Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, November 29, 1883, Image 1
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VOL. 29. YORKYILLE, S C., THURSDAY,. NOVEMBER 29, 1883. NO. 48.
J^fkrtcd ?0?ttg.
PAPA'S BIRTHDAY.
_ *
BY MAY RILEY SMITH.
What is a birthday, papa ?
Is it something nice for yon ?
Are they good for little fellows?
And can 1 have one too?
This world is fall of puzzles
, To bother boys about;
But it's a pretti* hard one
My papa can't make out.
There are roses in the parlor,
And roses in the hall.
And the garland on your portrait
? Is sweetest of them all.
And here's another puzzle :
Who makes the roses grow
On purpose for our birthdays?
Papa can tell, I know.
Mamma says flowers blossom
Because God tells them to,
But that's an old, old reason,
I want one that is new.
I don't quite understand it,
I am so small, you know.
And before I'm wise like papa
I've a long, long way to go.
Mamma says love is fairest
Vfl <111 I III' gills nc VI mij ,
A very great deal sweeter
Than any other thing. j
Then, if there's nothing better,
* And mamma tells me true,
Oh, take it for your birthday
From your little boy to you!
?be Jtovir ?eUct.
THE DEVIL'S CROSS.
There is no more superstitious creature on
the face of the globe than the Spanish peasant.
He believes in everything ghostly and
, supernatural, and likes nothing better than
to relate to an attentive and awe-struck audience,
while sitting round some "posada"
kitchen fire, the traditions of his especial
"pals," or the tales of unearthly things
which he has heard from his childhood.
The bare st retches of wild country and lonely
road still existing between city and city,
and once infested by bandits, over the sierra
and in the plain, add not a little to the natural
credulity and fear of the Spaniard.
The following is one of the most striking
and thrilling legends which the Spaniard of
the lower class loves to tell in a hushed and
solemn voice on the night of Good Friday,
or on All-hallow-e'en.
Belever is a very small hamlet on the
i.nni.n ti,A Cnim'u n/\+ for frr?m I7ro"pl. in
Uiiuna ui tue uw iu* ?
Catalonia. It stands on the brow of a hill,
behind which rises the snowy, dim outline
of the Pyrenees, like the steps of a colossal
amphitheatre ol granite. White houses
are scattered here and there over the undulating
green plain like a flock of doves stopped
to quench their thirst at the waters of
the river. A bold and naked rock rises
sheer into the air, at the foot of which curves
the river, and on the summit of which are
the ruins of an old castle, evidently destroyed
by tire. To the right of thisancient ruin
stands a dismal black cross popularly known
as
"LA CRUZ DEL DIABLO."
The shaft and the arms are of iron ; the
round base is of marble, but there is a split,
rusty appearance about it, as of having been
struck by lightning. Between the crevises,
plants have sprung up and nearly crowned
it, while an ancient rugged oak hangs over
it li ke a canopy. It is a gruesome spot, and
r has a gruesome legend. In centuries gone
by, wljile the Moors still occupied the greater
part of Spain, and called the Spanish
kings "counts," the villages and hamlets
swore fealty to certain lords, who, in their
turn, did homage to other lords still more
powerful. The village of Belever and a few
others formed a part of the patrimony of a
baron, whose castle for many centuries had
reared its battlements upon that bare rock.
This baron was bold in wickedness. His
cruelty made his vassals detest him ; his
vices were so terrible, that the king: would
not admit him to court, nor his neighbors
into their houses. Whether from choice or
necessity no man can tell, but he shut himself
up alone with his bad temper and his
* retainers on top of the rock where his ancestors
had perched their nest of stone, and
racked his brains to discover some fresh
amusement in harmony with his character.
This was difficult to find, as he had got tired
of waging war with his neighbors, hanging
his subjects and beating his servants. A
happy thought came into his head. He demined
to go to Palestine with the Christians
of other lands, and wrest the holy sepulchre
from the hands of the infidels.
Perhaps he imagined that shedding his
blood in so sacred a cause, might atone in
some measure for his sins. At any rate,
* whatever his object, he decided to depart.
* It was a hard task to collect money enough
KJ.? 5/4nmAAt? . Kit* Iw-tinn/v ?kt*Amiw*n/1 Kit;
iui ins juuiiic,) , uut nut 111^ piumi^Lu mo
vassals a total exemption from fealty tax in
the future, he managed, by pinching and
scraping, to get together the sum required;
J and reserving only his barren rock and castle,
he .suddenly disappeared. Great was the
joy of his subjects. The whole country
breathed again. They could now enjoy their
liberty unrestrained. There was peace
throughout the land ; no more men were
found hanging from the trees ; the maidens
of the village no longer feared to <ro the
fountain with their pitchers ; the shepherds
were not driven to seek in sequestered spots
pasture for their Hocks. Several years passed
tranouilly away, and the memory of the
"wicked caballero," as he was called, hecame
a tradition. Grandmothers told the
- story with bated breath to the little ones in
the long winter evenings, and threatened
naughty babies with the instant return of
the "Baron of the Seg re."
One day, one awful day, he re-appeared
among his vassals ; whether fallen from the
skies or come up from the infernal regions
no one could tell ; but there he was, in flesh
and blood. The effects of this disagreeable
surprise can be better imagined than described,
aqd bad as he was in character when
he left for the wars, he was far worse when
he returned. In material goods he was none
the better, for he went away with his pockets
full, but he came back with nothing save
his lance, his idleness, and a half-dozen of
^ followers as wicked and abandoned as himself.
He began by exacting from his vassals
the hack fealtv taxes, and when the vil
lasers resisted, the baron set tire to their
properties and farm-houses. The simple
peasants apppealed for justice to the*king,
out the baron laughed to scorn the expostulations
of his brother peers, disregarded the
royal and papal mandates, nailed them up
on the towers of the castle, and hung1 the
bearers to the oaks. Exasperated beyond endurance,
and seeing no other way of rescue,
the whole village commended itself to (?od,
and took to arms ; but the baron collected
his followers, called upon the devil for aid,
shut himself up in his stronghold, and prepared
for battle. A sanguinary warfare ensued.
They fought with tire and sword, in
mountain and in plain, by day and by night.
