The Three Brides

Toward the close of a cliilly af ternoon, n the latter part of November, I was :raveling in New Eampshire on horseack. The road was solitary and rugged, and wound along through gloomy pine orests, over abrupt and stony bilis. Several oircumstances conduoed to my [iscomfort. I was not sure of my way, '. had a hurt in my bridle hand, and vening was approaching, heralded by an icy rain and a cold, searching wind. ; feit a sinking of spirits which I could not dispel by rapid riding, for my horse, atigued bya long day's journey, refused o answer spur and whip with his usual animation. In an hour after, I was convinced that I had mistaken my road, and night surprised me in the forest. I had jeen in more unpleasant situations, so I adopted my usual expedient of letting he reins fall upon my courser's neck. Ie, however, blundered on, with his nose drooping to the ground, stumbling very moment, though ordinarily as sureboted as a roebuck. So we plodded on or a mile, while the landscape grew arker and darker. At length, finding my horse less inteligent or more despairing than myself, I etumed the reins and endeavored to heer my brute compamon. To teil the ruth, I stood in nced of something exïilarating myself. The somber air of he eternal pines struck a deathly gloom o my heart, as one by one they seemed o rise on my path, like threatening genii, extending their scathed limbs to leet me. The rain, fine and cold, beewed me f rom head to ioot, and I quesion if a more miserable pair of animáis ver threaded their way through the mazes of an enchanted forest. I thought f the comfortable home I had left for my forlorn pleasure excursión, of that heerful hearth around which my family were gathered, of wine, music, love and tie thousand endearments I had left beünd, and then I gazed into the recesses f the shadowy wood that closed about me, almost in despair. I began to dread the apparition of ome giant intruder, and was seriously meditating the production of a pair of ñstols, when my quick glance caught tie glimmer of distant lights, twinkling hrough some opening in the trees, and arting a beam of hope upon the wanerer's soul. My reins were instantly frasped, and my rowels were struck into lie sides of my charger. He snorted, jricked up his ears, erected his head, md sprang forth in an uncontrollable gallop. Up hill and down hill I pricked ny gallant giay; and, when the forest was past, and his hoofs glinted on the tones of a street leading through a small village, I feit an animation that I cannot well describe. A creaking signboard, winging in the wind on rasty irons, diected me to the only inn of the village. t was a two-story brick building, standng a little back from the road. I drew ein at the door and dismounted from my weary nag. My loud vocif erations ummoned to my side a bulldog cursed with a most unhappy disposition, and a ïostler whose temper was hardly more amiable. He took my poor, jaded horse with an air of surly indiiference, and jruffly directed me to the bar-room. This apartment was tenanted by half a dozen rough farmers, rendered savage and moróse by incessantly imbibing alcohol, and by the proprietor of the tavern, a bluff man, with a portly paunch, a hard, gray eye, and a stern Oaledonian ip. He welcomed me without much rankness or cordiality, and I sank into a woodtn settle, eyed bythe surly guests of mine host, and the subject of sundry muttered remarks. The group, as it was lighted up by the strong red glare of the fire, had certainly a bandit ap)earance, which, however delightful to t Salvator Rosa, was by no means invitmg to a quiet traveler, who had sought he bosom of the hills for pleasure. After making a few remarks, which elicited only monosyllables in answer, I elapsed into silence, from which, however, I was soon aroused by the entrance of the eurly hostler, who in no very gracious marmer informed me that my horse was lame, and likely to be sick. This ntelligence produced a visit to the stable, and the conviction that I could not possibly resume my journey on the ensuing day, which was somewhat diaagreeable to a man who had taken up a iecided prejudice against the inn and ill its inmates. Having succeeded in procuring a private room and a fire, I ignited an execrare cigar (ah ! how unlike thy principes, dear S.), and endeavored to lose myself n the agreeable occupation of castlejuilding while my supper was preparing. Alas ! my fancy came not to my cali. I had lost my power of abstraction - the realities around me were too engrossing. Ere the dying shriek of a majestic rooster had ceased to sound in my ears, his remains were served up on my table, together with a cup or two of very villainous gunp wder tea and a pitcher of eider, with coarse bread and butter ad libitum. Supper was soon dispatched, and in answer to a bell, lightly touohed, a vinegar-visaged waiting-maid, of the interesting age of 45, entered and removed the scarcely-touched viands. I ventured to address her, with a request that I might be supplied with a few books, to enable me to while away the evening. I antioipated a literary i'east from the readiness with whioh slie rushed from the room; but she soon reappeared, bringing only "Young's Night Tnouglits " (very greasy), a urne of tales with the catastrophes torn out, a set of plays consisting only of first acts, and an odd number of the Ecleotic Magazine. Tnis was sufficiently provokhig; but I read a few