LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 85, 8 September 1874, Page 3

LITERATURE.

WEDDED IN DEATH. A TALE OF THE LATE AMERICAN WAR. [From Belgravia .] ( Continued.') I therefore stepped beyond the alcove, and told the chaplain that my friend was ready and anxious for him to proceed with the ceremony, and he, with the rest of the party, returned to the alcove. Miss McDermott, who bore herself heroically under the terribly trying circumstances, produced a plain gold wedding-ring (I subsequently learnt that this ring had been purchased in Ireland years before, and presented by James Burke to Miss McDermott, to be retained by her as a guerdon of their mutual love and constancy until their wedding-day,[whensoever that day might be), and the chaplain proceeded to read the marriage ritual of the English Church, to which both the bride and the bridegroom belonged. It was a painfully touching scene. The dark gloomy ward of the hospital, filled with sick and wounded patients, some of whom were as near death’s door as was he who was now one of the principal actors in a solemnity with which we are accustomed to associate scenes so widely different, and to anticipate long life and wedded happiness for the principals instead of speedy death in one ease, and immediate widowhood in the other; the grave faces and sober garments of the wedding-party—for, independently of the sad occasion upon which they had assembled together, there was not, perhaps, one solitary spectator who had not his or her sorrows to grieve over, and the times as well as well as the occasion were unsuited to bridal garments ; the serious sad voice in which the chaplain read the beautiful and impressive ritual, which would have better suited a graveyard than a bridal chamber, but which was suited to the occasion ; and, above all, the corpse-like aspect of the bridegroom, and the pale face and white compressed lips and trembling limbs of the loving beautiful bride, whose eyes looked love unutterable, but who, with all her heroism and her brave resolve to control her feelings, was unable altogether to conceal the pangs that lascerated her heart. When the ring was placed by the dying bridegroom on the finger of his bride he did not again let go her hand, but held it in his own until the benediction was pronounced. Then he spoke aloud for the first time that day. ‘ My Ellen —my bride—my wife—at last — for ever ! he gasped forth, and at the same time extended his arms. 1 My husband —my dear husband, in life or death.’ murmured the bride, in response to her husband’s words. Her enforced firmness gave way, and with a burst of agonising bars she threw herself into her husband’s extended arms and sobbed aloud upon his bosom. The arms of the dying man closed gently around her, and never relaxed of their owner’s accord. His head fell back heavily upon his pillow. There was a faint struggle, almost imperceptible; a few gasps for breath; a gurgling in the throat; and James Burke, the newly-wedded husband, was a corpse. The surgeon, who had watched him narrowly. was the first to perceive that he had died in the act of giving his wife his first and last wedded embrace. ‘ I expected ’tvvould be so,’ he said, with a look of pity, and in a tone of deep feeling, such as 1 had never before seen him manifest. ‘ A wife and a widder on the same day, the same hour, the same raiuit ! Waal, waal, thar’s queer things in this soreiful world, Take care on her. ladies, some on you; she needs your help inore’n mine. Look alter her when she comes tew, poor critter ; and ef you du want me, you know whar tew find me.’ Ellen McDermott, or Mrs Burke, as now she was—though ho whose name she boro had passed away almost in the act of bestowing it—knew not of her husband’s death. The mingled excitement and secret anguish against which she had struggled had proved too much for her, and she had fainted on the dead man’s bosom. Her friends—and all who stood around were now the friends of the loving, hapless, widowed bride gently removed her from Ihc embrace of her husband’s corpse, and one of the ladies bore her away, still unconscious, to her own dwelling. Sadly and sorrowfully I and the other witnesses moved away, and I undertook to provide my old friend and schoolfellow with a decent burial, Two days after his decease he was borne 1o the grave in a burial-ground on the outskirts of the Confederate capital ; and at my expense, though subsequently the widowed bride insisted upon repaying me for that and for the cost of the funeral, a plain marble stone was erected at the head of his tomb, which bears the simple inscription :

