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VOL 32. YOEKVILLE, S C., THTJRSDAY, MARCH 25, 1886. NO. 12.
j&Uftd fottrg.
LOVE THAT LIVES.
? ?
BY OEOKOE PARSONS I.ATHROP.
Dear face, bright, glinting hairDear
life, whose'heart is mine?
The thought of you is prayer,
The love of you divine."
In starlight, or in rain ;
In the sunset's shrouded glow ;
Ever, with joy or pain,
To you my quick thoughts go
Like winds or clouds, that fleet
r Across the hungry space
J Between, and find j'ou, sweet,
Where life again wins grace.
Now, as in that once young
Year that so softly drew
My heart to where it clung,
1 long for, gladden in you.
And when in the silent hours
I whisper your sacred name.
Like an altar-fire it showers
My blood with fragrant fianie.
Perished in all that grieves;
And lo, our old new joys
Are gathered as in sheaves,
Held in love's equipoise.
Ours is the love that lives;
Its spring-time blossoms blow
'Mid the fruit that autumn gives,
And its life outlasts the snow.
?Century.
JU (Ngiual
Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.
AMOS BAMON.
ItY L. I>. OZMOND.
CHAPTER IV.
It was near the hour of twelve, on a dark,
cloudy November night. The wind, which
had blown stormily all through the day and
afternoon, had partially subsided, but still
swept in fitfiul gusts through the almost
deserted streets of the city of San Francisco.
A pale moon, struggling with the great
masses of cloud that swept against her like
giant battalions threatening to overwhelm
her, now yielded to their adverse force, now
penetrated their gloom with a feeble, transitory
ray of light. By one of these fitful
gleams might have been discerned a small
cart, drawn by a powerful horse, and oc- J
cupied by three figures enveloped in loose
cloaks, proceeding along one of the least
frequented of the thoroughfares which
lead to the spot known as Lone Mountain,
around which are grouped the various cemQfarioc
u'horp thf? citv hurios its dead.
The occupants ot the cart were men, two
of them quite young, their companion of
more advanced age. They talked little as
they drove along; either the nature of the
hour and the atmosphere, or that of the errand
on which they were bound, seeming to
have a depressing influence on their spirits.
"I .half wish I was out of this," remarked
one of the two younger in a subdued tone,
as they neared the entrance of Laurel Hill
- cemetery. The oldest of the three laughed.
"Growing nervous, Baker?" he asked,
lightly flicking the horse with his whip.
"I confess that I am, though I suppose
the admission will drawdown your ridicule
upon me."
"No," rejoined the other, "I don't consider
you a subject for ridicule. Being a
novice, it is quite natural that you should
feel a little queer. I used to do so myself
when I was young and inexperienced."
"You are tolerably hardened now, I
guess," remarked the third of the party.
"Well, yes; it would be surprising if I
wasn't. This is about the hundreth time,
or the hundred and fiftieth, maybe, that
I have come on this sort of expedition.
I regard it now merely as a pleasure jaunt."
The young man addressed as Baker shuddered
slightly, and drew his cloak more
closely about him. Nothing more was |
said until they reached the gate; here the
cart stopped, and the party alighted. The
older man, whose name was I)rumraond,
applied a peculiar-looking whistle to his lips,
and blew a low but distinct note; this he
repeated twice. There was a moment's
silence, then the signal was answered by a
corresponding whistle.
"It's all right," remarked Drummond, as
he tied the horse toa hitching post. "Come
along, boys. Baker, keep close to me. Jack,
you go around by the other road and meet
us. Be careful, now. Where is your lantern
?"
"Here," replied Jack. "Have you got
yours ??Yes, I see. Now the other things;
here, I'll carry these."
"We'll divide. You are sure you know
the place?"
"Certain."
Moving quickly but cautiously forward,
in the shadow of the waving trees that
bordered the road on the left-hand, young I
Baker, keeping near hiscompanion's elbow,
I soon found himself in the midst of the city
of the dead. Drummond left the main road
and struck into one of the numerous small
paths lying completely in the shade, and so
overgrown by tangled vines and weeds that
it was difficult to make their way through
it.
"How neglected this part of the ground
seems," murmured Baker,"as his foot stumbled
against a loose stone.
"Yes, just here it is. I don't want to go
too near the open places yet. We'll skirt
around a bit and then strike across the
country. Confound that branch! Look out
for your eyes, man. Are you shaky still?"