pages and tried a second cigar and made the tour of the apartment, examining a faraily mourning-piece worked in satín, a genealogical tree done in worsted, and a portrait of the mutton-headed landloru and bis snappish wife. I counted the ticks of the elock for half an hour, and was finally reduced to the forlorn expedient of seeing likenessea in the burning smbers. When the olock struck 9 I rang for slippers and a guide to my bedroom, and the landlord appeared, candle in hand, to usher me to my sleeping apartment. As I followed him up the creaking staircase, and along the dark upper entry, I could not help regretting that f ancy was unable to convert him into the seneschal of a baronial mansion, and the room to whioh I was going into a haunted ohamber. It seemed as if my surly host had the power of divining what was passing in my mind, for, when he had ushered me into the room and placed the candle on the stand, he said : "I hope you'll sleep comfortable, for there ain't many rats here, sir. And, as for the ghost they say frequents this chamber, I believe that's all in my eye, though to be sure the window does look out on the burial-ground." " Umph ! a comfortable prospect." "Very, sir; you have a fine view of the Squire's new tomb and the poorhouse, with awing of the jail behind the trees. And I've stuck my second-best hat in that broken pane of glass, and there's a chest of drawers to set against the door, so you'll be warm and free from intrusión. I wish you good-night, sir." All that night I was troubled with strange dreams, peopled by phantoms from the neighboring church-yard, but a bona-fide ghost I cannot say I saw. In the morning I rose very early and took a look from the window, but the prospect was very uninviting. The churchyard was a bleak, desolate place, overgrown with weeds, and studded with slate-stones, bounded by a ruinous brick wall, and having an entrance through a dilapidated gateway. One or two melancholy-looking cows were feeding on the rank herbage that sprang Erom the unctuous soil. But afar, in the most distant part of the ñeld, I espied the figure of a man who was busily occupied in digging a grave. There was something within that impelled me to stroll forth and accost him. Idressed, descended, and, having ordered breakfast, left the inn, clambered over ïhe ruinous wall and stood within the precincts of the burial-place. The spot iad evidently been used for the purpose of sepulture for a number of years, for ïhe ground rose into numerous hillocks, and I could haroly walk a step without stumbling upon some grassy mound. Even when the perishable gravestones liad been shattered by the hand of time, ;he length of the elevations enabled me :o judge of the age of the deceased. This slight swell rose over the remains of some beloved child, who had been committed to the dust with only the simple ceremonies of the Protestant f aith, oedawed by the tears of parents, and blessed by the broken voice of farewell affection. This mound of larger dimensión was heaped above the giant frame of manhood." Some sturdy tiller ot the soil, or rough dweller in the forest, cut off by a sudden casualty, had been [aid here in his last leaden sleep- no more to start at the rising beam of the sun, no more to rush to the glorious excitement of the hunt, no moreno pant in noonday toil. Over the whole field of the dead there seemed to brood the spirit of desolation. Stern heads, rudely chisek:d, grinned Erom the gravestones, and frightiul emblems met the eye at every turn. Here was none of that simple elegance with which modern taste loves to invest the memorials of the departed ; no graceful acacias, or nodding elms, or sorrowing willows shed their dews upon the turf - pverything spoke of the bitternees of paiting ; of the agony of the last hour, of the passing away from earth- nothing of the reunión in heaven ! I passed on to where the grave-digger was pursuing his occupation. He answered my morning salutation civilly enough, but continued intent upon his work. He was a man of about 50 years of age, spare but strong, with gray hair, sunken cheeks, and certain lines about the mouth which augured a propensity to indulge in dry jest, though the sternness of his gray eye seemed to contradict the tacit assertion. "An unpleasant morning, sir, to work in the open air," said I. "He that regardeth the clouds shall not reap," replied the grave-digger, still busily plying his spade. " Death stalbs abroad fair day and foul day, and we that f ollow in his footsteps must prepare for the dead, rain or shine." "A melancholy occupation." "A fit one for a moralist. Some wotild find a pleasure in it. Deacon Giles, I am sure, would willingly be in my place now." "And why so?" "This grave is for his wife," replied the grave-digger, looking up from his occupation with a dry smile that wrinkled his sallow cheeks and distorted his shrunken lips. Perceiving that his merriment was not infectious, he resumed his employment, and that so assiduously that iu a very short time he had hollowed the last resting-place of Deacon Giles' consort. This done, he ascended from the trench with a lightness that surprised me, and, walking a few paces from the new-made grave, sat down upon a tomb st one and beckoned me to approach. I did so. "Young man," said he, "a sexton and a grave-digger, if he is one who has a zeal for his calling, becomes something of a historian, amassing many a curious