The literary echo., April 03, 1851, Image 1

About The literary echo. (Westerly, R.I.) 1851-1851

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@he Litevarp Echo.
G. H. BABCOCK, PROPRIETOR.
VOLUME I
Pocetryp.
Doubt Not.
BY J. M.KNOWLTON,
When the day of life is dreary,
And when gloom thy course enshrouds—
When thy steps are faint and weary,
And thy spirit dark with clouds,
Stecdtust still in thy well doing,
Let thy soul forget the past—
Steadfast still, the right pursuing,
Doubt not ! joy shall come at last.
Striving still, and onward pressing,
Seek not future years to know,
But deserve the wished for blessing,
It shall come, though it be slow.
Never tiring—upward gazing—
Let thy fears aside be cast,
Are thy trials tempting, braving—
Doubt not ! joy shall come at last.
Keep not thou thy soul regretting;
Seek the good—spurn evil's thrall,
Though thy foes thy path besetting,
Thou shalt triumph o’er them all,
Though each year but bring thee sadness,
And thy youth be fleeting fast,
Therc’ll be time enough for gladness—
Doubt not! joy shall come at last.
His fond eye is watching o’er thee—
His strong arm shall be thy guard,
Duty’s path is straight before thee,
It shall lead to thy reward.
By thy iils thy faith made stronger,
Mould the future by the past—
Hope thou on a little longer !
Doubt not! joy shall come at last.
The (ld Well in Y.anguedoc,
’?Ehe proof of the truth of the following
statement, taken from the Courier
de 1’ Europe, rests not only upon
the known veracity of the narrator, but up
on the fact that the whole occurence is reg
istered in the judicial records of Languedoc.
We give it as we heard it from the lips of
the dreamer, as nearly as possible in his
own words.
As the junior partner in a conmmrciu]l
house at Lyons, I had been travelling some
time on the business of the firm, when, one
evening in the month of June, I arrived
at a town in Languedoe, where I had nev
er before been. I put up at a quiet inn
in the suburbs, and, being very much fa
tigued, ordered dinner at once ; and went
to bed almost immediately after, determin
ed to begin very early in the morning my
visits to the different merchants.
I was no sooner in bed than 1 fell into a
deep sleep, and had a dream that made the
strongest impressioz upon me.
I thought that I’had arrived at the same
town, but in the middle of the day, instead
of the evening, as was really the case ; that
I had stopped at the very same inn, and
gone out immediately, as an unoccupicd
stranger would do, to sce whatever was
worthy of observation in the place. I walk
ed down the main street, into another street,
crossing it at right angles, and apparently
leading into the country. I had not gone
very far, when I came to a church, the
Gothic portico of which I stopped to ex
amine. When I had satisfied my curiosi
ty, I advanced to a by-path which branch
ed off from the main street. Obeying an
impulse which I could neither account for
nor control, I struck into the path, though
it was winding, rugged, and unfrequented,
and presently rea‘:fixed a miserable cottage,
in front of which was a garden covered
with weeds. T had no difficulty in getting
into the garden, for the Bedge had several
gaps in it, wide enough to asmit four carts
abreast. I approached an old well, which
stood solitary and filoomy in a distant cor
ner ; and looking down ‘into it, I beheld
Literature, Srience and Art -- o Porty-- o Seed.
distinctly, without any possibility of mis
take, a corpse which had been stabbed in
several places. T connted the deep wounds
and the wide gashes whence the blood was
flowing.
I would have cried out, but my tongue
clove to the roof of my mouth. At this
moment I awoke, with my hair on end,
trembling in every limb, and cold drops of
perspiration bedewing my forchead—awoke
to find myself comfortably in bed, my trunk
standing beside me, birds warbling cheer
fully around my window; whilea young,
clear voice was singing a provineial air in
the next room, and the morning sun was
shining brightly through the curtains.
I sprung from my bed, dressed myself,
and, as it was yet very early, I thought I
would seek an appetite for breakfast by a
morning stroll, I accordingly entered the
main street, and went along. The farther
I walked, the stranger became the confus
ed recollection of the objects that present
ed themselves to my view. “It is very
strange,” [ thought ; I have never been
here before ; and T eould swear that T have
seen this house, and the next, and that oth
er on the left.” On I went, till I came to
the corner of a street, crossing the one down
which 1 had come. For the first time,l re
membered my dream, but put away the
thought as too absurd ; still, at every step,
some fresh point of resemblance struck me.