"Never mind," was the rather impatient
reply. "I've undertaken the job, and I'll |
see it through. Have we much farther to
go ?"
"Yes, it's a good way beyond here. Cold,
>, isn't it? The wind is always sharp about
k:o T-Tnvp von pvpr boon out here
lIUO - V J .
in the day time?"
"Once."
"Pretty place, rather. Some expensive
monuments. Don't admire many of them
myself, however. The L? monument is
quite tine. Figure of Hope in a columned
temple, sphynxes guarding the entrance,
grounds tastefully kept. Seen it?"
"Not that I remember."
"It's too dark to show itto you now. Besides,
our business requires despatch. Here,
turn to your right,-now we come to smooth
walking. Don't crunch the gravel more
r- than you can help. Hallo, there's Jack."
"Here we are, General," said Jack, advancing.
"I saw Toby down below, the
cart'll be along directly. How are you feeling
now, Mr. Baker?"
"Mr. Baker doesn't want any more investigations
made in regard to his condition,"
said Drummond, with a grin. "He's all
right."
The remainder of their walk was short.
A few minutes brought them to a freshly
made grave in an uncultivated spot of
ground. They halted, and Drummond and
Jack squatted on the edge of a Hat tombstone,
waiting for the arrival of some expected
aid. Baker walked up and down,
shivering.
"Give him some spirits," whispered Jack.
"He's awfully scared already, feels worse
than if he was in a dentist's chair. Suppose
he was to faint?"
"Bother," was Drummond's answer ; but
he produced, nevertheless, from his pocket
a small flask, and politely offered some of
its contents to the novice of the party, who,
however, declined the offer with thanks.
"Here's the cart," said Jack, gaily jumping
up. "Now we're all right. Come
along, Toby."
The individual thus addressed, forming a
fourth member of the group, was an oddlooking
little man in a battered hat and a
very seedy suit of clothes, which seemed all
too thin to protect him from the cold. Stepping
from the cart, on which he had occupied
the driver's place in bringing it up
fwsvwi f Kn fn u?Knm if hoon ldff. ho
11U11I Uig g(lbU) *? 11V/1 t IV IIUV4 V/VV4I ?V*V) ? %/
handed Drummond and Jack each a spade,
reserving one for himself, with which he
silently and skilfully fell to work upon the
grave, whose recesses it was the object of
the party to explore.
The other two joining in the task, it proceeded
rapidly, and soon a large pile of fresh
earth lay heaped outside the grave. Baker
in the mean time stood looking on, without
offering to assist; and as a dull, hollow
sound proclaimed that one of the spades
had struck the coffin he shuddered visibly,
and withdrew a step or two farther.
A few minutes longer of energetic work,
and the remaining earth was shoveled
away from the surface of the coffin ; cords
were now brought into requisition to raise
it to the surface, and this accomplished,
they proceeded to remove the lid. Toby
was appointed to this task, or rather seemed
to apply himself to it as a matter of
course, and while he was engaged in turningthe
screws, his companions sat down to
rest and refresh themseves by a taste of
Drummond's little flask. Jack took out
his watch and consulted it by the light of
me laniern.
"We've been here longer than I thought,"
he remarked. "It's time we were starting
for home."
"No hurry," coolly answered his senior.
"Everything's safe enough. It doesn't matter
if we're not back before daylight."
"No, but it's deucedly cold out here. By
the by, Baker, how are you feeling now?"
"All right," gloomily answered Baker. ,
"Have a drop of brandy?"
"No, thanks; I never touch spirits."
"Talking about spirits," said Jack, "I
wonder what the ghosts of these fellows
hereabouts thing of such a proceeding as
this? Don't they regard it as a pretty
cheeky thing, I wonder? Burglary and
abduction in one, and they not able to defend
themselves. It does seem rather unfair.
"I don't see that it concerns the ghosts
much," rejoined Drummond. "They are
i not supposed to inhabit the graves."
No, but they must still retain a kindly interest
in their earthy frames, even after they
have vacated them, I should think. Here's
this fellow now; having been peacefully
planted and covered up, his ghost thinks or
rather thought, that he would be let alone
in quiet and comfort for a number of years at
least?hundreds or thousands, perhaps?and
goes off at his ease to enjoy himself among i
the other disembodied spirits, and explore i
new countries; he comes back occasionally
to see how things are getting along at home,
and to his disgust he can't find his old tenement
anywhere. Don't you suppose he'll
feel aggrieved ?"
