouds to me ?
The sky mocks me with its gem
med radiance. The stars shine on
brightly ; but they fail to give light
and hope to me. I have gazed on
them with her. I have seen her
stand with her brow raised, and her
lovely face bathed in moonlight ;
but as lhe pale beams danced
around her, to my eyes her own
glory dimmed all other brightness.
The winds howl, and the trees
wave to and fro in the tempest, and
with every blast comes a shriek, as
if Julia were in despair, and 1 arise
NUMBER 37.
to rush to her rescue ; but the clank
ing chain of the maniac binds me.
I try to break my bonds, but they
clasp me ; and my hideous com
panion, the phantom, jeers at me ;
and I hear the voice of my beloved
receding further and fuither from
me, till, with an agonized moan, it
dies away in the distance.
And this the world calls fancy —
the fantastic vision of a madman’s
brain !
There was never a voice like her
voice ; and though the winds rage
tempestuously among the waving
branches of the storm-tossed trees,
I hear the liquid music of her ac
cents above all, and I strain my
eves to catch a glimpse of her per
son, but there is nothing; and I
crouch down again in my chains
and my madness on my desolate
bed, feeling how utterly—how en
tirely, I am alone.
An interruption occurred in our
intercourse, in consequence of Sir
Charles Tracey being obliged to go
abroad, on business connected with
the state. His lady accompanied
him, and they were absent for some
months. How I spent these months
I scarcelv know. I avoided all so
ciety —I felt moody—wretched—
despairing. I grew violent. Re
straint became necessary. Then,
indeed, I knew that I was mad. —
Life was a blank; and some weeks
passed while this dark cloud was
upon me.
At last, though my recovery had
been a work of time, I was called
convalescent, and the violence of
my frenzy abated.
I heard with joy that Sir Charles
and his lady had returned to town.
I thought the hour would never
come when I might set out on my
visit.
1 flew, rather than walked to her
residence. I felt startled and a
larmed ns I trode the streets ; for I
had not been out for monihs, and I
fancied every man was staring at
me—that every one knew I was mad ;
hut the one darling hope of seeing
her cheered me on.
At Inst I reached the house. I
was admitted ; and in a moment I
was by the sideof Julia. She was
looking pale and ill, but very lovely.
I rushed towards her. I knelt
by her side. I took her cold
hand in mine, and kissed it ardent
ly. A bright colour suffused her
cheek. She endeavored to with
draw her hand from my grasp ; but
the demon was within me. I held
that pale, small, fragile hand firm
ly ; and pressed it again and again
to my lips, and my throbbing, burst
ing heart. I laughed aloud and
wildly, and she looked at me fear
fully. She had discovered my se
cret, and she saw that I was mad .
“You too have been ill?” she
said.
The honied accents of that be
loved voice fell on my ear like dew
to the parched flower. I was calm
ed in a moment, and I endeavoured
to look coldly on her who was life
—hght—all to me in this world.
1 found she had been dangerous
ly ill, and I felt, as I looked on her
imperial loveliness, that she was
not destined long for this world.
Daily 1 saw her. I could not see
enough of one I loved so desper
ately ; and 1 feigned calmness while
I endured agony—but my madness
ruined me at last.
One wretched day—l spoke to
her of love. 1 told her of my de
votion—my hopeless devotion for
so many years. 1 knelt by her side.
I passed my arm round her waist
—and for one brief moment 1 rested
my scorching, maddened brow up
on her bosom. It was only a mo
ment of reality—but an eternity of
bliss in the recollection.
I strained her fragile form to my
breast. I kissed her pale cheeks—
her brow—her lips. She moved
not. 1 found she had fainted. I
thought she was dead, and my brain
reeled.
I raised her beautiful form in mv
arms, and laid her gently on a
couch.
She was like marble—so cold,
and pale, and breathless. I called
no one to my assistance —I was the
madman, — the desperate, heart
broken madman—and 1 saw before
me the ruin I had wrought.
How Jong this lasted 1 cannot tell;
1 only’ know my feelings were work
ed to frenzy. I called upon her
by name ; I conjured her to look at
me, to speak to me once—but once
more.
I longed for tears to cool the burn
ing heat of my brain. Inrnvagonv,
I laughed and shrieked aloud fI
could not control myself.
bbe opened her eyes, those large,
bright, lustrous eyes, and looked, I
thought, kindly on me. How those
glances entered my soul!
“Speak to me, Julia, forgive me,'*
I said. She smiled, and extended