tale and strange legend concerning the people with whom he has to do, living and dead. For a man with a taste for his profession cannot provide for the last repose of his fellows without taking an interest in their story, the manner of death and the concern of the relatives who f ollow their remains bo tearfully to the grave." "Then," replied I, taking a seat beside the sexton, "methinks you could relate some interesting tales." Again the withering smile that I had before observed passed over the face of the sexton, as he answered: "I am no teller, sir; I deal in fact, not flction. Yes, yes, I could chronicle some strange events. But of all the things I know, there is nothiug stranger than the melanoholy history of the three brides." " The three brides?" " Ay. Do you see three hillocks yonder, side by side ? There they sleep, and willtill the last trumpet comes wiiling nd wiling through the heart oí these lone hills, with a tone so strange and stirring that the dead will stnrt f rom their graves at its flrst awful note. Then will come the judgment and the retribution. Bnt to my tale. Look there, sir, on yonder hill, yon may observe a little isolated house, with a strnggling fence in front, and a few stunted apple trees on the ascent behind it. It is sadly out of repair now, and the garden is all overgrown with weetls and brambles, and the whole place has a desolate appearance. If the wind were high now, you might hear the old crazy shutters flapping against the sides, and the wind tearing the gray shingles off the roof. Many years ago there lived in that house an old man and his son, who cultivated the few acres of arable land which belonged to it. "The father was a self-taught man, deeply versed in the mysteries of sciei.ce, and, as he could teil the name of every flower that blossomed in the wood and grew in the garden, and used to sit up late nights over his books, or reading the wonderful story of the starry heavens, men thought he was bewitched or crazed, and avoided hira, and even hated him, as the ignorant ever shun and dread the gifted and enlightened. A few there were, and, among others, the minister and lawyer and physician of the place, who chowed some wülingness to afford him countenance, but they soon clropped his acquaintance, for they found the old man somewhat reserved and moróse, and, moreover, theirvanity was wounded by discovering the extent of his knowledge. To the minister he would quote the fathers and tho Scriptures in the original tongue, and showed himself well armed with the weapons of polemio controversy. Ho astonished the lawyer with his profound acquaintance with juxisprudence; and the physician was surprised at the extent of his medical knowledge. So they all deserted him, and the minister, from whom the old man differed in some trifling points of doctrine, spoke very slightingly of him; and by and by all looked upon the self-educated farmer with eyes of aversión. But he little cared for that, for he derived his consolation from loftier resources, and in the untracked paths of science found a pleasure as in the pathless woods ! He instructed bis son in all his lore - the languages, literature, history, philosophy, science, were unfolded, one by one, to the enthusiastic son of the solitary. "Years rolled away, and the old man died. He died when a storm convulsed the face of nature, when tho wind howled around his shattered dweiling and the lightning played above the roof ; and, though he went to heaven in faith and purity, the vulgar thought and said that the evil one had claimed his own in the thunder and commotion of the elements. "I cannot paint to you the grief of the son at his bereavement. He was, for a time, as one distracted. The minister canie and muttered a few cold and hollow phrases in his ear, and a few neighbors, impelled by curiosity to see the interior of the old man's dwelling, carne to his funeral. With a proud and lofty look the son stood above the dust and the dead in the midst of the band of hypocritical mourners, with a pang at his heart, but a serenity on his brow. He thanked his friends for their kindness, acknowledged their courtesy, and then strode away from the grave to bury his grief in the privacy of his deserted dweiling. "He found, at flrst, the solitude of the mansion almost insupportable, and he paced the echoing floors from morning till night, in all the agony of woe and desolation, vainly imploring Heaven for relief. It came to him flrst in the guise of poetic inspiration. He wrote with a wonderful ease and power. Page after page came from his prolific pen, üinost without an effort ; and there was a time when he dreamed (vain fooi !) of mmortality. Some of his productions came beiore the world. They were sraised and circulated, and inquiries vere set on foot in the hope of discoverng the author. He, wiapped in the veil of impenetrable obscurity, listened o the voice of applause, more delicious jecause it was obtained by stealth. From the obscurity of yonder lone mansion, and from this remote región, to send forth lays which astonished the world was, indeed, a triumph to the visionary bard. "His thirst for f amo was gratified, and now he began to ycarn for the companionship of some sweet being of the other sex, to share the laurels he had won, to whisper consolation in hij ear in moments of despondency, and to sup?ly the void which the death of his old 'ather had occasioned. He would picture