But at last the cause of right and* justice
^ prevailed. On one fearfully dark,still night,
?so dark that not a star shone in the heavens,
and so still that not a sound was to be heard
on the earth, the lords of the castle were carousing
after a recent victory, and in the
midst of their wild and noisy orgies, sang
sacreligious songs in honor of their patron.
Nothing was to be heard outside the castle,
save the echoes of their blasphemies, which
rang out into the still air, and resounded far
and wide over the plain. The tired sentinels,
having turned their eyes several times
toward the si lent village below, and finding
all quiet, gave way at last to nature's demand
for repose, and fell asleep at their posts.
But a few desperate villagers had determined
either to free themselves and their
families from their oppressors or die intheattempt.
Protected and favored by the dark*
ness, they scaled the sheer precipice from
the river side, and reached the top at midnight.
The sentinels passed at one bound
from dreams to death. The draw-bridge,
portcullis and castle were fired, and the c
baron and his followers perished. j t
When daylight began to whiten the tops |
| of the juniper trees, the castle ruins were 1
! still smoking, and through the breaches in
; the walls could be seen the figure of the \
; "wicked caballero" fully armed, hanging
- to one of the beams of the banqueting hall.! a
For a time, the village was at peace, r
i Thistles began to grow in the deserted c
| "patios," ivy crept over the charred ruins, s
: and only the wailing of the wind, the hoot- 1:
; ing of owls and the rustling of snakes dis- I
j turbed the silence of death which reigned t
in that accursed spot. Unburied bones lay t
I white in the moonlight, and still that bun- 1?
die of armor of the Senor del .Segre could 1
be seen hanging to the blackened rafters. h
On day, the village saw an extraordina- t
i ry phenomenon. At twilight, from a dis- s
j tance, mysterious lights were seen here and o
; thereon the hill of the Sergre, now follow- li
ing the curves of the river, now waving in t
j and out among the ruins of the castle. The i
i strange apparition was repeated three or v
four nights during the month, and the be- ?
j wildered villagers awaited new develop- a
ments with anxious hearts. They had not p
' long to wait. Farm houses were burnt, cl
; cattle were "lifted," and the bodies of unI
fortunate travelers were found hanging s
i from the trees. Murder became fre- c
j queni, una ine lerrur ui uic vjnngcis m- ?
1 creased each day. The "regime" appeared I
to have returned, and matters came to such t;
a pass that no one dared to stir outside his d
door, for fear of meeting the ghost of the li
old baron. For the armor of the wicked a
caballero had dissappeared from the pillar k
in the banqueting hall, and it was whisper- v
ed about that he marched at the head of the a
freebooters, covered from head to foot in r
mail with vizor closed. In the battles ti
which began afresh, victory was pretty a
evenly divided. The prisoners made were k
shortly shriven. But the confession of one si
of the band, made the peasants quake with
fear. t<
"I belong," he said, "to a noble family, a
My extravagances, vices and crimes brought o
on me the anger of my father, who cursed a
me when he died. Having no means of ti
living, I persuaded other youths in as bad
a condition as myself, to form a band and y
live as freebooters. We chose this country si
for the scene of our exploits, and the aban- v
doned castle for our shelter, because owing S
to its isolated position and bad name, we v
thought ourselves secure from interference, tl
One night round our bonfire, under the ruin- k
ed arches, we were debating who should be h
nhipf nf thp hand. Fach asserted his claims:
some were quarreling among themselves; n
others, half intoxicated, placed their hands
on their dagger hilts to emphasize their n
words, when a clash of arms, accompanied si
by a hollow sound of footsteps, made us turn tl
pale and spring to our feet. Thesoundscame tl
nearer and nearer. We drew our swords, c<
determined to sell our lives dearly, when o
suddenly a man, tremendous of stature, arm- g
ed from head to foot, with vizor down, and h
brandishingan enormous broad sword, strode d
towards us. Placing the weapon upon a
a broken column, he said, in a voice like o
the sound of rushing waters: "If any one n
wishes to be chief on my ground while I ci
am here, let him wield this blade." We b
were all dumb with terror, but on recover- S
ingour speech, with one voice we proclaimed
him our Captain, and swore fealty to him v
by tremendous oaths. From that hour we v
were one. Our mysterious chief always ti
led the way. Fire* never touched him; n
bullets never hurt him. Never once has
he taken off his armor or raised his vizor; ri
he never joined us in our revelry or shut
his eyes in sleep. Swords pierced the joints
of his mail, but they neither wounded him
nor drew blood, lie despises gold and abhors
beauty. Only when our hands were t>(
red with human blood, when women screamed
and prayed for mercy, and old men fell
dead befere our blows, only then did our
Captain exult and laugh aloud." e
Many were the prisoners who followed the a
'speaker to the scaffold, but the mysterious ..
captain was invisible, and added daily fresh ^
recruits to his standard. The desperate j
peasants at last made up their mind to consuit
a saintly man, who lived outside of the s|
town, in a small hermitage dedicated to St.
Bartholomew. This venerable hermit, after U(
having implored divine pity through his
guardian saint, (who, as we all know, had 1
very close and frequent personal encounters
with the devil), advised them to lie in wait u
for the enemy at the foot of a crooked path j.
which led from the castle, and to use no other j.
arms to seize him than a short prayer, which
they were to commit to memory, and with
which, so the chronicle states, St. Bartholomew
took the devil prisoner.
The result exceeded their wildest hopes, rj
! and another sun had not risen upon the vil- sj
lage of Belever, before groups of peasants ,,
were relating to each other in the Plaza g
Mayor, with mysterious air, how that night
the famous captain of the Segre had been p
brought into the village on the back of a r(
mule, and chained hand and foot. Hardly 0
had the news spread from mouth to mouth, v
than the whole village surged toward the
prison. The parish bells summoned the a
authorities to the town hall, and all waited p
anxiously the hour when the prisoner should ^
appear in Court. The judges in such cases, r,
when authorized to administer sharp and
summary justice. After deliberating among p
themselves for a few minutes, they sent for p
the culprit to hear his sentence. * p
j The Plaza Mayor, as well as the narrow n
I streets through which the prisoner had to >s]
pass, was packed to overflowing with people.
i The popular indignation was so intense n
j around the prison doors, that the guards be- j ^
i came alarmed for their own safety, and were i a
I much relieved when the order came to bring i j,
out the prisoner. . a
When he appeared dressed in armor from p
head to foot, vizor down, a deep murmur of p
delight thrilled through the densely crowded
ranks, which slowly opened to let him ?
pass. All recognized the armor of the old ^
Senor del Segre, which had terrified them ,,
so much in days gone by ; that black plume p
j had been seen too often waving from that p
I helmet to be easily forgotten. The myste- (j
; rious bandit at last reached the town hall, ! q
his armor rattlingand creaking as he moved, j p
The judge, in a trembling voice, asked his p
name. The silence was oppressive. All |
strained to catch the slightest whisper from [ p
i the prisoner, but the Captain stared at his p
judges with an insolent and contemptuous S)
air which exasperated them. Three times p
they repeated the question, and three times p
he answered nothing. p
"Lift his vizor! Uncover him !" shrieked
J the populace. "Let us see whether he will p
i dare to insult us face to face ?" j
" I'iwnvfir vimr t-li'ii " the illfhro.
