TWO SUMMER EVENINGS.

Wairarapa Standard, Volume II, Issue 59, 15 February 1868, Page 4

TWO SUMMER EVENINGS.

Tv.Tr the orchard path I wandered a year ago — Wandered with ray chosen lover, 'X 'arh the tangled bough's green cover, '.Mid the sunset, glow For a raideuee misty, inoted, Thro' the leaves around ns Boated ; lint our son Is within were bright With love's yet devineer light. Wandering on, ray heedless fingers loght a vagrant spray'; From a bush a bird forth flattered. Short sharp notes of fear it uttered As it fled away'. Then my lover parted deftly Springy branches, rigl t y—leftly, l.u, a ;cp in the shrub s green breast, Lay disclosed a tiny rest. Over it we bent together— Bent with curious eye. It was woven like a basket. Softly lined as jewel casket. Fragrant, warm, and dry. And it casketed a treasure Senseless gold nor gems could measure ; For it held a pearl instead. Flawless and white—life’s priceless seed. Bound my waist an arm had stolen Whose I need not tell; And a warm, a balmy breathing, Stirred the curls my' head euwrcathing Stirred my curls as well 1 For my love, in whispers thrilling With the joy his bosom filling. Spake, “ Ere next these birds shall rest, We"—his kisses said the rest. Well, once more the summer sunsets 1 1 their beauty blush : And as wont of yore, I wander Forth, on many things to ponder, In the evening hush. To one spot my wandering brings me, And a swift-winged memory' stings mo, For within that well-known shade Birds again have built and laid. Bnt my ardent last year's lover Far away is he ! Half so far seas could not bear him, Further oif death could not rear him— Farther off from me ! For a fickle heart can sever Ties which else had held forever; And to me the birds in vain, Sing, “ 'Tis nesting-lime again." ALPHA.

LIFE AND DEATH. BY H. GRAHAME, M.R.C.S. (Concluded from our last.) “Is he particularly engaged, Mrs. Jackson ?” “Well, I don’t know—that is, Is’pose so. Anyways, he’s gi’n orders that he wasn’t to be interupted on no account, ain’t set eyes on him these four days, myself.” “Four days!” My fears returned in force. “ You haven’t seen him in four days—and he may be dead !” “ Bless your soul, no. He’s alive, and—” Here she utterly broke down, and stammered, and again glanced nervously over her shoulder. “ What is the matter, Mrs. Jackson ? Has anyting happened ? If so, do not hesitate to tell me. lam the Doctor’s friend, and yours, and if there is anything wrong, I may be of some use.” “ I wish you could, Doctor Grahame— I wish you could 1” She allowed me to pass her, closed the door softly, yet still stood with her hand on the knob. “Tell me what is it, Mrs. Jackson,” I said, with as calm an air as I could command. “ Why, Doctor, I—l’m ateared that there is something queer up-stairs. It’s bad enough to have a corpse staying in the house; but ghosts, heaven knows, is worst” “ Ghosts ! Corpses!” “James Sharker died here—up there—four days ago.” James Sharker—the young man who, in the last stage of consumption, and evidently with but a few days to live, the old Doctor had some weeks since taken from wretched cottage of his too willing brother-in-law, and brought to his own house. “ He is dead, then ?” “ I saw him (he, sir. It was four days ago. The Doctor, he was out on his walk, and I sat and watched by him, and saw him breath slower and slower, and his eyes sink and roll up, until at last, just with a shiver and gasp, he was gone. I crossed his hands and closed his eyes; and then Doctor came in, and he looked at the corpse, and said, ‘ Bead !’ And then he got all of a suddent excited, and his eyes blazed, and he said, ‘Go dawn, Maria; and let no one in the house until I call; and let no one know that the man’s dead!’ I went up next day, and called at the door to know if he wouldn’t have his dinner. He answered ‘Ho! Don’t come up again till you (are called!’ I left his dinner there, as I sometimes do, on the table near his door, and about ten o’clock that night, went up to see if he’d eaten anjrthing; but it hadn’t been touched. The same thing yesterday, the same thing today; but Doctor Grahame ” “Well ”

<{ As I’m a livin’ woman I heard somebody in there, talking—talking to the Doctor—in the room where nobody’s been since then!” I stood and mused.