1 To the Memory of James Burkoj aged 28 years.’ Several weeks elapsed before the young widowed wife became conscious of the death of him who, only in death, became her husband. She had taxed her strength and courage too severely. One fainting fit after another followed her removal to the house of the lady who had so compassionately taken upon herself the charge of nursing her, and a brain fever supervened which almost brought her to death’s door, and threatened to send her to rejoin her husband in a better world. At length she began to recover slowly, and six weeks after the occurrence of the painful scene I have endeavored to describe she intimated a wish that I, her husband’s friend, would visit her. I obeyed the summons, and found her pale and death-like, but lovelier than ever in the widow’s w -eds, which she said should be her constant garb. At her earnest request I detailed the events attending the death of her husband, for she said that all appeared to her like a confused yet frightful dream. Subsequently leaded upon her frequently, and on one occasion, when I inquired, in fulfilment of ray solemn promise to her husband, whether I could in any way be of service to her, she answered that she needed no assistance. ‘ But,’ she continued, ‘ I promised James that I would explain to you at some future time that which may appear strange and mysterious to you ; for though I did not think he would be taken from me so soon after I had plighted my vows, I knew he would not be with me long, and in fulfilment of my promise I will tell my story now. Did James ever mention my name to you V ‘ No,’ said I, ‘ but I partly suspected what I have since discovered to have been true.’ l lt was like him,’ she replied. ‘He was always reticent in relation to his family affairs, even with his best and dearest friends. ‘ My dear husband’s father was an officer in the British army. He died while James was still an infant, and his wife soon following him to the grave, James was left an orphan, solely dependent upon his uncle Lucius, who was a large landed proprietor in the west of Ireland. ‘ His uncle sent him to school at a proper age, and promised to provide for him, though Mr Lucius Burke had several childien of his own. But he was a very proud man, and was unwilling that any one of his name and family should struggle in poverty, or sink down into a lower sphere of life. Therefore, that he would have sufficiently provided for my dear husband, had James obeyed his dictates and assented to his will, I have no doubt. ‘ James was about seventeen years old, and had just returned from school in England, where he first met with you, when I first saw him it a ball in Limerick. I was a nursery governess in the family at whose house he visited, though I was then but fifteen years old ; but I was tall for my age, and many thought me to be older than I was. We met each other often subsequently during his short stay in Limerick, and became strongly attached to each other. ‘James was to go to college in Dublin for two years, and it was his uncle’s wish that, at the expiration of that period, he should study for the legal profession. He would have preferred the army, but he deferred in this matter to his uncle’s views. In course of time be went to Dublin, and a month after bis arrival at the capital the family with whom I was established quitted Limerick and took the lease of a house at Kingston, near Dublin. James’s previous intimacy with this family was a sufficient pretext for frequent visits, and thus we were again thrown almost constantly together. ‘ The result was that we became irrevocably engaged, though it was settled between us that until James was established in his profession our engagement should be kept secret. Then, however, we were to be married with or without the sanction of Mr Lucius Burke. Had this arrangement been carried out all might have gone well. Mr Lucius Burke, however, had other intentions in regard to his nephew. ‘ A few months after James was settled in Dublin, he was invited to visit his uncle at Limerick, and it turned out that the object of his invitation was to introduce him to a young lady, the only daughter of a gentleman of fortune, with a view to the engagement and subsequent marriage of the young couple. 1 This young lady and James had been acquainted with each other from childhood. She ’would eventually inherit her father’s estates, which lay contiguous to those of Mr Lucius Burke, and this projected marriage would, consequently, eventually bring the entire property into the Burke family. In fact, it appeared that the preliminaries had been already arranged between the uncle on one side and the parents on the other, and the young lady herself had expressed her willingness to obey the wishes of her parents. I should have mentioned that, though Mr Burke had several children, he had only one sou, a child six years of age, who would inherit the entailed estates. As, however, he possessed considerable influence with the Government, and was really very fond of his nephew, he had both the means and the desire to start James advantageously in life. Hence his wish to promote this marriage. If James and I had never met, what misery had been spared to us both I Now —now, when it is too late, I wish that Providence had otherwise ordained. I wish, yes, I wish, with all my heart now that dear James had proved false to his plighted vows, for his own happiness’ sake. The weight of misery would then have fallen upon me alone, and I could have died for his sake. What am I saying ? No, he would have been perjured then —guilty in the eye of heaven ! I should have released him from his vows ; I should have refused to ratify my own. He might then have been happy in course of time, when my faithlessness was forgotten, and I—but I will not dwell upon this painful subject, I was selfish in my love, and he was true to the last. Always frank and outspoken, when his uncle spoke of the projectile had formed, James confessed at once that he could never marry the young lady ; his uncle demanded to know the reason ; he said that he was already engaged, and could not and would not break his plighted troth. High words arose between them, for both uncle and nephew were hot-tempered, and at length Mr Burke made some contemptuous allusion to James’s mother. Captain Burke, my dear husband’s father, married an amiable young lady, who was, however, far beneath him in birth, and Mr Lucius Burke said that his brother had disgraced himself and his family by a low marriage, and had sunk into poverty and degradation inconsequence. To be continued.