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BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER.
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I am bound
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
Do scald like molten lead.
King Lear.
They tell me I am mad—mad! No, I am not mad! In this den of horror I at least am sane. Reason bursting from the heavy shackles which would press her down to death, now asserts her right—yes—I am sane—though they tell me I am mad—mad—ha! ha!
Around me I hear the incoherent ravings of insanity—the wild screech and terrific yells of demoniac rage as the unhappy wretch dashes against the iron bars and tears his very flesh in torture. Bursts of laughter echo around my prison walls, and eye-balls red and wild glare at me through yonder grating—but I am not mad!
Fanny! Fanny! where are you, my life, my love!