“Dead four days ago. The body must be by this time in a state of decomposition—like the others.” “Yes; like the others!” said the old woman, with an expression full of meaning. “This must be looked into, Maria. You know how people talked about those others; ank should this thing again occur and be discovered, it will injure the Doctor, Jand probably you also. I will go up and see !” “ I daren't let you, sir!” “ Psfyaw!’ I’ll'take the responsibility upon myself, I’ll represent to the Doctor how imprudent and how unadvisible are such proceedings. I’ll tell him that I

1 The housekeeper liad a good situath n | for her life, and expected a legacy from j her old master should she survive him. I Hence, partly, her fear of offending | him. My last remark was an assurance j against this contingency, and she half reluctantly allowed me to pass her; and I made my way, softly and in darkness, up the broad staircase, and along the I narrow pasage leading to the other end of the house, where was the Doctor’s laboratary. I had often, in former days, been here, and now found my way without difficulty. But as I progressed I became conscious of a singular influence—a something which it is quite imposible to describe, and which seemed to prevade the very atmosphere around me. My body became as it were, lighter, my breathing quicker; a new viguour of freshness seemed infused into my frame. There is nothing by which I can, however feebly, describe the sensation, except in comparing it with that of a weary, heated, and languid traveller, when, after punging into a cool, clear stream, beneath the shade of trees, he comes forth fresh and vigorous, feeling as though inspired in every nerve and vein with a new life.

Somewhat similar was my sensation upon approaching- the door of the labora-tory—ming-led with a correspondingmental vigour and excitement. I stood for a moment and listened. There were strange, muffled, gurgling sounds within—human sounds—but inarticulate, until I distinctly distinguished the words, “ For heaven’s sake ! For heaven’s sake!” uttered in a tone so strained, so gasping, so full of untold agony, either bodily or mental, that I felt a cold shiver run through me. What diabolical torture was being here prepared. “ Doctor!” I cried, aloud. But no notice was taken, and the sounds continued as before. Then there was a slight shuffling or struggling, and a heaving, sobbing shriek. I could bear it no longer. In the full vig-uor of my strong young manhood, and in the new strength so mysteriously acquired, I seized the door, I shook it in my grasp, and bursting the lock, stood within the mysterious apartment.

I have said that I was labouring under a strange mental and physical excitement, and, as it were, exaltation. Some will say that what I now saw was the effect of this excitement—a sort of mental hallucination or exaggeration. Whatever it may have been, I describe it as I here saw it, or as it here appeared to me. Good heavens ! There in the Doctor’s great easy chair sat what seemed a corpse the corpse of James Sharker—erect, livid, ghastly, with glazed eyes and sunken

features, yet struggling in mortal agony with some invincible force. The breast heaved with strong, convulsive breathings, the features worked, and from the throat came that gasping cry of supplication.

“ For heaven’s sake! For heaven’s sake!” as of a spirit striving in mortal agony to break free from its bonds of clay! And yet, despite all these signs of life, it was firmly impresed upon me that it was not a living person that I beheld—at least, not what we call life—hut a horrible constrained, tortured existence —torture to body and soul alike.

All this I saw in the first glance. At the second, I perceived that attached to, or in contact with, the body at various points were wires, tubes, electric-con-ductors—l know not what, of diabolical machinery. And then I turned my eyes to the other end of the apartment, whither these conductors led.

There stood the Doctor—pale, still; his eyes, blazing with an intense excitement fixed upon the victim before him; his hands busied with some mysterious and complicated labyrinth of apparatus, of which, in the momentary glance that I gave, I had but an imperfect glimpse He never noticed me; his whole soul was absorbed in his mysterious and horrible work. There was a look of triumphant excitement on his deathly pale face, as though some long-sought secret was at last discovered—some wonderful work about to be accomplished. And at that moment the writing body became still ; at that moment a life-like hue returned soddenly to the livid face, a look of consciousness into the glazed eyes; and, with a groan of utter despair and agony, the dead man rose slowly snd stretched his arms towards me. Full of horror as I was, I had at the moment but one consciouness, that of pitty for the victim, indignation at the perpetrator of what seemed ,at the moment I'emorseles cruelty. I turned impulsively to the Doctor, and, almost unconscious of what I did, struck the instrument from his hand, and with the blow severed the metallic conductors from the body before me. The old Doctor throw up his arms with a cry, or rather shriek, of despair, the sound of which haunts me yet. The revivified body fell suddenly to the ground at my feet—not as a man falls but prone down, in a lump. I was conscious of a shock which for an instant paralyzed me, body and mind ; but with a mighty effort I walked to the window and threw it open. I leant ont and drank in the cold, fresh, night air, and when quite recovered, turned round like one awakened from a dream.

It was not a dream, however. There was the horrible, diabolical machine, all shattered to pieces. There was the old Doctor, with a fixed look of stony despair upon his face. There was—great heavens! —not the form I had seen a few moments before, but a mass of putrescent humanity, a body looking as though it had been for four days in a state of decay. It was this fact alone which ever subsequently prevented my disbelief of the old woman’s statement as to the time of James Sharker’s death.

they occurred; • 'many will doubt its truth; many will laugh, and more will sneer. Let" them go to the Royal Insane Asylum, and listen to the corroborative mutterings of the old Doctor. Poor gentleman! If I wronged him may heaven forgive me; but what good would such a discovery, have done mankind, opposed as it would have bcen'_ to nature and her sacred laws ?

The earth, with its scarred face, is the symbol of the past; the air and heaven, of futurity.