Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, January 26, 1901, Image 1
YORKVILLE ENQUIRER.
ISSUES SEMI-WEEKLY.
lTm. grist & sons, Publishers j % # il8 INspper: $n the |romotion of the ffotitieat, ?ofial, Agricultural, and (jtommemial gnt^r^sts of the feogle. {^iSe' ciffg*1""5,
ESTABLISHED 1855. YORKVILLE. S. C., SATURDAY, JANUARY 26, 1901. NO. 8.
BY HAROLI
Copyright, 1900, by Harold McGrath.
CHAPTER II.
In my bedroom the next morning
there was a sad and heavy heart. The
owner woke up, stared at the celling,
then at the sun baked bricks beyond
his window He saw not the elorv of
the sun aud the heavens. To his eyes
there was nothing poetic in the flash of
the distaut church spires agalust the
billowy cloud banks. The gray doves,
circling about the chimneys, did not inspire
him nor the twittering of the
sparrows on the window ledge. There
was nothing at all in the world but a
long stretch of barren, lonely years.
And he wondered how without her at
his side he ever could traverse them.
He was driftwood again. He had built
upon sands as usual, and the tide bad
come lu; his castle was flotsam and
jetsam. He was drifting, and he didn't
care where. He was very sorry for
himself, and be had the blue devils the
worst kind of way. Finally be crawled
out of bed and dressed because it had
to be done. He was not particularly
painstaking with the procedure. It
mattered not what collar became him
best, and he picked up a tie at random.
A man generally dresses for a certain
woman's approval, and when that Is
no longer to be gained he grows indifferent
The other women do not
count.
My breakfast consisted of a cup of
coffee, ana as toe generous nectar
warmed my veins my thoughts took a
philosophical turn. It is fate who
writes the was, the is and the shall be.
We have a proverb for every Joy and
misfortune. It is the only consolation
fate gives us. It is like a conqueror
asking the vanquished to witness the
looting. All roads lead to Rome, and
all proverbs are merely signposts by
which we pursue our destiuies. And
how was I to get to Rome? 1 knew
not. Hope Is bett?r than clairvoyance.
Was Phyllis right when she said that
I did not truly love nerr i Denevea
not Should I go on loving her all my
life? Undoubtedly 1 should. As to
affinities, I bad met mine, but it had
proved a one sided affair.
It was after 10 by the clock when I
remembered that I was to meet the
lawyer, the arbiter of my new fortunes.
Money is a balm for most
things, and coupled with travel it
might lead me to forget. He was the
family lawyer, and he had come all
the way north to see that I received
my uncle's bequest lie -was bent,
gray and partially bald. He must have
been close to 70, but for all that there
was a youthful twinkle in his eyes as
he took my card and looked up into
my face.
"So you are John Wintlirop?" he said
in way of preliminary. You may hand
a cardcase full of your name to a lawyer
and still he will insist upon a ver
bal admission.
"I have always been led to believe
so," I answered smartly, placing my
liat beside the chair In which 1 sat
down. "How did you manage to locate
me in this big city?"
"Your uncle had seeu some of your
signed articles in New York papers
and said that In all probability 1 should
And you here. A few inquiries set me
on your track." Here he pulled out a
lengthy documeut from his linudbag.
"I confess, however." he added, "that
I am somewhat disappointed In your
looks."
"Disappointed in niv looks!" was my
cry. "What sort of a duffer were you
expecting to see?"
He laughed. "Well, your uncle gave
me the idea that 1 should tind a good
for nothing hack writer, a dweller in
some obscure garret."
"If that Is the ease, what under the
sun did he send you up here for?"
The merriment went out of the old
man's face, and his eyes became grave.
"Of that anon. Let me proceed with
my business and read the will to you.
You will find it rather a remarkable
document."
1 settled back in my chair In a waiting
attitude. To tell the truth. 1 was
...... K,. ..II tl.lo
BULUC \\ Mil l luiiiunrii uti uii iiM.i |/i i uui
ble. To bis son my uncle loft tho bulk
of his property. which amounted to
more than I was listless.
Tho bond overseer received tho muniticcnt
sum of $.">0,000. To tho butlor. the
housekeeper and tho eook be gave $10.000
each. 1 began to grow interested.
He was very liberal to bis servants.
Several otber names were read, and
my interest assumed llie color of anxiety.