"Don't matter much how he reels, replied
Drummond. At any rate it doesn't concern
me." i
"Tell you what, old fellow, continued the
other, "it's prettty sure to concern you one
of these days, for I'll be hanged if retributive
justice don't'stir you up out of your
last resting-place for the benefit of science.
You needn't expect anything else. IIow
will you like that?"
"When that time arrives, Jack, I fancy I
shall be tolerably indifferent on the subject.
Science is quite welcome to benefit
by my remains. I don't care a rush what
becomes of them. In fact "
Here a startling exclamation interrupted
him. Toby had just lifted off the coffin-lid,
and was staring before him with blank astonishment
depicted on his interesting
countenance.
"What's up, Toby?" asked Drummond.
"Jle\s\" up," replied Toby, scratching his
head, from which he had removed his bat,
tered hat. "At least, he ain't down. Coffin's
empty?all but these." He took out a
heavy stone or two, embedded in straw, and
threw them aside.
Drummond started forward with an oath.
"You don't mean that somebody's been
ahead of us!" he exclaimed.
"Looks like it, boss. Anyways, you can
see for yourself there's no corpse here."
"Weil," said Jack, "if that isn't a sell!"
"A nice thing to come out here on a freezing
night after a dead man and find him
i gone," growled J)rummond. "But who
] the mischief could have carried him off?
i It must have been pretty quick work?I
j don't see how they could have got through
lit in such a hurry!?See here, Jack," he
I continued, turning rather fiercely to the
last named individual, "this isn't any coni
founded joke of yours, is it ?"
"Of mine? Why, General, you surprise
me. Ain't I as much interested in this
business as you are?"
"Well, I should judge so; but nobody
ever can tell what you feather-brained
youngsters are after. Well, what's to be
done about it?"
"Put the coffin back, of course," said
j Toby, who was much disgusted at the unexpected
turn of affairs. "No use standing
| here and looking at the darned thing."
! He kicked the unoffending but aggravating
i piece of furniture as he spoke, by way of
| venting his spleen.
"Well," said Drummond, drawing a long
breath," no such trick as this has ever been
played on me before. If I could find out
who's done it?"
"But how do you know it in u trick?"
I - * - .
I asKeu mKer. "."suppose me man was iievci i
; buried here at all ?"
"That's a new idea," said Drummond,
j after moment's reflection. "Though why
on earth he shouldn't have been, I can't for
I the life of me, guess. Jle was a respectable
j party, wasn't he?"
"How should I know? I am an entire
! stranger to the facts of the case. I thought
you knew all about him."
"Not a thing about him, sir, except that
I his death was sudden and peculiar, and that
! the autopsy was a most idiotic affair, a per
feet farce. Such men as G. C. ought to be
put out of office for driveling incompetency.
; But this joke of not burying a dead man
i when it is expected of them to do so, is a
j mighty poor one, in my opinion. Goahead,
i Toby, we may as well get through."
The coffin was again covered and re-Iowi
ered, the grave filled in, and all signs of its
I recent disturbance carefully obliterated,
j The implements were restored to the cart,
I of which Toby took temporary charge as
\
I
before, and the party retraced their way by j
separate paths to the gate. By the time i
they mounted their conveyance and started !
for home, the gray glimmer of dawn began
to show in the east.
"Your first experience hasn't been exact-j
actly what you expected," remarked Jack j
to Baker, whose countenance wore an ex-!
pression of decided relief.
"No; but it has been a curious one," was j
the reply. "I don't think I'll ever meddle j
with the resurrection business again. This
glimpse of it satisfies me."
Jack laughed. Drummond was in too
bad a humor to notice either of them. He
was, in fact, dreadfully disappointed ; but
added to this disappointment was a disagreeable
sense of mystery which especially \
aggravated him. What had become of the |
dead man ? Had his burial really been pre- j
vented, and if so, what was the reason, and
why had there been the pretense of a funer-1
nl'? It was nrovokiner that he could not j
openly take steps to clear up the matter;
but he had reasons for keeping quiet about
it, as he did not wish to be implicated in regard
to the midnight expedition.
Baker's curiosity had also been strongly j
aroused, and to satisfy both himself and the |
others he agreed to use every effort to pene- j
trate the mystery upon which they had i
stumbled.