The Captain stood perfectly still. j
"We order you, by our authority, to 1111- j
| cover." ' jn
No movement on the part of the Captain. [
"Wecommand you to uncover in the name ' ii
of our sovereign counts," shrieked the judge. I a
Still no sifj^n of comprehension. At last j u
public indignation reached such a pitch, that i
one of his guards threw himself upon the i 1<
culprit, and by force tore the vizor open up j "
to the forehead and down to the throat, A [
j cry of horror broke from the assembled j e
I crowd. The helmet was empty, entirely ;
vacant, and before they had time to recover j i<
themselves, the armor detached itself, piece i t<
by piece, and with a deep and horrible ' v
i groan, sank to the ground. : r\
The spectators fled precipitately, and the ! s
news soon spread through the village that, p
| at the death of the "wicked caballero," the 3
i devil hud inherited the fief of Belever. v
When the tumult had subsided, the judges a
decided to hang the armor in a dungeon, s
until they could receive orders from the h
: Archbishop of Toledo. This required sev- v
; eral days. The answer, when it came, was ti
short and decisive. ; v
"Hang the armor in the Plaza Mayor of
the village; if the devil occupies it, he must J f<
; then either abandon it or hang with it." j p
This ingenious answer delighted the peo-; h
pie of Belever, and they forthwith prepared
a gallows in the middle of the square. 11
When it was ready, they went to fetch the li
armor from the prison. On the threshold h
they were met by the alcalde imploring par- o
Ion. His face was frightened and pale as
leath itself.
"The armor has gone," he said, in tremuous
tones.
The crowd stood paralyzed, and thealcalde
cent on to say:
"I had always believed this story of the
,rmor to be a fable invented to protect some
loble of high rank, who, for reasons of state,
ould not be punished. Under this impresion,
I made up my mind to watch the arnor,
and surprise some one getting into it.
slight after night, I crept down noiselessly
o the cell door, and listened at the keyhole,
>ut not a sound was to be heard. In vain I
ooked through a little hole near the door,
die armor remained 011 the straw wnero it
lad been flung. Last night, not being able
0 convince myself that 1 was wrong in my
urmises, 1 lit my lantern, unbolted the door
if the prisons, carefully shutting thern belind
me, and crept to the cell, determined
0 touch the armor and convince myself that
t was empty. I was fumbling for the key,
L'hen the cell door was thrown onen. and a
nuntleted Jiand dashed me forcibly back
gainst the wall. Heavy footsteps, at* coinianied
by a clank of spurs, died away in the
listance. Then I lost consciousness."
When the alcalde had finished, the people
hrieked with disappointment and rage, and
ould hardly be restrained from tearing the
uthor of this new misfortune to pieces,
lut knowing the prayer by which the Capivin
could be recaptured, it was not very
lifticult to get him once more into their
lands. This time they nailed the pieces of
rmor separately on the gallows, where they
:ept vigilant guard over them. But all in
ain. A black cloud was seen scudding
cross the sky. It increased until it was diectly
over the gallows, and, descending in
he shape of a huge arm of light, lifted, the
rmor down and was gone, scattering and
illing- the unfortunate people who were
tanding close by.
The unhappy peasants again had recourse
3 their friend, the hermit, who commanded
general fasting for three days. At the end
f that time, he told them to melt down the
rmor, and with some pieces of wood from
he castle, shape it into a cross.
Horror accumulated. When the armor
/as put into the smelting furnace, piercing
hrieks and cries came from it. The pieces
/rithed as though they felt the flames,
trongraen fainted, and young heads turned
/hite. Showers of sparks danced before
heir eyes, and twisted and struggled like a
igion of devils, to free their master from
is torment.
But the operation of forming the molten
f-U A Kl.a A f
hiss 1i11u ii1u ullkw wjw5 l111^ 111uoi tciiiui'^ ui
11. Twenty strong men hammered at the
letal, which gave great groans at every
troke. As often as they got the arms of
lie cross ready and began forming the shaft,
lie heated mass writhed again in a horrible
anvulsion, and twisting around the bodies
f the unfortunate workmen, (who strugled
to disengage themselves from its deadiT
grasp,) it curled in rings like a snake, and
arted like lightning.
By dint of relays of men, of constant prayrs
and sprinkling of holy water, the in feral
spirit was conquered at last, and the
ross raised. And there it stands, 011 the
anks of the Sogre, accursed, gaunt and
rim.
Wolves collected under its shadow in the
inter, and descended in packs upon the
alleys. Itobbers there wait for unwary
avelers; lightning plays around its sumlit,
and split the steps of its pedestal. It
> shunned by all, and held in horror, and is
ightly named the Devil's Cross.
FRRJIIjA'N THA\KS(iIVIX(I.
Thanksgiving Eve, and Ursula Ilall was
lining home from her daily task oftoil at
le district school.
The little mountain stream was all choked
*ith dead leaves; the gourd shell lay brok11
in pieces among the yellowing ferns; and
s Ursula stopped to gather up a scarlet
ine-leaf which still retained its vivid glow,
le setting sun burst from a bank of sullen
louds and seemed to encircle the whole
'orld with a belt of amber light, while a
Klden gust of frost-scented, autumnal wind
ivept the leaf from her hand and sen t it
tidying fantastically down the dark woodath.
Ursula sighed.
"it is like an omen of evil," said she.
I was thirsty, and the spring is full of
;aves and the shell broken ; I wanted the
right leaf, and the wind has blown it
way. And I don't know howl am ever to
3ll grandfather and grandmother about the
istrict school."