to himself the felicity of a reüned mtercourse with a highly-intellectual and beautiful woman, and, as he had chosen fu his motto, " what has been done may still be done," he did not despair of success. "In this village lived three sisters, all beautiful and all accomplished. Their aames were Mary, Adelaide and MadeLeine. I am far enough past the age of enthusiasm, but never can I forget the beauty of those young girls. Mary was the youngest, and a fair-haired, more Laughing damsel never danced upon a green. Adelaide, who was a few years older, was dark-haired and pensive ; but of the three, Madeleine, the eldest, possessed the most flre, spirit, cultivation and intellectuality. "Their father was a man of taste and education ; and, being somewhat above yulgar prejuctices, permitted the visits of the hero of my story. Still, he did not altogether encourage the .affection which he found springing up between Mary and the poet. When, however, he found that her affections were engaged, he did not withhold his consent from her marriage, and the recluso bore to his solitary mansion the young bride of his affections. Oh, sir, the house assumed a new appearance within and without. Roses bloomed in the garden, jessaniines peeped through itslattices, and the flelds about it smiled with the effects of caref ui cultivation. 'Lights were seen in the little parlor in the veiling, and many a time would the passenger pause by the garden-gate to listen to strains of the sweetest music, breathed by chora] voices from the cottage. If the mysterions student and his wife were neglected by their neighbors what cared they ? Their endearing and mutual affection made their home a little paradise. Bul death came to Eden. Mary feil suddenly sick, and, after a few hours' illness, died in the arms of her husband and her sister Madeleine. This was the student's second heavy affliction. "Days, months rolled on, and the only solace of the bereaved was to sit with the sisters of the deceased and talk of the lost one. To Adelaide, at length, he offered his widowed heart. She came to his lone house like the dove, bearing the olive-branok of peaoo and consola tion. Their bridal was not one of revel ry and mirth, foï a uj jreoollepfion brooded over the hour. Yet they lived happily; the husband again smiled, and, with a new spring, the roses again blossomed in their garden. But it seemed as if a fatality pursued this singular man. When the rose withered and the leaf feil, in the mellow auturon of the year, Adelaide, too, siekened and died, like her younger sister, in the arms of her husband and of Madeleine. ' ' Perhaps you will think it strange, young man, that, after all, the wretched survivor stood again at the altar. But he was a mysterious being, whose ways were insorutable, who, thirsting for domestic bliss, was doomed ever to seek and never to find it. His third bride was Madeleine. I well reniember her. She was a beauty, in the true sense of the word. It may seem strange to you to hear the praise of beauty frora such lips as mine; but I oannot avoid expatiating upon hers. She might have sat upon a throne, and the most loyal subject, the proudest peer, would have sworn the blood within her veins had descended from a hundred Kings. She was a proud creature, with a tall, commanding form, and raven tresses that fioated. dark and cloud-like, over her shoulders. Bhe was a singularly-gifted woman, and possessed of rare inspiration. She loved the widower for his power and his fame, and she wedded him. They were married in that church. It was on a summer afternoon - I recollect it well. During the ceremony, the blackest cloud I ever saw overspread the heavens like a pall, and, at the moment when the third bride pronounced her vow, a clap of thunder shook the building to the center. All the femalas shrieked, but the bride herself made the response, witii a steady voice, and her eyes glittered with wild fire as she gazed upon the bridegroom. He remarked a kind of incoherence in her expressions as they rode homeward, which surprised him at the time. Arrived at his house, she shrunk upon the threshold; but this was the timidity of a maiden. When they were alone he clasped her hand - it was as cold as ice ! He looked into her face. "' Madeleine,' said he, ' what means this ? Your cheeks are as pale as your wedding-gown. What is the matter?' " The bride uttered a irantic shriek. " ' My wedding-gown !' exclaimedshe; 'no, no - this - this is my sister's shroud ! The hour for conftssion has arrived. It is God that impels me ti speak. To win you I have lost my soul ! Yes - yes - I im a murderess ! She smiled upon me n the joyous affection of her young ïeart - but I gave her ' the fatal drug ! Adelaide twined her white arms about my neck, but I administered the poison! fake me to your arms; I have lost my soul for you, and mine must you be !' " She spread her long, white arms, and toodlike a maniac bef ore him," said the exton, rising, in the excitement of the moment, and assuming the attitude he lescribed; " and then," continued he, in a hollow voice, and shaddering at the recollection, "at that moment came the .hunder and the flash, and the guilty woman feil dead on the floor. " The countenance of the narrator exiressed all the horror that he feit. " And the bridegroom," asked I; "the ïusband of the destróyer and the vic;ims - what became of him ?" "He stands bef ore you !" was the hrilling answer.