These efforts would perhaps have met I
with small success, had not an unexpected !
solution of the problem been voluntarily j
offered him. But as this was not the case '
until some time later, and as, for prudential j
reasons, he did not betray his knowledge of j
the secret to those who were most anxious :
to discover it, we shall, for the present, re- j
frain from any explanation. Suffice it to I
say that Drummond had enemies, and that
it was owing to the adroit daring of these |
enemies that he had been frustrated in his j
plans, and an empty coffin had been carried !
to Lone Mountain, on the particular occa-'
sion to which this history refers.
About a month afterwards, the ground
surrounding the violated grave was enclosed,
to the space of a few feet, by a neat
iron railing, a gardener went to work, dug
and weeded and planted, and flowers and
turf soon appeared where barren earth and
brambles had been before. This work had
just been completed, and the gardener, leaning
on his spade, was contemplating the result
with satisfaction, when a stranger rambling
through the cemetery stopped to look
also.
"New place?" he asked.
"New place, sir. Just put in order.
Here's my card?"
"Thanks, but I'm only a visitor, and not;
likely to need your services."
"Ah!?well, sir, we never know what
may happen," said the gardner reflectively.
"This party here was a stranger too; just
a sojourner, as one may say; and died
quite unexpected, away from home. His
widow sent on orders to have everything
arranged in the best of style. Unfortunately
there was a mistake about the stone,
which ought to have been set up before the
ground was laid out; however, it doesn't
matter much; the stonecutter's a careful
man. After it's set up, I shall put in another
rose, a Madame Plantier; pure white,
suitable for graves; just here, you see.
Know the variety,sir?"
The stranger answered in the negative,
and walked on.
That same day the stonecutter brought
the stone. It was a pretty one, of variegated
marble, in the form of a cross; and
being put it) place, added greatly to the neat
appearance of the spot. For the gratification
of the curious, I will here reproduce
the inscription :
i. TO T1IK MK.MOUY OK
: AMOS BARTON j
: A NATIVK OF KALKIOH, NORTH CAROLINA,
WHO DIKD SUDDENLY ;
| IN THIS CITY,
: NOVEMRKH ]()TII, 1870,
AOKl) 37 YEAIIS.
: REQUIESCAT IN FACE. :
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
FOUR NOTED REVIVALISTS.
The names of Moody and Sankey are familiar
wherever the English language is
spoken, and perhaps no persons in the
United States occupy a more conspicuous
place in the religious world than the four
whose portraits are here presented. Moody
and Sankey have been prominent before
the country as evangelists for more than
twenty years, their labors when not in
Europe having been in the Northern and
Western States, until recently when they
visited the Southwest, in which section
they have been laboring for some time
past with great success; and the fact that j
they are now in South Carolina, conducting '
a series of meetings in Charleston, from j
which city they will proceed to Columbia, j
contributes additional interest to their I
Southern visit. According to the arrangments
made in advance, they were to have j
arrived in Charleston on yesterday, on ;
which day revival services were commenced,
and are to be held twice daily to
and includingSaturday, and on Sunday two i
additional services will be held?one at11 ]
A. M. for the colored people, and another at j
3.30 P. M., for women only. All the services j
are conducted at Agricultural Hall, and |
are designed for the unconverted. In their !
labors in Charleston the evangelists have j
the earnest co-operation of the pastors of j
the various denominations of the city, and
atmvtr (iviilnni'/i thnt fhf?V will HP- i
tllCIC JO CVVJJ \y*IUVIIVV V ?..VJ ..... ..w |
complish much good.
But while Moody and Sankcy have long
been prominent in the North, there has also
sprung up in the South one whose aggres-:
siveness in combatting the wiles of Satan:
has made him no iess conspicuous before j
the country than his two worthy co-laborers; I
while the vein of originality?often more j
homely than elegant?characterizing many !
of his thrusts at ungodliness, has given to |
his pulpit utterances a wide dissemination j
by both the religious and secular press. !
For several months past Mr. Jones has been !
neeietiwl in lliu n V!lll trf'l if'n I VVnplv llV I
JH/.Jr ;
Samuel W. Small, of Atlanta, who was j
converted through his instrumentality dur-,
ing a revival service in Georgia. In view
of the prominence of these evangelists, j
now actively engaged in their work, a j
brief sketch of each will be of public in-1
terest.
mVIGIIT J,. MOODY.