Then, quickening her footsteps, she buried
down the road, never pausing until
lie reached an old, steep-roofed house,
ainted a dull red, and half hidden by the
iant boughs of huge chestnut trees.
There had been an old toll-gate there once,
ut it had long been disused, and nothing
:>mained of it but a sort of picturesque arch
ver the roadway, all twined with wild
ines.
And Grandfather Hall was carrying an
rmful of wood into the ki* hen 'door as
'rsula came up. Grandmoinor Hall was
nitting by the tire, in her cushioned
[icker.
It was five years since Grandmother Ilall
ad put her feet to the floor, yet she was
I.. -.1.. P.,1 4-1.- 1.' U ..II If
luuim uiui%\ iiiiriu'iui iiiiiui^ii 11 ?ui. ti
lore was a bright side to anything, Grandlother
l-Jall always found it out; if not,
lie set herself to work to imagine one.
"All, here you are, Ursuly!" said the old
ian, mournfully. "And high time you
ame. The old turkey-hen is lost, and the
pple sass is scorched, and Lewis Crawford
ain't called for them eggs, and if they
in't sold we shan't have a penny to put
1 the contribution-plate to-morrow, after
lie Thanksgiving services.
"Laws sakes, father," said Mrs. Hall,
what's the use of rainin' evil news on
Irsula like that? Don't you see she looks
ale and tired? The turkey-hen is safe in
lie branches of the seckel pear-tree; I saw
er just now. And as for the apple-sass, 1
on't dislike a little scorch myself; it gives
avor. And I'm sartin sure Lewis Crawird'U
come along yet. It ain't late, you
now."
And, leaning over until you would ha ve
een sure she must lose her balance,
Irandmother llall opened oven-door to
:?e how the johnny-cakes were getting on.
'or corn-meal was cheap, and the old lady
ad a fashion of reproducing it in every
ossible style.
"Granny," said Ursula, with a quivering
p, "I'd better tell you at once, Squire
loan's daughter is to have the district
rliool next quarter. They dont' need iny
?rvices any longer, they say. ()h, granny,
ranny ! what is to become of us?"
Old Mr. Hall sat down with a groan.
"I k no wed there was some ill luck comlg,"
said he. "There was a rabbit ran
cross the orchard path when 1 went to pick
p apples?right square across the path !"
"Father, don't," said the old lady, swal>wing
some sort of a lump in her throat.
That's clear superstition. Don't fret,
"rsulv. We shall get along somehow, nevr
fear."
"Oh, yes," sighed Grandfather Hall satir ally,
"we shall get along, even if we have
> burn up tbe side of the house to keep lis
. arm, and gnaw our finger-ends for food,
'lungs is coining to a crisis now, mother,
(piire Dean was over to See me about the
lace to-day. It's to be sold at auction?
Ionday, two weeks?and I'd like to know
.'hat is to become of us then. Ah, it was
black day when I lent that money to
tephen Gregson, and burdened the old
ouse with debt. I might have known he
. as a scamp, or he wouldn't have wanted
o go away and leave the spot when; lie
. as born."
ITsula winced at this. She knew per:vtly
well that if it had not been for her
ersuasion, Grandfather Hall never would
iuve mortgaged his house and farm.
Six per cent, seemed a golden investnent;
and besides?besides, Ursula had
iked Stephen Gregson, with his bright,
Iue eyes, his clear voice, and his contagiusly
sanguine temperament.
i "When I've made my fortune, Ursula,"
he had said, gaily, "I'll come back and
marry you."
"Don't talk nonsense, Stephen," she had
said, with a laugh.
But it had not seemed like nonsense in
: the secret depths of her heart.
I She had pondered many and many a time
over his emphatic words, but they had failed
to come true.
Probably Stephen Gregson hadn't made
the expected fortune. Certain it was that
he had not come to marry her. And Ursula
was beginning to coincide with Grandfather
Hall's misanthropic theory?that all
the word was askew.
Grandmother Hall was silent. She was
glad now that she had never told her husband
and Ursula about the twenty-five dollars
that she lent cousin Abby Miller?the
hoarded store of silver in the stocking-leg,
which she had parted with to help the
friendless old maid to open a little millinery
in the city.
"I'm afraid it's money thrown away,"
thought Grandmother Hall. "I did s'pose
Abby would at least have written worn
about it. But there! what is the use of cryingjabout
spilled milkI dare say Abby
feels as bad about it as I do, poor, solitary
ereetur! Anyway Ursuly," she said*, breaking
the oppressive silence, "there's one
thing we have to be thankful for?the
pumpkins ripened splendidly in the cornstubble,
and I guess you'd better slice up
one to night for the pies; and father must
cut the hen-turkey's head off bright and
early. It may be our last Thanksgiving in
the old place,'and we'll keep it as it ought
to be kept. Come, the tea is drawn?we'll
all feel better for a good, hot cup."
"Tain't 110 use," said old Mr. Hall, shaking
his head. "Nothing ain't no use."
Ursula, too, was discouraged. Grandmother
Hall saw it in her face, even though
she spoke no word.
They had scarcely seated themselves at
the little round cherry-table, when a knock
came to the door.
"It's the sheriff to serve the mortgage
paper," said old Mr. Hall, whose ideas of
the law were rather vague.
"Tr'c T.nwiu fVnwfnrr! nfter the Offers."
said Mrs. Hail, more hopefully.
"But it was neither one nor the other.
It was a little old woman in a blaek sillc
hat, a respectable cloth cloak and a brownstuff
dress?Miss Abby Miller herself.
"Good evening;, Cousin Hall!" said she.
"I've come to spend thanksgiving with
you."
"And you're kindly welcome," chirped
the old lady. "Ursuly, set a chair for Abby,
and take her things."
"But first," said Miss Abby, "I must pay
my debts. Here's the twenty dollars I borrowed
of you, with ten dollars for interest:
and I know, Cousin Hall, you'll be pleased
to know that I've prospered and made money
in the millinery business, that J never
could have got into it if it had not been for
your good nature and generosity. And
hprp ? imulncinfr n willow basket neai'lv as
"v* VJ W.V.W...Q - V ?.
large as herself, "is the finest turkey in Fulton
Market, and three quarts of cranberries,
and a dozen of oranges, and a pot of guava
jelly; my contribution to to-morrow's housekeeping.