“Am I still dreaming ! 1 exclaimed, not
without a momentary thrill through my
whole frame. “Is the agreement to be
perfect to the very end 777 Before long, 1
reached the church, with the same architeet
ural features that had attracted my notice
in the dream; and then the high-road, along
which I pursued my way, coming at length
to the same by-path that had presented it
self to my imagination a few hours before.
There was no possibility of doubt or mis
take. Every tree, every turn, was famil
iar tome. I wasnot at all of a superstitious
turn, and was wholly engrossed in the prac
tical details of commercial business. My
mind had never dwelt upon the hallucina
tions, the presentiments, that science either
denies, or is unable to explain ; but I must
confess, that T now felt myself spell-bound,
as by some enchantment; and, with Pascal’s
words on wy lips, “A continued dream
would be equal to reality,” I hurried for
ward, no longer doubting that the next mo
ment would bring me to the cottage ; and
this really was the case. Inallits outward
circumstances, itcorresponded to what I
had scen inmy dream. Who, then, could
wonder that I determined to ascertain
whether the coincidence would hold good
in every other point ? T entered the gar
den, and went direct to the spot on which
I had seen the well ; but here resemblance
failed—well, there was none. I looked in
every direction ; examined the whole gar
den, went round the cottage, which ap
peared to be inhabited, althm:;%h no person
was visible ; but nowhere could I find any
vestage of a well.
I made no attempt to enter the cottage,
but hastened back to the hotel, in a state of |
agitation difficult to describe. T could not|
make up my mind to pass unnoticed such
extraordinary coincidences; but how was|
any clew to be obtained of the terrible mis- |
tery ? |
I went to the landlord, and after chatting
with him for some time on different subjects, |
T came to the point, and asked him direct- |
ly to whom the cottage belonged that was
in a by-road which I deseribed to him. ~
«I ‘wonder sir,”said he, “what made you |
take such particular notice of such a wretch
ed little hovel. It is inhabited by an old ‘i
man with his wife, who have the character ',
WESTERLY, R, I. APRIL 3, 1851,
|of being very morose and unsociable,
| They rarely leave the house—see no
| body, and nobody goes to see them ; but
| they are quict enough, and 1 never heard
any thing against them beyond this. Of
|late, their very existance seems to have
| been forgotton ; and T believe, sir, that you
lare the first who, for years, has turned Lis
| steps to the deserted spot.”
| These details, far from satisfying my
| curiosity, did but provoke it the more.
| Breakfast was served, but 1 could not
Jtouch it; and 1 feltthatif T presented my
| self to the merchants in such a state of ex
| citement, they would think me mad; and,
indeed, I felt very much excited. T paced
Jup and down the room, looked out at the
window, trying to fix my attention on some
| external object, but in vain. I endeavored
| to interest myselt in a (uarrel between two
Imen in the street; but the garden and the
| cottage preoccupied my mind 5 and, at last,
.| snatching my hat, I cried; “I will go,
| come what may.”
| T repaired to the nearest magistrate, told
[ him the object of my visit, and related
.1 the whole circumstance briefly and clearly.
)| I saw direetly that he was much impressed
|| by my statement.
-1 “It is, indeed, very strange,” said he,
»| “and after what has happened, I do not
y{ think T am at liberty ¢o leave the matter
.| without furtherizquiry. ITmportant busi
t | ness will prevent iy accompanying you in
'|a search, but I will place two of the police
*|at your command. Go once more to the
| [hovel, sce its inhabitants, and search ev
-lery part of it. You may, perhaps, make
'| some important discovery.”
| I suffered but a very few moments to
| elapse before 1 was on my way, accompa
| nied by the two officers, and we soon reach
ed the cottage. We knocked, and after
waiting for some time, an old man opened
the door. He received us somewhat un
civilly, but showed no mark of suspicion,
nor, indeed, of any other emotion, when
we told him we wished to scarchdhe house,
“Very well, gentlemen ; as fast, and as
soon as you please,” he replied.