Thequotation from Shakspeare, "The evil J
that men do lives after them; the good is
oft interred with their bones,1' should be :
exactly reversed in the case of Dwight L. j
Moody. It is doubtful whether any other
evangelist can boast of such a varied expe-'
rience as Mr. Moody can, and to mention,!
even in the most sketchy manner, all the |
incidents of his remarable career, would require
far more space than is allotted to the
average newspaper article, lie was born
February 5th, 18.37, in Northfield, Mass. j
At the age of seventeen he went to Boston,
and there worked as a salesman for his uncle,
Mr. Samuel ITolton. In 1856 he went'
SAM JONKS.
s
X1 U J
west, full of ambition and a desire to make
his fortune. lie obtained employment in
Chicago. He joined the Plymouth Congregational
Church and soon became known
for his success in bringing in new members.
In Chicago he started his first mission in a
deserted liquor saloon. To this place the
worst characters of the city were invited
and the success of the scheme was without
precedent. In 1858 he joined the Young
Men's Christian Association of Chicago. He
worked diligently for his cause, in the
slums of Chicago and soon gave up his position
as salesman, to devote his .whole time
as a missionary. In 1SG3 Mr. Moody was
installed in his new church in Illinois street,
Chicago. He became the apostle of the
Young Men's Christian Association, and
conducted a series of revival meetings in
the principal cities of the country. In 18G2
he first became acquainted with Ira David
Sankey, and their co-operation yielded most
beneficent results. In 1872 Messrs. Moody j
and Sankey sailed for England, and there, as
well as in Ireland and Scotland, conducted
revival exercises which were unprecedented
in the number of visitors. Nothing like
it had been heard of before ; the people became
fairly wild to see and hear the great
evangelists. It has been said that in London
alone they converted ten thousand
souls. This is, indeed, a showing of which
they can be proud.
I HA I). SANICEY
Was born at Edinburgh, Lawrence county,!
Pennsylvania, August 28th, 1810. He en-1
gaged in business in New Castle, of that!
State, continuing therefrom 1855 till 1871.1
When the Young Men's Christian Associ- j
ation established a branch at New Castle, j
Mr. Sankey entered zealously in the work j
and was chosen President. In June IS7U,
he went to Indianapolis as a delegate to an
International Convention, and there first
met Mr. Moody. At a revival meeting
Mr. Sankey led the singing and his beautiful
voice electrified the audience, as it has
countless numbers since. Prom that time
the history of Messrs. Moody and Sankey,
as far as religious work is concerned, is almost
identical, although for brief intervals
they have operated separately. After the
stirring revivals in all the prominent American
cities, where as many persons were
turned away as could be accommodated,
Europe was visited and meetings that
taxed the capacities of the largest halls of
England and Scotland were held. So great
was the inilux that open air meetings were
held. In Ireland, too, they met with un
precedented success. 111 Eonuon, mat
plague spot of the world, whose poor John
Ruskin says, are lower than the South Sea
Island savages, a series of revials were
held that astonished the denizens. Returning
to America they renewed their efforts
and the number of their convert doubtless
is greater than that of any other revivalists.
Of late years they have operated mostly in
the Western States.
REV. "SAM" JONES.
The Rev. Samuel P. Jones was born in
Cartersville, Georgia, in 1849. J lis father
was a lawyer, but several of his ancestors
were connected with the ministry. Sam's
early life was marked by a restlessness and
recklessness that threatened nothing but
evil, but the death of his father led to the
conversion of the young man. Such a scene ,
as was witnessed in that chamber of death
is not often beheld. The hour was tragic;
falling on the lloor the prodigal son cried .
out, "I'll quit, I'll quit, God be merciful to j
me a sinner." The great change came by
the renewing power of the Iloly Spirit, j
The young convert soon had a desire to ;
preach, and in 1872 was admitted to the j
North Georgia Conference, but it was not
until 187G, in Floyd county, Georgia, that
he emerged from obscurity. For over ten
years he labored in the various churches of
his native State, but in 1881, went to Alabama.
lie, in turn, visited Florida, Missis- j
sippi, Kentucky, Texas, Tennessee, South j
Carolina, New York, Ohio, etc., etc. His
audiences ran into the thousands, and in
Nashville, Tennessee, he was so successful j
that crowds were turned away nightly. A !
fluent writer thus eulogizes him : "In ap- j
proaching a platform on which Sam. Jones
stands, surrounded by thousands of upturned :
faces, what arrests attention is his utter freedom
from clericalism in any of his characteristics.
His attitude, his tones of voice,
IAVICHT I.. MOODY.
I HA I>. SANK BY.