When tlie lawyer stopped to un
fold tbe last Hap. I spoke.
"And whore in the world do I come
in ?"
"In tbe sense you understand you do
not come in."
I stared at him in amazement. "I
don't come in?" I repeated vaguely.
"Ab." reaching down for my bat. "then
1 go out. as it wore, as brilliant as a
London yellow fog. What the devil
does all this mean?" I started to rise.
"Wait!" lie commanded. " "To my
nephew. John Winthrop. I bequeath
the sum of $1,000. to be presented to
him in person immediately after this
will is probated and with tbe understanding
that be shall make no further
demand upon my son and heir in (lie
future.' That is all." concluded tbe
lawyer, folding tbe document. "I have
tlx* check in my pocket."
"Keep it." said I. rising. A hot flush
of indignation swept over me. 1 understood.
It was bis revenge. To
have a man make sport of you after
he is dead and gone, leaving you impotent
and with never a chance to retaliate!
"Keep it." 1 said again;
"throw it away, or burn it. I understand.
lie has satisfied a petty reveage.
It is an insult uot ouly to me.
? MACQRATS.
but to my dead parents. You are, of
course, acquainted with the circumstances
of my mother's marriage. She
married the man she loved, disregarding
her brother's wishes."
"I knew your mother." said the lawyer.
going to the window and looking
out and beyond all that met bis gaze.
"To think." 1 went on. cooling none, :
"that my mother's brother should die
in this manner nourishing so small and (
petty a spite! When he did this, he
knew that 1 should understand his mo- ,
tive. In the tirst place. I never dreamed
that he would remember me In his
will?never, entertaiued the least idea
of it. 1 am independent; 1 am earning
a livelihood, small, but enough and to
spare. I'll bid you good morning." I
took a step toward the door.
"Young man. sit down," said the old
man. coming back to bis chair. "I j
want to tall; to you for a few minutes.
Your uncle was a peculiarly vindictive j
man. What he considered a wrong he
neither forgot uor forgave. His son }
pleaded with him not to put in that j
final clause. He offered even to share j
with you. Your uncle swore he would j
leave It all to the stablemen tirst. This ^
journey was forced upou me, or 1 ^
should not have taken it This is my
advice to you: Accept the check and iu
the privacy of your room tear It up or
light a cigar with it; that's about all |
It's worth. You will feel no little satisfaction
in llgbtiug a cigar with It?that
is, if you are anything like me. Think .
of it?a tbousaud dollars to light your
cigar! It is an opportunity not to be
missed. When you .grow old, you will f
say to your grandchildren. 'Once I lit
a cigar with a thousand dollar check.'
The oldest inhabitant will be silenced
forever. It may become history. And
then. too. if there are spirits, as Scripture
says there are. your uncle will .
writhe at the performance. I trust j
that you will forgive me my part in the
matter. I have taken a fancy to you. <
and if you will accept my friendship I J
shall be happy to accept yours. Your j
uncle's revenge will not be a marker to
the restitution his son will make." :
"Restitution! His son?"
"Y'es. To my siucere regret be is an ,
invalid who may or may not live the j
year out. He has already made a will ^
in which he leaves all to you. The will j
is in my safe at home. 1 return tonight,
so 1 may uot see you again in
this world of sin and tribulation." The '
merry twiukle had returned to bis eyes, j
"I am very old." ,
"It is worth all the trouble to have j
met you," said I. "You should have l
made the jolt very easy." <
BO we SHOOK nanus, UUU lie KU?C LUC a J
cigar, around which was wrapped the \
check. He winked; then be laughed, j
and 1 Joined him, though my laughter i
resembled mirth less than it did the 1
cackle of a hen which was disturbed
over the future of her brood. I left i
him and went down into the wineroom 1
and ordered a stiff braudy and soda.
When that disappeared. I ordered an- l
other. I rattled the ice in the glass.
"Ha, ha, ha!" I roared as the events of 1
the past 24 hours recurred to me.
There must have been a suicidal accent
to my laughter, for the bartender look- t
ed at me with some concern. I called <
for another braudy and shot the soda I
Into it myself. 1 watched the foam 1
evaporate. "Ha. ha. ha!" !
"Hard luck?" the bartender asked
sympathetically. <
"Yes," said I. I seemed to be speaking
to several bartenders who looked at |
me with several varieties of compassion.
"Have another on me," said the bartender.