“Have you a well here 77 1 enquired. |
“No, sir"; we are obliged to go for wa-|
ter to a spring at a considerable distance.” |
We searched the house, which T did, 1|
confess, with a kind cf feverish excitement, ! |
expecting every moment to bring some fa- |
tal secret to light. Meantime, the old |
man gazed upon us with an impenetrable |
vacancy of look, and we at last left the|.
cottage without seeing anything that could |
confirm my suspicions. I resolved to in- |;
speot the garden once more ; and a num- |
ber of idlers having been by this time col- ||
lected, drawn to the spot by the sizht of |
a stranger with two armed men engaged |
in searching the premises, I made enqui-|
ries of some of them whether they knew |
any thing about a well in that place. I}
could get no information at first, but at|
length an old woman came slowly forward, |
leaning on a crutch. i
“A well!” cried she; “is it the well|e
you are looking after? That has been|]
gone these thirty years. I remember, as|i
if it were only yesterday, many a time,
‘when I was a young girl, how I used to:
throw stones into it, and hearing the splash |
they used to make in the water. i
“And could you tell where that well |y
used to be 7 1 asked, almost breathless|s
with excitement. 1
“As near as I can remember, on the'
very spot on which your honor is now -
standing.” said the ola wonian. (o
“I could have sworn it!" thought I,|n
springing from the place as if I had trodlr
upon a scorpion. t
TERMS, $l.OO IN ADVANCE.
| Need I say, that we set to work to dig up
-|the ground. At about eighteen inches
tideep, we eame to a layer of bricks, which,
1_ being broken up, gave to view some hoards,
f'l which were casily removed ; after which
*{we beheld the mouth of the well.
'l “I was quite sure it was here,” said the
“lwoman. “What a fool the old fellow was
to stop it up, and then have so far to go
| for water !”
-1 A sounding-line, furnished with hocks,
tiwas let down into the well; the erowd
- | pressing around us, and breathlessly bend
-|ing over the dark and feetid hole, the se
»| erets of which seemed hidden in impene-
H trable obscurity. This was repeated sev
*feral times without any result. ~At length,
>| penctiating below the mud, the hooks
[| caught an old chest, upon the top of which
21 had been thrown a great many large stones ;
¢ land after much effort and time, we sue
y | ceeded in raising it to daylight. The sides
y fand lid were decayed and rotten ; it need
ed no locksmith to open it ; and we found
U within, what 1 was certain we should find,
1 and which paralyzed with horror all the
- | spectators, who had not my pre-convic'ions
1 —we found the remains of a human body.
The police-officers who had accompa
s{nied me, now ru hed into the house, and
t{secured the person of the old man. Asto
| his wife, no one could at first tell what had
- become of her. After some search, how
1| ever, she was found hidden behind a bun
e [dle of fagots,
2| By this time, nearly the whole town had
- { gathered around the spot; and now that
| this horrible fact had come to light, every
body had some erime to tell, which had
[ been laid to the charge of the old couple.
| The people who predict after an event are
[ numerous.
The old couple were brought before the
proper authorities, and privately and sep
crately examined. The old man persisted
in his denial, most pertinaciously ; but his
wife at length confessed, that, in concert
with her husband, she had once—a very
long time ago—murdered a peddler, whom
they had met one night on the high-road,
and who had been incautious enough to tell
them of a considerable sum of money which
he had about him, and whom, in conse
(uence, they induced to pass the night at
’thoir house. They had taken advantage
| of the heavy sleep induced by fatigue, to
strangle him j his body had been put in
the chest, the chest thrown into the well,
and the well stopped up. The peddler
being from another country, his disappear
ance had oceasioned no inquiry ; there was
no witness of the crime ; and as its traces
had been carefully concealed from every
eye, the two eriminals had good reason to
believe themselves secure from detection.
They had not, however, been able to si
lence the voice of conscience ; they fled
from the sight of their fellow men; they
trembled at the slightest noise, and silence
thrilled them with terror. They had often
formed the determination to leave the scene
of their crime—to fly to some distant land ;
but still some undefinable fascination kept
them near the remains of their vietim.
Terrified by the deposition of his wife,
and unable to resist the overwhelming nreofs
against him, the man at length made a sim
ilar confession ; and six weeks after, the
unhapny criminals died on the scaffold, in
accordance with the sentence of the Parlia
ment of Touvlouge, They dicd venitent,
The woll was oney more shut up, and
“he vottave love lled to the g:rmrn‘.. 1t was
not, however, uadcl ifty years had in sone
moasure deadencd the nu meiy of e e
rible (ransaction, that the ground was cul
tivated. It is now a fine field of corn.
NUMBER 1.