El NOTED REVIVAL
his forms of expression have .all the naturalness
and greatness of a Kentucky or Tennessee
popular stump speaker. The feeling
produced in the hearer is mixed. You approve
of the naturalness, but find yourself
putting in an interrogation point before the
abandon in manner and expression. It is
hard to rid one's self of the conviction that
reverence is absent or there would be greater
constraint in manner. While you are
yet turning this question over he bursts upon
you with a witticism, a slang phrase, or
reckless abuse, such as offends most deeply
and makes you wish yourself out of the audience.
Your politeness holds you until his
words of application come, fierce with earnestness
or running over with sympathy."
SAMUEL WHITE SMALL.
While the name of Sam Jones is on every
lip, the name of his able assistant is not so
well known, but lie has made himself a
factor in the work in which Jones is engaged,
and hereafter we will hear of Jones and
Small as we hear of Moody and Sankey.
Moreover, Small is a convert of Jones, making
their collaboration still more interesting
than it would ordinarily be. Samuel W.
Small was born July 3rd, 1851, at Knoxville,
Tennessee, and received his primary
education in that city, but graduated from
the High School, New Orleans. To finish
his education he was sent to Emorv and
Henry College, in Virginia, and graduated
with high rank. Sam's father was a journalist,
and in addition to this was rich and
influential. lie was Superintendent of the
Southern Express Company and President
of the Texas Express Company. The wealth
of his father proved Sam's bane. He was
led into all kinds of excesses and spent
money faster than his father could make it.
The young man started out in life as a lawyer
and next became a journalist. He was
of a roving dispositon and never stayed
long in one place,'although his ability was
very marked. Taking up stenography he j
became an expert at it. He has lived in j
most of our large cities and spent some |
years in Europe, where his father's wealth j
opened to him all avenues of enjoyment j
and dissipation. Under the nom de plume '
of "Old Si," he won a reputation among
literary men and became an acknowledged
master of negro dialect humor. Under his
old pseudonym he is still writing for the
Atlanta Constitution. Physically he is a
nonentity, or at least he seems to be, but it
is said of him that he can do more work than
those who seem in every way his superiors.
He not infrequently worksall night and this
without apparent injury to his delicate
candition. As Sam Jones says, he is a
physical phenomenon. As an orator he has
few equals and his speech on the floor of I
ho f'hnmhpr of rmrimproe of Cincinnati i
isf spoken o as a model. lie has a wife and
four children.
Power or Mormon ism.?The Lutheran
Observer gives the following extract from a
private letter on the situation in Utah from
Charles S. Varian, Esq., who has figured
prominently in the recent trials of polygamists
at Salt Lake City, as assistant United
States Attorney. It will be read with
interest:
"The situation here is a strange one, and
the responsibility of a government oflicer
is very great. We are surrounded by an 1
alien people. The great mass of Mormons
is recruited from the peasant classes of
Continental Europe and England. Honest j
but ignorant and fanatical, the proselite tothe
faith is conveyed to Utah and placed
in possession of a small holding of land.
At once lie finds himself in a position of
cnunun-rt/in' sifHuonce. The land he holds
vv"7'"'
comes to him by conveyance from John j
Taylor, the head of the church, who he is
taught to believe is the supreme authority. |
Thus he is bound by a two-fold tie. First, i
he believes and therefore acknowledges)
the Mormon priesthood as the representa- j
tivesof the Almighty. Second he is grate-,
ful to the power which he supposes has con- j
ferred temporal blessings exceeding those i
of his wildest anticipations. The people
know nothing of American institutions,
and have 110 appreciation of their duties as
citizens of the Republic. Our flag to them
is but a symbol of tyranny, and its stars
have no significance. So far as patriotism
is concerned, if does not exist. It cannot he
awakened for it does not sleep. No appeals
1
SAM SMALL. ^
I.
ISTS. |
will reach them, because there is nothing
to appeal to. By and by the American
people will realize the danger, and in some
heroic way solve the problem. They do
not understand it now. Their wisest and
best men seem to have little idea of the
necessites of the hour. Rome, in the days of
her greatest power, never held such a despotic
sway as does the Presidency of this
church. The lives, liberties and property of
all Mormons are at the absolute disposal of
the head of the church."
VERY ROMANTIC INDEED.
"I had a strange experience once in human
hair," said a member of a firm of human
hair importers to a reporter for the
Philadelphia Times. "A French lady of
noble blood, who had been my friend for
years, wrote me a few months ago, inclosing
a lock of hair which was a peculiar shade of
drab and of silky fineness. She wanted me
to match it, and I set about doing so. I
dispatched my agents all over Europe, but
nowhere could they find a thread of hair
that would match thesample.