And if it was forty times as much,
it wouldn't be half what I owe you, Cousin
Hall!"
And Miss Abby Miller, failing in an attempt
to laugh, began to cry, and ended up
by hugging old Mrs. Hall with all her
might.
Tea was hardly over before a new visitor
arrived on the scene?Doctor Purdy, the
chairman of the local board of trustees.
"What's this about Squire Dean's daughter
oustingyou from your place, Miss Hall ?"
he asked.
"1 have been tokl?" began Ursula.
"No matter what you have been told,"
said the doctor. "I've seen Mr. McAllister,
and he and I both agreed that you are not
to be disturbed. You suit us exactly, and
we intend that you shall retain the position,
if there were ;i dozen Miss Deans to be provided
for. You'll remain, eh ?"
"Gladly, if you wish it," said I'rsula,
visibly brightening up.
"And if Dean don't like it, he can lump
it," added Doctor Purdy, independently.
He had not been gone half an hour when
the knocker?they never had arrived at the
dignity of a door-bell at Grandfather 1 fall's?
sounded again.
"Why," cried the old lady, who sat where
she could see the door, "it's?it's Stephen
Gregson," said a deep, masculine voice.
"And he's traveled night and day to be in
time to spend his Thanksgiving day with
the best friends he has in the world. And
I should have been here earlier," cordially
wringing the hands of all the group as he
spoke,'"if I hadn't stopped at Squire Dean's
to clap a stopper on that confounded mortgage
business he's so sharp after."
"Ain't the place to be foreclosed, then ?"
said Grandfather J Tall, in a half-comprehending
manner.
"Foreclosed !" shouted Stephen Gregson.
"Not if I know it. And the thing never
would have been thought of if the lawyers I
wrote to in New York hadn't been scamps
eletireil /mt with the ninnnv I sent 'em
six months ago to pay up the mortgage.
However, here I am in time at last, with
the amount of the debt I owe you, safely
lodged in the Wiekham Bank, and enough
besides to settle up all costs and charges.
Why, how well you all look! And Miss Abby
Miller has actually grown young, and
I'rsula's cheeks are as'nink as crape-myrtle.
Yes, yes, Ursula, our old dreams have come
true. I've made my fortune, and I've come
back to marry you."
Ah, inconsiderate lover that he was thus
I to blurt out his courtship before the old people
and -Miss Miller.
But it never was Stephen Gregson's way
to be secretive ; and they all seemed to be
as much interested about it as Ursula herself.
But they had the discretion not to
look toward that particular part of the
kitchen where the big fish-geranium grew
in a painted tub, when Stephen and Ursula
had gone there to look at the new scarlet
buds, just opening out.
"It seems like a dream !" said Ursula,
ecstatically, as she and Stephen together
stood at the window, watching the moon
wade through the masses of struggling cloud.
"Grandfather and grandmother provided
for ; the dear old home all our own ; you
back here, faithful and unchanged, and our
wedding to be in February. ()h, how can I
ever be thankful enough ?"
While Grandfather Hall was saying the
same thing by the fireside.
"We shall keep thanksgiving to-morrow,
J With good reason, eh, mother?" he uttered.
And old Mrs. Hall answered, fervently:
UT K..1I Tli.ml'L'iriifnw. nil ..... IJ IV. I"
1 Mlclll ftUtTJJ 1 lUUtaogivuig cm iii%> 11 iv;
A National Tkmpkkaxck Party.?
Some of the active prohibitionists in the
Republican party, including' Mr. Price, the
commissioner of Indian affairs, express the
opinion that the organization of a national
temperance party will come in the near future.
The significant fact that the Democratic
candidate for Secretary of State of
New York was defeated on Tuesday, by
! the liquor interest solely on the ground that
he was a prohibitionist, is taken as another
i reminder, so the temperance advocates say,
j that neither political party can he depended
i upon to support a candidate for office obnox!
ious to saloon keepers and distillery owners.
! An organization advocating the principles
| of temperance is, they say, demanded by the
| rapid growth of popular sentiment, and Mr.
I Price is quoted as saying that it would grow
j in popular esteem until it would finally
sweep the country.
| Qtif The main walls of the iVIormon temple
; at Salt Lake were finished November the
!ith. They are ten feet thick, of solid granite,
eigthy-live feet high. The temple was
begun about thirty years ago and has cost
up to this time $4,000,000, and it will require
six more years to complete it. If the Mormon
religion is to be judged by the magnificence
of their temple, then they may stand
on equal grounds with others whose god is
a costly building and whose worship is outside
show.
4
^Uiscdlitucmts Reading, j
j ILLUSTRATIONS OF PROVIDENCE. J
(
l!V JIKV. F. X. ZAIIKTSKIE, I). I?. f
From Now York observer. i
No ono believes in a real God, unless lie j
, believes in an actual governor, as well as i
; creator, of the worlds.' The theory that God t
1 tied himself hand and foot with his own j
i "laws," virtually abdicating in their favor .
as to many little gods, is the feeblest kind i
of pantheism.. Kven though it could he ;>
shown (as is assumed by the whole corpse of (
question-beggars) that he has never inter- t
| po^ed, and never will, for the temporary ^
! arrest of any law?in other words, changing c
| for the time the mode of his working, lor j
J that is nil which di vine law can moan to any r
i one but an atheist?it were absurd to supI
pose that one, who is as omniscient as he is
! omnipotent, could not frame his plan of the
j universe so as to include in the undisturbed }
I operation of his laws all which be desired to
j bring about. < >r, if you please, be who had
evolved this "universally frame" out of a
germinal cell could involve in that cell ev- i
cry foreseen event?including all that lies i
within the narrow scope of the human will, t
and all that would enable him to guarantee l
the answer of believing and righteous pray- i
er. And "every foreseen event," with Clod, j
means everything whatsoever ! t
We know at least that he has made pro- t
visions for the interplay of our will?free, 4
and even tickle sis it seems to be?with his i
own, and for the interposition of our most
sudden and random action into the working t
out of his fixed purpose. This is one of t
the most familiar facts of observation, and 1
most notable lessons of history. The great- 1
est events, the entire course of this world, ?
have turned upon the most trival inci- \
dents?accidents we call them in our cur- j.
rent speech. It has been wittily said that n
if Cleopatra's nose had been the eighth of ?
one inch longer, the Augustan age of Home ?
would never have dawned ; there would c
never, in fact, have been a Roman world.