'
I had another and went out into the
street. I walked down Broadway,
chuckling to myself. What a glorious
farce It all was! My fortune! Phyllis
my wife! What if she had accepted 1
me? I laughed aloud, and people turn- i
ed and stared at me. Oh. yes! I was 1
to travel and write novels and have
my pictures in book reviews aud all
that! When 1 arrived at the office. 1
was on the verge of total insanity. 1
was obliged to ask the pa nigra pher to
write my next day's leader. It was
night before 1 became rational, and
otice that, the whole world donned cap
and bells and began capering for my
express benefit. rue more i luougui
of it the more I laughed. What a
whimsical world It was! And was
there anything lu It so grotesque as
my part? I took the check front my
pocket and cracked it between my fingers.
A cigar was in my mouth. Should
I light It with the check? It was for
$1,000. After all it was more than 1
had ever before held in my hand at
once. But what was a paltry thousand,
aye, a paltry ten thousand, to a man's
pride? I bit off the end of tny cigar,
creased the check into a taper and
struck a match. I watched it burn and
burn. I struck another. I held it
within au inch of the check, but for
the life of tne I could not light it.
"The devil take it!" 1 cried. 1 flung
i the cigar out of the window and laid
i the check on my desk. Courage? Why.
It needed the courage of a millionaire
to light a cigar with a $1,000 check!
The office boy. who came in thou,
was salvation. The managing editor
> wanted to see me. I sprang up with
alacrity. Anything but the sight of
that figure 1 aud the three demon eyes
of that $1,000 check!
"Wiuthrop." said the managing editor
to me as 1 entered his office,
"you've got to go to London. Hillars
has gone under"?
"Not dead!" I cried.
"No. no! He has had to give up
work temporarily on account of drink.
If It was any other man, I'd throw him
over In short order. But I feel sorry
for Hlllars. and I am going to give bim
another chance. I want yon to go over
and take care of him if possible. The
London work Is not new to you. You
can handle that and Ilillars too. If
you can keep him In check"?
I shuddered. The word "check" Jarred
on my nerves.
"What's the matter?" asked the editor.
"A temporary chill," I said. "Go on."
"Well, if you can manage to keep
him In check for a month or so, he'll
be able to get on his feet again. And
It will be like a vacation to you. If
anything happens to Hlllars, you will
be expected to remain permanently
abroad. Hlllars suggested you In bis
letter. Will you be ready to go next
Monday?"
"Tomorrow, If you like," 1 answered
readily enough.
I was much pleased with the turn of
events. If I could get away from New
York. I might forget Phyllis?no, not
forget her; I loved her too well ever to
forget her, but the prolonged absence
would cure me of my malady.
Before going to bed that night I lit
a cigar, but not with the check. On
sober second thought 1 calculated that
the sum would pay up all my debts
and leave me a comfortable margin. A
man can well pocket his pride when
he pockets a thousand dollars with It
And why not? I was about to start
life anew and might as well begin on a
philosophical basis. Who knew but
my uncle had foreseen the result of
his bequest; my rage, my pride, and
Inally lighting a cigar with his check?
It really might make his spirit writhe
jo better effect If I became benefited.
Sober second thought is more or less
i profitable Investment
On the morrow everything was arranged
for my departure. I was to
eave Saturday morning.
It was a beautiful day, crisp and
dear, with a bare ground which rang
0 the heel. In the afternoon I wanlered
over to the park and sat down on
1 bench and watched the skaters as
hey glided to and fro. I caught myjelf
wishing that 1 was a boy again,
with an hour's romp on the sheeny
Tust in view. Gradually the mantle
)f peace fell upon me, and there was a
sense of rest. I was going to forgive
he world the wrong It had done me.
Perhaps It would feel ashamed of Itself
and reward me for my patience.
3o Hlllars was "going to pieces." It Is
strange how we men love another who
tas shared and spent with us our late
patrimonies. Hillars and 1 bad been
friends since our youth, and we had
lved together till a few years back.
Then he went to Washington, from
?ere to Paris, thence to London. He <
eras a better newspaper man than I.
[ liked to dream too well, while he was (
ilways for a little action. Liquor was
getting the best of him. I wondered
why. It might be a woman. There Is
ilways one around somewhere when
i man's breath smells of whisky. A
good deal of this woman's temperance
business is caused by remorse. I was
irawing aimless pictures in the frozen
gravel when I became aware that two
Jkaters had stopped in front of me. 1
glanced up and saw Phyllis and Ethel,
their eyes like stars and their cheeks (
like roses.