"I then inserted an advertisement in the
principal Philadelphia, New York and
Boston papers, offering a liberal reward for
a switch of the desired quality and color.
One day a woman about twenty years of
age, shabbily dressed, but with a form and
face that Venus might have envied, entered
my office.
" 'I came in answer to your advertisement,'
she said, and removing her hat, unbound
a luxuriant coil of hair that called
from me an involuntary cry of admiration.
'Will this do?' she asked.
"I examined her hair and compared it
with the sample sent me by the countess.
The two were so similar that when I mixed
them together I could not distinguish one
from the other.
" 'Thia ho ir is Ovrtf'tlv Avllflt. T Wfint." 1
said, 'and I will give you $200 an ounce
for it."
44 4Take it off,' said she, with a nervous
trembling of her voice that at once attracted
my attention. 4I am starving, I and my
baby, and what you are willing to pay is a
fortune to me.'
4,I became interested and questioned her.
After a little hesitation she told me her
story. Her husband had been a sea captain,
and shortly after they were married,
had sailed for the west coast of Africa.
His vessel was never heard of after leaving
port, aud it was presumed she had foundered
at sea and all hands had been lost. The
presumed widow had struggled to mantain
herself and infant child, but with indifferent
success. Finally, when suffering from
the pangs of hunger, she had read my advertisment
and hastened to my place of
business, praying inwardly that her hair,
which had been her husband's pride, might
be the required shade.
"Well, to make a long story short, I
bought her hair, which weighed four
ounces, and paid her $800 for it. I sent the
switch td my customer, the countess, and
wrote her the history of the hair. She
is a woman of great wealth and goodness
of heart. The return mail brought
me a letter authorizing me to pay the poor
little sailor's widow $1,000 extra. I did
so and wrote an account of the affair to our
official journal, which is published in New
York. The story was so romantic that the
daily papers copied it and I received several
letters from charitable people offering
pecuniary assistance to the sailor's widow.
She was proud and refused to receive any
help.
440ne day, about three weeks after the
publication of the story, a man who was
bronzed and bearded came into my office
very much excited, lie held in his hand a
copy of a New York paper and upholding it,
pointed to my story.
"Can you give me the address of this
woman ?" he asked, eagerly. "She is my
wife; I thought her dead."
"While I wrote down the address he told
me his story. His vessel had been wrecked
on the African coast, and he and two
others of the crew alone reached the shore.
It was several months before they managed
to reach a civilized port. He immediately
sent word of the disaster to the owners of
the foundered vessel and wrote to his young
wife. From the former he received a reply,
but he heard no word from his wife, and
when he reached Philadelphia discovered
that she had mysteriously disappeared.
One day in looking over a paper he came
across my story and hurried to my office to
learn fuller particulars. I sent him to his
wife in my carriage, and you can imagine
what occurred at the meeting, for each believed
the other dead. I wrote to the
countess, giving the sequel to the story,
and the result was that the shipwrecked
captain now commands her yacht, and the
wife who sacrificed her hair to buy bread
sails with him on every voyage."
A SLAUGHTER PEN.
["F. 1). M." in Cin. Commercial Gazette.]
At half-Dast 3 the fuse was liehted. Upon
the Federal side men grasped their muskets
nervously, they held their breath in awful
suspense, and could hear their hearts beat
in the black stillness. The Confederates
slumbered on peacefully in the doomed fort,
the men on their picket line in the perfect
quiet almost forgetting to peep occasionally
through the eye-holes in the breast-works
looking toward the Yankee works, 300 feet
away. And all this time the little hissing,
sputtering flame of the fuse was runuing
along through the dark gallery, nearer and
nearer to the 320 kegs of powder stored
thirty feet beneath them.
There was the first faint streak of gray
upon the eastern sky as the mine exploded.
Those waiting felt a strange thrill run
through the earth, and then, said one, "It
seemed as though the earth had exploded."
The ground rocked under the tremendous
recoil, as a jolid mass of earth rose slowly
200 feet in the air, the exploding gunpowder
blazing through it like "lightning playing
through a bank of clouds," seemed to hang
poised an instant, and then with a vast
roaring sound in showers of stones, broken
timbers, cannon, blackened human limbs or
bodies, it fell, and a heavy cloud of black
smoke floated off. The dreadful work had
been thoroughly done. Where the Elliott
salient had stood there was now a horrible
chasm 150 feet long, sixty feet wide and
from twenty-five to thirty feet deep, and its
brave garrison lay buried beneath the jagged
blocks of blackened clay?in all 256 officersandmenof
the Eighteenth and Twenty-Second
South Carolina, and twenty-two
men of Pegram's battery.
