University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.
LETTERS.

Thus Albert Corrinton, charged with a capital
offence, lay in jail awaiting his trial.
Months of imprisonment were before him, from
which there was no escape; and a dark shadow
in the future threatened him with a greater

calamity. What his thoughts and sensations
were in this situation, may be best gathered
from the following fragments of letters, written
by him to Alice Silby:—

“The books you sent me by Joseph, who is
a frequent and welcome visitor, afford me singular
gratification. Some of them I read over
and over, — through and through, — gathering
fresh food for contemplation at each perusal.
`Young's Night Thoughts' I never appreciated
before. How striking are the poet's reflections!
how concise, how expressive his language!
I find many passages marked — I
flatter myself, by your hand. I shall not
neglect to profit by the hint contained in the
following:—

“I sometimes think I ought to feel thankful
for the calamity of which I am the victim. I
think that already I have learned to take a more

correct view of life than I ever conceived before.
I reflect; I study the past; I look at the world
with a passionless eye; I understand things
which before were mysterious; and I see beauties
in poets whom I have hitherto considered
obscure and dull. Men who sail upon the
seas look back upon the world they have left
with a clearer vision than when they lived in
the midst of its confusion and strife; and
thus do prisoners, left to their own meditations,
obtain a wider and bolder range of
thought.”...

“Mr. Marks is a very kind man, and I certainly
ought to be thankful for the kind treatment
I receive. Few prisoners, I imagine,
were ever treated with greater deference and
respect. I have all the liberty which can be
allowed any one, and my accommodations are
quite respectable. I read, write, meditate, or
converse with those who visit me; and thus I
fill up the day. Sometimes I can hardly realize
that I am a prisoner; never yet have I been
able fully to comprehend the awfulness of the
charge against me.”...

“I have now been confined four weeks, and
during all this time I have but once felt a

depression of spirits. Then I was plunged
deep into the pit of despair. I saw no hope
left me. In the silence of the night, when my
candle cast a ghastly light on the walls around
me, I felt forebodings that this was henceforth
my world. I sickened at the thought, that
error might prevail and my lamp of life be extinguished,
as others have been, by a thick, impenetrable
veil of falsehood. Then — only
then, dear Alice — I felt a spirit of complaint
against the will of Providence. Bitterly I
murmured at my lot. What had I done to
merit this calamity? Why should I, innocent,
suffer for the guilty? I saw myself cut off
from a prosperous career; thrown into jail;
accused of a horrid crime; my good name
blasted forever; the hearts of those I loved filled
with doubt; even you, dear Alice, believing
me guilty; and loudly I complained. But now
the struggle is past. I have arisen out of
the pit. A light has penetrated the gloom and
dispersed the darkness. I wait with patience
and resignation the decrees of fate.”...

“I wish I could see you. It is much to
know that you remember me; that you think
of me kindly; to hear your praises from the

lips of Joseph, who loves you without a
thought of selfishness; to receive the books
you send me, and, what is still more precious,
the verbal messages you confide to Joseph:
but this is not like speaking with you face to
face — hearing the calm, sweet wisdom of your
soul expressed by your own lips.”...

“I am growing impatient; the darkness
gathers around me. I see less clearly than I
did when I wrote before, dearest Alice. I expected
you would write to me. You did not
so much as send me a verbal message. Can it
be that you too are beginning to doubt me?
I could bear any thing but this. O, let me not
remain in suspense!”...

“Thanks! thanks! a thousand thanks for
your most welcome letter! It has cleared
away the mists — it has brightened my day. I
care little for the world's scorn and pity now.
Let what will come to pass, I shall find consolation.
When oppressed by doubts, I shall
ponder on the gentle admonitions your noble
letter contains.

“I appreciate your delicacy in this matter.
I understand your mother's prejudice. I know
in what light the world regards you. No —

do not visit me — not yet. I would not have
you do any thing you might have reason to
regret. But think of me as you have done:
write to me, and I shall be content.