"I was wondering if it were you,"
said Ethel. "Phyllis, where is my cavalier?"
"I believe he has forsaken us," said
the voice of the woman I loved. <
"Will you not accept part of the i
bench?" I asked, moving along.
The girls dropped easily beside me. i
"I was just wishing 1 was a boy 1
igain and was in for a game of hock- <
jy," said I. "I am going to London on *
Saturday. Our foreign correspondent 1
has had to give up work on account of 1
>11 health."
"You haven't"? Phyllis stopped sud- J
denly. 1
"Oh, no!" said 1 intuitively. "1 am ,
growing rusty, and they think 1 need a t
vacation." I was glad Ethel was there, j
with her voluble chatter. \
"Oh, a foreign correspondent!" she ;
cried.
"Yes."
"You will have a glorious time. Papa
will probably return to B. when the
next administration comes In. You
know papa was there 20 years ago. I
suppose you will be hobnobbing with
dukes and princes."
"It cannot be avoided," I said grave- ;
ly. "I do not expect to remain long in
London. When my work is done, perhaps
I shall travel and complete my
foreign polish."
"Oh. yes!" said Phyllis. "I forgot to
tell you, Ethel, that a fortune has been
left to Jack, and lie need uot work but
for the love of it."
I laughed, but they thought it a self
conscious laugh. Somehow 1 was not
equal to the task of enlightening them.
"It is Jolly to be rich," said Ethel,
clicking her skates together. "It's a
bother at times, however, to know
what to do with the mouey. 1 buy
?k In.rr, 1 /1A 1 IxA
LLUlLi.y UHU&a 1 UU IJUl uetru JUSl UCcause
I feel compelled to spend my allowance."
"It must be very Inconvenient." I observed.
"And now that you are a man of
leisure," said Phyllis, "you will write ,
that book you have always been telling
me about?" i
"Do you wish it?" I asked.
"I do. What I have always found
lacking in you is application. You
start out to accomplish something, you
find an obstacle in your path, and you
do not surmount it. You do not persevere."
My pulse beat quickly. Was there a
double meaning to what she said? 1
could not tell, for her eyes remained
averted.
I sighed. "It would be nice to become
a successful author, but when a
man is as rich as I am, fame tarnishes."
I took out an envelope from
my pocket.
"What Is that?" asked Phyllis.
I turned over the back and showed it
to her.
"Figures!" she laughed. "What do
they mean?"
"It Is what 'I am going to do with v
my fortune." said I. I was holding out n
my vanity at arm's length and laugh o
lng at It silently. ii
"Your air castles will he realized n
now." said PhylllB. t'
"I shall build no more." said I. "The
last one gave me a very bad fall." h
Phyllis looked away again. A vague "
perfume from her hair wafted past my
nostrils, aud for -a space 1 was overwhelmed
wltfc sadneRS. Soon 1 dls- 11
cerned Mr. Hofiand speeding toward us. ll
"I shall not; see you again." I said, 11
"so I'll bid you goodby now. If you y
should chance to come abroad this
summer, do not fall to look me up." r'
"Good luck to you." said Ethel, shak- ^
ing my hand. "You must bring home .
a princess or a duchess." Then she ~
moved off a way, thoughtfully.
"You must write to me occasionally, v
Jack," said Phyllis. "If only once a a
And then?and then they sped away. A
mouth. I shall always -be Interested t]
in your career." The smile faltered n
as she put out her gloved hand. t,
"You will make some man happy. ^
Phyllis," 1 said. h
"Goodby." ' d
"Goodby." si
And then?and then they sped away, Ci
and I followed them with dimming c<
gaze till I could see them no more. 1 h
trudged home. y
*? ?* d
1 J . V> A unnA. ' I' Vl tl
1 blUUU UU IUC UJJJ/CI ucva. AU?.
spires and domes of the city faded on h
my sight till all merged into a gray, la
smoky patch on the horizon. With a
dead cigar clinched between my teeth
I watched and watched with a callous
air, as though there had been no F
wrench, as though I had not left be- r(
hind all 1 loved In the world. And yet w
1 gazed, tbe keen salt air singing past e]
my ears till there was nothing but the b]
sea as far as tbe eye could scan. C(
Thus 1 began the quest of the elusive.
which Is a little of love, a little of tl
adventure and a little of all things. M
TO BE CONTINUED.
rt
h
Scraps of ICocal ?ftstont. ?