Instantly the Union batteries opened with
every gun from Appomattox creek to Jerusalem
plank road, from Fort McGilvery to
Fort Davis, in horrid uproar. The air was
alive with howling shot and screaming
shells, and the valley shrouded in billowy
; smoke. The troops pressed forward into
[ the crater and over the lines of the enemy,
stunned and demoralized, and the day of
carnage began.
Hundreds of people have tried to tell the
story of the Battle of the Crater, which began
with the explosion at 4 in the morning
and ended with the recapture by the Confederates
about 1 or 2 o'clock in the afternoon.
The story can not be told. Xo language can
adequately describe it. It can not be painted,
for no colors are deep enough. The
story from the Federal side is not a proud
one. Grant called it a "miserable affair,"
and summed it up as a disgraceful affair to
the Union army, and cost the lives of nearly
o,000 men.
The troops were the poorest in the northern
army?mixed white and black?and led
by men who, if they possessed any knowledge,
bravery, or sense, failed to show it
upon that occasion. There was individual
on/1 moniT avInhitinnQ nf hltfh
^aiiaiJlijr aim iuuuj va?i?w<v?vmw w ?a?
courage, and there was the most desperate
and.deadly fighting of the war, but in general
there was no glory in the day for the
Yankees.
Our men huddled in the crater instead of
pushing on ttf Cemetery hill, as ordered,
and soon an enfilading fire made it as dangerous
to go backward as to go forward.
It was not until 8 o'clock that the colored
troops were sent in. They charged over
the heads of the whites crowded in the
crater, swept over the crest3 cheering, and
spread to the right, capturing 200 prisoners
and a flag. A heavy fire of artillery and
musketry sent them back to add to the confusion
in the crater and the numbers in
that horrible mixture of men alive, wounded
and dead, and the ghastly debris of the
ovnlnainn
The Confederates trained their heavy
guns upon this red slaughter-pen and dropped
shells into the frenzied masses. The
Confederates charged repeatedly and poured
volleys into the crater. Back and forth
over the edge the men fought in desperate
dashes. They threw hand grenades over.
The Confederates lighted bombshells and
rolled them over the parapet into the crater.
Several charges of the Confederates were
beaten back in bloody repulses by the Federal
troops, and from the vast rim of the
crater a steady storm of bullets poured upon
Mahone's men, and every gun on the southern
side was pointed at that place. When
all had been retaken but the crater the Confederate
batteries ceased firing upon it, and
preparations were made for assault. Happily,
before the assaulting party could be
j formd a white handkerchief made fast to
! a ramrod appeared over the edge of the
J crater, and after a brief pause a motley
| crowd of prisoners poured over the sides
j and lan for their lives to the rear,
j The Federals lost about 5,000 in killed
ana wounaea anu i,iuu pnsuueis. x?u
brigade commanders were captured and
twenty-one flags, according to the authority
quoted. The Confederate loss was very
heavy too, the destructfulness of the fightI
ing being shown by the fact that the Sixth
| Virginia, with ninety-eight men, lost eighty-eight?one
company from Norfolk having
every man killed. The sharpshooters
had eighty men and lost sixty-four.
SOME QUEER RELICS.
! Bullets and other relics are still plenty,
j There is a building full of relics picked up
j by Mr. Griflin, the owner of the place.
Some of them are particularly interesting,
j One is made by two bullets meeting in the
! air, striking point to point in exact range.
The result is a disk of lead as large as a silver
dollar, and about as thick, with the base
of the Yankee bullet showing in the centre
on one side and the Confederate bullet on the
other. Had these bullets passed each other
j the fate of the men tiring them would not
, be hard to reckon. Another
queer relic is a Confederate musket,
in the barrel of which two bullets met,
splitting the barrel open like a banana
peel. There the two bullets can be seen.
The Confederate bullet had got about onethird
out when it met the prying Yankee
bullet on its way in, and then there was
trouble at once. Of course the Yankee bullet
had no business in there, or at least it
should have waited until the other got out,
but undoubtedly it was better for the holder
of the gun that it went in the barrel than in
his eye.' _
toy- The only unadulterated thing in America
is the fool who thinks he i3 getting anything
pure.?Brooklyn Eagle.
'