Chatham's gout, which mounted to his brain ?
during the critical juncture when the Tea s
Duties bill was passed, may easily have (.
given us our Fourth of July. Kinglake ?
^gravely attributes the in vasion of the Crimea a
to the fact that the Duke of Newcastle read t
his dispatch to Lord Ragland to the Cabinet t
immediately after they had dined (and t
wined ?) together and were in a comatose f
state. Napoleon is said to have made his c
fatal blunder in assuming the offensive at t
Leipsic, while suffering from indigestion 1
arising from a surfeit of mutton and onions.
There is great reasons to suppose that his i
nephew would never have allowed himsefto e
be pushed into the German war, but for a i
wasting disease which rendered him no i
longer the cool, clear-headed and self-poised p
man of former years. r
Let me append two or three illustrations i
drawn from my recent reading in American i
history. The politicalprestigeand ultimate t
pre-eminence of Thomas Jefferson were \
largely due to his authorship of, and conse- 1
quent identification with, the Declaration of t
Independence. His writing of that docu- 1
ment arose from his being the Chairman of s
the committee, and his chairmanship was f
an "accident" ; since the place would natu- e
rally have been assigned to Richard Henry c
Lee, who moved the appointment of a com- s
mitteeto draft such a paper, but who was si
called away by the illness of his wife. 1
The " Louisiana Purchase," which secured 1
for us the continent from ocean to ocean,
"the largest transaction in real estate that *
the world has ever known," was only possi- 1
ble by its having been negotiated under a r
singular conjunction ofcircuinstances, which '
existed for that brief space of time, and nev- 1
er before or since. These were : the abso- ?
lute and arbitrary power of the young Napoleon
; his pressing need just then of ready 1
money, and the large financial credit of the *
United States at Amsterdam ; the general *
ignorance of the extent or possibilities of ,J
the domain ; the willingness of Spain to ^
give up New Orleans, and the determination {!
of France that Great Britain should not
have it; the anxiety of England to check 11
trie growing empire 01 -Napoieon, ami ine '
desire of France to .strengthen our Republic '
as the only effective rival of England in the '
new world. It was the sudden whim of a c
single will, which then happened to be *
France! and President (iilman well says: 1
"The mighty deeds of Napoleon's sword f
have been undone ; but the stroke of his J
pen wrought a change which now, after 1
four-score years have passed, is no more lia- ^
ble to counterehange than the Mississippi is *
to flow into the lakes." it is worth our *
while to quote further his suggestive remarks.
"The Missouri compromise, the an- c
nexation of Texas, the Northwestern boun- s
dary disputes, the acquisition of California r
and of the Northern provinces of Mexico, i
the discovery of gold and silver, the Nebras- '1
ka bill, the -Mormon difficulty, the Indian t
policy, the Alaska purchase, the Pacific i
Railroad, the Isthmus Canal question, the
Chinese immigration?whocan say that any of
these controversies and events would ever c
have come to the front, if Spain or Great r
Britain had remained in control of that half i
of our domain which lies hcvond the -Mis- 1
sissippi." " <
If a human will can have such a shaping '
of the world's history and the destinies of G
men, what may not the will of the Almighty N
and all-wise God effect? Who at least, shall I
make the shallow denial of a special provi- 1
dcnce? G
A suggestive illustration occurs in the life I
of Alexander Hamilton, showing that it c
was due to his own stubborn and arbitrary c
will that Aaron Burr was elevated to prom- 11
inencc and importance as his rival in New t
York, and ultimately in national politics.
In the election of the lirst United States t
Senator from New York, Hamilton named t
Gen. Schuyler as one, with universal con- t
sent. But instead of leaving the other Sen- 11
ator to the choice of the party, he insisted s
011 the election of liufus King* a Massnclui- t
setts man, just come down into the State. I1
This act alienated a large element of the '
Federalists, especially the powerful Living- 11
ston family, who immediately took up the 0
brilliant and yet undetected Burr, and in Itwo
years started him on a national career t
by sending him to the United States Senate. i
This was the beginning of Hamilton's many
complications and collusions in political life
with that bold, bad man, and ultimately of fl
his death nt his hands, involving, perhaps, 'I
the fall of the Federal party. v
These eases, it must not he overlooked, a
also have their hearing upon the possible 1:
efficacy of prayer in influencing the course li
of events. For if the expression of one e
man's desire to other men may alter the 1;
whole history and map of the world, what 1;
potentiality may there not he in the expres- tl
sion of a man's desire to God? I
A great many lessons will doubtless he ^
drawn from the life of Luther, in this four <1
hundredth year of his birth. Hut nothing J1
can he more striking and suggestive than rj
the lesson of Providence, whereby the Hour \ I
and the Man were in such remarkable con- \ s
junction at his nativity. 1 have not the j t
space now to point out any of the numerous 1 '
facts in demonstration of this. I only von- t
ture to use a single incident for the purpose c
of illustrating, in a sort of allegorical way, I1
the interpositions of Providence in the lives
of individuals. It is familiar to us all how,
on his way home from the Diet of Worms, ii
he was seized by a band of masked and 11
armed men and carried off to the castle of p
Wartburg, amid the rocks and glens of the v
Thuringinn Forest, disappearing from sight r
for ten months. It was doubtless against t<
his own earnest protest and frequent dialings H
of spirit, and to the dismay of those who trust- a
ed that it was he who should have saved the : v
cause of religious liberty and purity. Hut j a
; he learned ere long that the brigands were ji
friends in disguise, and that their design b
1 was his protection from perils, which had to c
be shunned for a season, rather than faced. 1
And we know now that no ten months of d
Luther's life were more fruitful of good to r
the world and of furtherance to the cause of d
Protestantism No equal period of his life t
;ould, in fact, bo less easily spared. For it
,vas there that he translated the Bible into
lis native tongue, thereby laying the foundition
of his .Reformation on the simple word
>f God, and at the same time fixing forever
lie literary dialect of Germany, as Wiekliffe
ixed the speech of England by his Bible.
How often isit so in Christian lives, in the
,*ery proportion in which they are earnest,
md' feel themselves strong to do the Lord's
,vork. We seem to be overpowered and !
urned aside, perhaps laid aside, from the
with which we had proposed to serve him.
