The Mask of the Red Death - Graham's Magazine, May 1842 — reading text

conscious andrich merchant. But the romance of his early that he would find her sadly altered in person, and days had long since passed away. The imaginative she had been trying to school herself for the inter- student was concealed or rather lost in the man of view, which she well knew must be fraught with fo the world. Thrown upon his own resources, ifi a pain even if it brought happiness. But when her lik foreign land, and surrounded by strangers he had young sister came to her with a ludicrous account of re learned to think and act for himself. He had ,ac- the strange gentleman’s droll mistake, her prophetic el quired the worldly wisdom which enabled him to soul, which had acquired the gift of prescience from no study his own jnterests, and it is not strange that sorrow, saw but too plainly the cloud upon her selfishness should have mingled its alloy with his future. She descended to the drawing-room with a  BODiTH* FEMBER TON, 283 determination to control her emotions, and, to one so pened to be a well made wig, was in raptures with accustomed to self command, the task though difficult his beautiful teeth which owed their brilliancy to the was not impossible. The meeting between the long skill ofa French dentist, and, in short, left no means parted lovers was painful and full of constraint. In untried to accomplish her end. Butshe was doomed the emaciated figure, and hollow cheek of her who to disappointment. Itis not easy to kindle a new had long passed the spring of life, Ellis saw little to flame from the ashes of an extinguished passion. awaken the associations of early affection, for the There wasa secret consciousness, a sense of dissatis- being who now appeared before him scarcely retained faction with himself, that made Ellis rather shrink a trace of her former self. Time, and care, and the from Edith’s society, and threw an air of constraint wearing anxiety of hope deferred had blighted the over his manner towards the whole family. He was beauty which under happier circumstances might not happy in the presence of her who appeared have outlived her youthfulness. Edith was now only before him as a spectre of the past, bearing reproaches a placid pleasant looking woman with that indescriba- in its melancholy countenance, and after a few em- ble air of mannerism which always characterises the barrassed attempts at carelessness in his intercourse single lady ofa certain age, and as Ellis compared with her, he ceased entirely to visit the family. her present appearance with that of her blooming No one ever knew what Edith suffered, for no one sister, who bore a most singular resemblance to her, suspected her iong-cherished attachment. Her step he was tempted to feel a secret satisfaction in the became languid,her cheek sunken,her eye unnaturally belief that her heart was as much changed as her bright, and when at length, a hacking cough fastened person. itself upon her lungs, every body said that Edith And what felt Edith at this meeting? She had lived Pemberton was falling into a consumption. Some on one sweet hope, and had borne absence, and sor- attributed it to a cold taken when nursing her sister row, and the wasting of weary expectancy with the through a dangerous illness,—others thought she had patience of a loving and trusting heart. It is true worn out her health among her numerous nephews that, as years sped on, she lost much of the sanguine and nieces. But the worm lay at the root of the temper which once seemed to abbreviate time and tree and though the storm and the wind might work diminish space. It is true that as time stole the its final overthrow, the true cause of its fall was the bloom from her.cheek and the brightness from her gnawing of the secret destroyer. Gradually and eye, many a misgiving troubled her gentle bosom, quietly and silently she faded from among the living. and the shadow of a settled grief seemed gradually Friends gathered round her couch of suffering and the extending its gloom over her feelings. But still hope consolations of the Book of all truth smoothed her existed,—no longer as the brilliant sunshine of exis- passage tothe tomb. With a world of sorrow and tence,—no longer as the only hope which the future care sinking from her view, and an eternal life of could afford,—but faded and dim—its radiance lost in happiness opening upon her dying eyes, she closed the mist of years, yet still retaining a spark of its her useful and blameless life. early warmth. She had many doubts and fears but On the very day fixed upon for his marriage with she still had pleasant fancies of the future, which, a young and fashionable heiress, Edward Ellis re- cherished in her secret heart, were the only foun- ceived a summons to attend, as pall bearer, the tains of delight in the dreary desert of her wasted funeral of Edith Pemberton. Of course he could not feelings. But now all was at an end. They had decline, and as he beheld the earth flung upon the met, not as strangers, but, far worse, as estranged coffin which concealed the faded form of her whom friends. The dream of her life was rudely broken— he had once loved, the heart of the selfish and the veil was lifted from her eyes,—the illusion which worldly man was touched with pity and remorse. had given all she knew of happiness, was destroyed But he turned from Edith’s grave to his own bridal forever. In the words of him who has sounded and in the festivities of that gay scene soon forgot every string of love’s sweet lyre, she might have her who, after a life spent in the service of others, exclaimed in the bitterness of her heart: had fallen a victim to that chronic heart-break which destroys many a victim never numbered in the ‘¢ Had we but known, since first we met, records of mortality. Some few short hours of bliss, Gentle reader, I have told you a simple story, but We might in numbering them, forget The deep deep painof this ; one so like the truth, that you will be tempted to But no! our hope was born in fears conjecture that the real heroine has been actually And nursed ’mid vain regrets ! Like winter suns, it rose in tears, known to you. Will not the circle of your own Like them, in tears it sets.” acquaintance furnish an Edith Pemberton ?—a gentle, lovely and loveable woman, who leads a life of quiet Mrs. Pemberton at first formed some schemes, benevolence, and whose obscure and peaceful exist- founded on the remembrance of Edward’s former ence is marked by deeds of kindness, even as the liking for Edith, but when she learned his error windings of a summer brook are traced by the fresh- respecting Margaret she began to fancy that if her ness of the verdure and flowers that adorn its banks? eldest daughter was a little too old, the younger was Have you never met with one of those persons on none too young to make a good wife for the rich whose gravestone might be inscribed the beautiful merchant. She expressed her admiration of his and touching lines of the poet Delille - expanded figure, extolled his fine hair, which hap- ** Joyless I lived yet joy to others gave !”” 284 GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. = And when you have listened to the bitter jest, the |has it never occurred to you that each of these soli. keen sarcasm and the thoughtless ridicule which the | tary and useful beings may have her own true tale young and gay are apt to utter against “‘ the old maid,” ' of young and disappointed affection? TO AN ANTIQUE VASE. BY N. C. BROOKS. In the cabinet of M. Villaneu is an antique vase of elegant proportions and beautiful workmanship that was fished up from the sea. It is wreathed with coral and madripore, in the most grotesque manner. The play of Imagination I hope will not be considered too free in supposing it had been used in ancient sacrifices, at the founding of cities, and the revels of royalty. . AGEs have passed since, amid the gale, The palace rose and the castle towered: A votive gift to the god of the sea 4 But they sunk by the engine and Time’s dark flood, Thou wert cast where the Tyrian’s broidered sail And the wild grass waves where the columns stood. O’er the Adrian wave swept wildly free: And we muse, as we gaze on thy tarnished gleam, In the festal halls where eyes grew bright, And pulses leaped at the viol’s sound, On the vanished past in a quiet dream. Thou hast winged the hours with mystic flight, Where ancient temples once flashed with gold As the feast andthe mazy dance went round : Thou hast stood with the priest at the holy shrine— Now mosses the mouldering walls encrust, Where in amber wreaths the incense rolled, And the pulseless hearts of the guests are dust. Thou hast shed thy treasure of votive wine: Now the temples are fallen—the altars lone, Yes creeds have changed, and forms have grown old— And the white-robed priest and his gods are gone. Empires and nations have faded away Since the grape last purpled thy shining gold ; Where the augur waved and the monarch prayed And grandeur and greatness have met decay Thy font has the full libation poured; Since the beaded bubbles of old did swim, 8S And when the city walls were laid Like rubies, around thy jewelled brim. Ve