“Mr. Brance visited me to-day. Poor man!
I sympathize with him; but I am afraid that
the sorrow for the death of his son is swallowed
up in a spirit of revenge. That he believes
me guilty, and hates me with a bitter hatred, I
cannot doubt. O God, hasten the day when
truth shall dawn, and disperse the night of
error which surrounds me! Ah! Alice, it is a
terrible thing to be suspected of such a crime!
But a firm confidence in the light which
time must bring consoles me, and makes me
patient.”...

“O, write to me again, noble Alice! I look
to you for hope, consolation, and joy. Do not
refuse to lighten the sorrows of a persecuted,
fickle, wretched man. To-day I am cast
down. Nothing but a word of encouragement,
traced by your own dear hand, can lift
me up.

“Incessant gloom pervades the jail. Since
morning it has rained continually, and while I
write the storm beats against the grated window,

through which a dismal light steals in
upon me. My fellow-prisoners — that is, my
two privileged jail companions — amuse themselves
by playing cards, hour after hour; while
I am left to the dangerous companionship of
my own dark thoughts.

“Do you remember, dear girl, the afternoon
when we were walking together in that pleasant
spot which you named `Shadowland'?
In that cool retreat, sheltered by woody heights
on either side, the sunshine never falls; but on
that afternoon, the banks and trees around us
were tinged with golden light, which they
reflected softly, and the brook which works its
winding way through the ravine gleamed with
the beauties of the sky. Down the rocky side
of a steep ledge, which forms the southern
boundary of Shadowland, was drawn a line
of moisture, which, issuing from a scanty
spring above, gathered in drops at the bottom
of the rock, and fell into a broad stone basin
at our feet. That basin was filled with water,
in which you could see your shadowy face,
dear Alice, except when the large drops, falling
from the ledge, shattered the picture, and sent
glittering eddies circling to the rim.

“That basin I thoughtlessly called the wood-nymph's
mirror.

“`No,' said you, `it is a mirror of life.
Look, Albert — see yourself in that pearly
drop swelling on the point of the stone. It is
an emblem of your boyhood — you are preparing
to enter life. See! it has gained its
full size — it is impatient to leave the maternal
stone — it quivers — it expands — there! it has
dropped. You have made your advent in the
world, Albert. What a stir you create! With
what glittering ripples you make your presence
known! How you cause all your predecessors
— the drops which fill the basin — to circle
around you, and run away from you! But
look! the eddies subside. This little world
becomes calm; and, strange to say, the basin
is no fuller than before! You are forgotten
with your predecessors; the world is as if you
had never been; and see! another little globe
comes dashing down, making just such a stir
as greeted your advent. Tell me, now — is not
this a mirror of life?'

“You spoke playfully, Alice, but I remembered
your words. I think of them now; I
wonder how long before it will be said of me,

`He came, and he is gone!' You remember,
Alice, that sometimes the wind, sweeping
around the ledge, effaced the eddies as soon as
made. I sometimes feel a foreboding that thus
my life is destined to be cut short by the storm
which threatens me. Other men have suffered,
though innocent. Error has doomed the righteous
to ignominy and death. O, can it be possible
that falsehood will seal my fate? Am I
to be crushed thus early by a calamity which
I cannot avoid? No, no; Heaven will interpose
an arm of safety. But what am I that I
should proudly talk of Heaven's protection?
A worm, an unnoticeable grain of dust, in the
great highway of life — a drop of water in an
eternal stream!

“I am ashamed of my doubts and my repinings.
But, Alice, you know not on what billows
the mind of man is tossed, when left to
the mercy of tempests within his own breast.

“Write to me! Friends who visit me bring
but little consolation. The kindness of my
jailer somehow reminds me of the bounty
lambs enjoy when farmers prepare them for the
slaughter. My excellent counsel, Mr. Marshal,
who is diligently employed in my behalf,

searching for some clew by which the truth
may be traced out, can give me but little hope.
Some advise me to confess the crime! Abominable
thought! — to declare myself guilty
of a horror at which my soul shudders, in
the hope of obtaining mercy! O, Alice,
write to me! write to me!”