\nd we are slowM believe that our retirenentaiul
seeming retreat is only into the
secret place of the Most High, where it is
>ur privilege to abide under the shadow of
lie Almighty ; that these "adverse circumstances"
are the friendly agents of his provilence;
and that what lie designs by them
s, at one and the same time, our Protection
md our Opportunity.
THANKSGIVING DAY.
?
its oitiarx, nisfoitY, axd some of its ohsejt
vaxcjcs.
The Muyazine of American History gives
is the history of Thanksgiving day and
ts origin. From the papers we learn that
he earliest thanksgiving service was held
>y the Church of England men. The Poplain
colonists, who, August 9, 1GU7 (<). S.)
andcd uponMonhegan, near the Kennebec,
md under the shadow of a high cross, lisened
to a sermon by Chaplain Seymour,
'givinggood thanks for our happy meetings
md safe arrival in the country."
Next we pass to Plymouth, where in 1621,
he autumn after the arrival, a notable
hanksgiviug was held. The brief accounts
)resent a joyous picture. As we learn from
A'inslow, the harvest being gathered, the
jovernor "sent lour men out iownng, mat so
ve might, after a special manner, rejoice together,"
and the traditional turkey was
idded to the abundant venison. The people
jave themselves up to recreation, and the
'reat chief Massasoit was feasted for three
lays with his ninety swarthy retainers.
Possibly on this first Plymouth thanksjiving,
there was more carousing than we
mppose, while there is not the slightest inlicatiou
of any religious observance. Masiasoit
and his braves, no doubt, enjoyed it
ill greatly, as the thanksgiving idea was enertained
by the Indians before their conact
with the whites, and in theircclebrations
here was much excess. IIow much "comortable
warm water" the grave and reverind
elders themselves consumed during
hose three days of jollity, Bradford does
lot say.
In 1(522 there is no mention of thanksgivng,
but in 102:1 a day was kept, not, however,
in the autumn as a harvest festival, but
n July, upon the arrival of some provisions.
Yfter this nothing more is heard of thanksjiving
at Plymouth for nearly half a centuy.
.So far as the colonial records go, they
ndicate that the day did not find a revival
intil 1GG8, when there was some kind of a
hanksgiving. Again, June 27, 1G89, there
vas a thanksgiving for the accession of
kVilliam and Mary. In 1G90 an autumnal
hanksgiving was held, and the next year
Mymouth colony was merged in Massachuetts,
and so passes out of the story. If any
estival can be said to have been establish:d,
it was established in imitation of the
aistoms across the sea. Distinct religious
ocieties, however, may have kept occasion1
Xt i .....
11 LllllllKSJ^lVillus, lift IIIf JJfU[Jlf ill/ iJillll.Tlil>lo
observed thanksgiving on December 22,
036, and December 11,1639.
In the Massachusetts colony the lirst
hanksgiving was held at Boston, July 8,
630, it being a special occasion, having no
eferonce to harvests. Again, in February,
631, there was a thanksgiving, as already
loticed. In the October following a thanksriving
was held for the safe arrival of "Mrs.
iVinthrop and her children." In these apmintments
we do not find the thanksgiving
hat we know to-day, nor do we detect any
ell design against Christmas. In 1632, on
lune 0, there was a thanksgiving for the
,'ictories in the Palatinate, and in October
mother for the harvest. In 1637 there was
i thanksgiving for victory over the Pequots,
md in 163S for the arrival of ships and for (
he harvest. The thanksgiving days from
634 to 164S, numbered about twenty-one,
>r less than one in every two years. The
elebration of 1676 had special reference to
he victory over King Phillip. From this ,
>eriod until the re/olution, a thanksgiving '
if some kind occo :red nearly every other
rear, and even twice in the same year, as in
742. Some of these days were appointed
>y the royal governors, while again they
vero ordered by the King or Queen or by
1h> home board of trade.
After the close of the revolution a tendeny
to make Thanksgiving day a regular intitution
in New York, was at once appaent,
and Gov. John Jay, in 1795, issued a
iroclamation for the 11th of November.
L'he act, however, was seized upon by poliicians,
who maintained that he was seekng
to Hatter religious prejudice.
At an early period, also, the Mayors of
sew York were accustomed to appoint a
lay of thanksgiving, in accordance with the
ecommendations of the council, and that of
Jecember 1G, 1799, appears to have been the
irst so ordered. Yet the observance of the
lay until Gov. Clinton's time, was more or i
ess broken. The festival was kept, howev- .
r, by Episcopalians, according to the pro- ,
isions of the prayer-book, other religious
lodies at the same time following their own
(references. Clinton's course, like Jay's, ,
xcited criticism. At the east end of Long
sland, there was no little murmuring beausc
tho day did not coincide with the local
ustom. It appears that the people of East
nd Southampton oliserved thanksgiving on
he Thursday after the cattle were driven (
lome from the common pastures at Monauk
J'oint, the day of the return of the cat- ,
le being ti.ved annually, with due solemni- 1
y, at the town meeting. Hence, there was '
, collision, and the herdsmen were divided, :
triving as the herdsmen of Abraham's cat- 1
le strov 1 with those of Lot. But this was ,
10 case of an immovable body opposed to an ]
rresistible force, and therefore, the oppo- (
lents of Clinton gave way, though not with- ]
lit many expostulations. Here was the ,
leginning of the movement which led to \
he tirst Presidential proclamation national- ;
zing Thanksgiving day. j
- i
Thk"Leadku" Editor's Eutitre.?The
lag has dropped on ponderous journalism,
'he great, good-natured public will put up
nth much, hut it will not haven daily magzine
at the breakfast table. It will read a
>aragrapty between its ham and eggs, but it
lasn't time for a review?the eggs would
;et cold. When this old hat was new, some
lundred years ago, the public hankered and
ilingered for long editorial articles. It
loesn'tdo it now. It has more sense, and
icsides, the world has moved a peg or two.
Vhen the public reads a long article nowalays
it must be larded with news, not some
m-iiniM'! wnrnipil nvpr a. dozen times.
'his being the case, the thought as to the
uture of the powerful "leader" writer is a
addening one. What ever will become of j
he man with the brow like Mercury newighted
on a heaven-kissing hill and the
hrobbing intellect? There is a grave
hancc that there will not be enough wood
tiles to go around.?Cincinnati Enquirer.
A Ci uioi's Official Report?A Wash- ]
agton paper of Friday publishes a stateiieiit
that there is now on file in the de- s
artment of justice a report, the contents of 1
rhich have never been made public. This \
eport is to the effect that it is impossible f
o convict any one of an election offence in 1
outh Carolina. Men, women and chitdren <
re against it. No jury could be found that i
rouki convict. It is set forth that the wives <
lid sweethearts of white men drawn for 1
ary duty say to their husbands and lovers i
efore they go to the Court, "You need not 1
ome back to me unless you do your duty." <
'his means that, "Unless you give a ver- <
ict for acquittal you can depart." This 1
Oport was made by a special agent of the i
epartment of Justice, and is endorsed by \
lie United State district attorney.
fl iogtajtbital
PAUL II. IIAYNE.
TIIE I'OET OF THE SOUTH. *
Citizens of the Southern States are proud
of their poet, whose delicious lyrics are appreciated
throughout the Union. He was
born January 1, 1831, at Charleston, South
Carolina, the son of Lieutenant Paul H.
Hayne, of the United States navy, a brother
of Robert Y. Hayne, statesman. He was
educated at the College of Charleston, where
he was graduated in 1850. After reading
law and being admitted to the bar, he determined
upon the life of a literary man,
and having the financial means desirable to
give the best effect to his decision, worked
assiduously to attain proficiency in composition,
both prose and verse. He edited
RusselPx Magazine and other periodicals,
and in 1855 Ticknor & Fields, of Boston, published
a volume of his poems which was
favorably received. His next volume was
launched in 1857, and the third in 1860. At
the rude alarum of war he exchanged the
bays for the helmet, and took a place in
the Confederate army on the staff of Governor
Pickens. Camp-life broke down his
health, and he took up hispen as the poet or
the Southern cause. The warswept away all
his property, and his pen earns him subsistence.
His contributions to the magazines
augment his fame and popularity. Mr.
Hayne is a man of delicate organization,
dark complexion and bright eyes. As a
poet he is admired for his appreciation of
nature, and his skill and feeling in the delineation
of its beauties. His war songs are
characterized by the fervor and energetic
movement of veiae proper to this class of
compositions, lie resiues near Augusui,
Georgia.
THE NEGRO PREACHER.
The negro preachers may be sharply divided
into two classes, the educated and the
uneducated; or, as they phrase it, the
"larnt" and the "unlarnt." The former
are young men who have grown up amid
the new order of things, and who by dint
of their own industry and frugality have
managed to defray part of the cost of their
limited education, some assistance having
been afforded by their respective churches.
They read with tolerable fluency, are slight
smatterers in theology, and write after a
fashion which, although almost wholly unintelligible
to educated people is, I believe,
decipherable by their own race. These
young divines, though they have higher
ideals for their race, and are gradually acquiring
a wholesome influence over them,
do not as yet possess the sway of the older
uneducated preachers. It would seem that
they have learned just enough to make
them obscure enough to lift them out of
sympathy with their simple minded hearers,
but not enough to give them true
breadth and insight; and while sticklers
for polysyllables, they fret in grammatical
traces, insomuch that the soul-glow, the
ebullient spontaniety of the race is entangled
and smothered. Book lore is as yet
clogs, not pinions.
It isamong the older set, if anywhere, that
we must look for the traditional black orator.
His originality would more than satisfy
the wildest apostle of the unconventional.
Neither in point of rite nor doctrine
is he fettered, scarce even guided, by rule
or precedent. He manufactures theology
with the nolchalance of a Jesuit, and coins
words with the facility of a Carlyle. lie
may just be able to flounder through a chapter
of scripture, uncouth in gesture, barbarous
in diction, yet earnestness leads dignity
to his manner, and passion fuses his jargon
into eloquence. He may habitually
outrage logic and occasionally contravene
scripture, but the salient points of his discourse
are sound, and his words go straight
home to the hearts of his hearers.
His power out of the pulpit is also great,
almost boundless. Within his own parish
he is pratically Priest and pope. Excommunication
itself is his most trenchant
weapon. Never was papal anathema a
mnrp notent buir-bear than his threat to
"cutoff. His censorship of the morals and
deportment of his flock, though to our
minds insupportably annoying and humiliuting,
is undoubtedly wholesome and necessary.
Though his discipline can by no
means escape the charge of inconsistency,
his influence is always exerted to make
them honest and faithful men and women,
and to restrain the besetting sins of the
race. In many instances he resorts to their
employers for information touching their
honesty and industry. Then monthly, on a 4
itated Saturday, they are rigidly required
to assemble and give an account of themselves.
As the negroes possess almost a
morbid local attachment, they are exceedingly
loath to transfer their membership.
IVhnn iti rmpst nf prrmlovment thev move
to a distance, and in many instances this
monthly attendance involves a tramp of
forty miles or more. Hut no excuse is
taken, and failure to attend for three consecutive
months they are unhesitatingly
jut off. It is at these meetings that all
rumors touching the morals and deportment
)f each member are rigidly investigated,
md the culprits summarily, though from
}ur standpoint indiscriminately, punished ;
the same penalty?six months suspension?
jeing inflicted for dancing and for theft,
for worldliness and for unchastity.?Atlantic
Monthly.
"He Struck Me First."?Secretary
Lincoln has enough of his father's nature to
mable him to make stories and to tell them
veil. When he was in Chicago with Presilent
Arthur, he, with a number of other
gentlemen, were enjoying an after-dinner
jhat, when he told this story, illustrative
)f the craze in Chicago, for entering the
idea of self-defense:
"Three men quarreled in a room above a
saloon, when one of them fell dead from
heart disease. The others were fearful that
they would be charged with the murder,
;o one went to the saloon and enticed the
aar-tender out, while the other carried the
corpse down and placed it in a chair, with
its head on' a table, as if sleeping off a
trunk. When the bar-tender returned, the
two men took a drink, saying the drunken
man in the chair would pay for it, and
went away. The bar tender soon shook his
customer, and demanded his pay. The
corpse fell over on the floor, and as the bartender
stood trembling with fear, the two
tnen returned with an officer. The bartender,
anticipating his arrest, quickly said:
"He struck me first!"?Chicago ATeics.