11
REMINISCENCES OF YORK. l\
t
F
Valuable Bits of Local History Preai
served by a Septuagenarian. tt
Dr. Maurice Moore in The Enquirer of 1870. **
la
JUDGE JOHN M'LANAHAN.
ir
Of John McLanahan, one of the three n(
:ounty court justices already spoken
af, I am sorry I cannot give an extend- n(
?d account. I know nothing of his an- h)
tecendents; not even the place of his 0)
birth. I remember having seen him tj
ance or twice. He was a rather tall,
slender man, altogether fine looking, ej
ivith very finished manners. He was
well educated, and in every respect an s(
accomplished gentleman of excellent k]
business capacity. His popularity tc
among the people is attested by their p]
electing him a member of the legisla- tl
ture; once I know, and perhaps seve- r
ral times. He and Hill and Moore,
were all, at one time, members of the
general assembly. He was a Federalist,
and from the espousing of that party,
lost favor with the people of York, J
and could never get them to elect him
again. After this, he removed to his
plantation near Landsford, and spent t
the later part of his life in retirement.
He was never married.
.. . in
"The weary pilgrim slumbers,
His resting place unknown:
His hands were crossed, his lids were tc
closed, st
Tne dust was o'er him strown; n<
The drifting soil, the mouldering leaf,
Along the sod were blown; ..
His mound has melted into earth, "
His memory lives alone." b(
And It has almost perished; but I w
would not have one who served our 01
fathers well in his day and generation, a'
thus forgotten; and if he were mistak- ^
&n, 'twas honestly so.
My recollection may be Incorrect as 111
regards Hill, Moore and McLanahan ?'
being the only justices of the peace y<
from '92 to '99; but such is my impression.
I think they were the three asso- tc
cities during that period. I have no C(
opportunity to examine the records
winch might confirm or disabuse my
mind of this belief. It may be that
others served during the time, and they a
were in office only a portion of that pe- **
nod. I cannot assuredly say; but in **
my own mind I am satisfied of the fact ^
l hat they were the only ones.
ADAM MEEK AND THE GHOST. a
One of York's earliest sheriffs?I ?'
think the first after the present divis- n
ion of the district?was Adam Meek. "
He lived near the mouth of Bullock's s'
Creek. I do not remember ever to have a
seen him; but know he bore a high
character in the community for real a
worth. He was a man of great integ- p
rity, fearless in the discharge of duty, w
and particularly distinguished for his c<
sound common sense. He had a con- A
siderable family, and many of his de- r'
scendants live in York county still; ^
none, however, I believe, bearing his
name. His daughters severally mar- C1
ried John S. Moore, Baldwin Byers,
and Samuel Moore, of York. One, per- n
haps both his sons, married and remov- w
ed West years ago. b
I recall a mysterious occurrence in t]
the life of Mr. Meek, related to me after
his death, by his brother, Mr. James a
Meek, a man of perfect veracity and w
the highest respectability. It exem- tl
plifles the intrepidity of the former's
disposition and his uncommon firmness tl
of nerve, which fitted him so well for B
the trying duties of the office he held. n
In the days of yore, our forefathers ir
males collected In the hall where the
afflicted man was lying. One by one, In
regular turn, with solemnity, they advanced
to old Mr. Ralney's bedside and
pronounced the desired benlson, 'God
bless you, Mr. Ralney." Old Mrs.
Fox's turn was the last. All eyes turned
toward her. She went forward,
however, nothing hesitating, but the
listening ears caught the words, "My
God bless you, Mr. Ralney." The devil
was her deity, and the cunning witch
had banned Instead of blessed the sufferer.
She outwitted them, and the
pious effort was of no effect.
Perhaps some, In this enlightened
age of spirit-rappings, may feel desirous
of making a iest of our old super
fere commonly believers In the superatural.
Scotchmen all believe In secnd-slght
and warlock grim; Irishmen
i baunshee and bogle; therefore, it Is
ot to be wondered that descendants of
he two should see more than other
oiks, and have many a legend of
aunted houses and witched souls.
Wi' malr 'o horrible and aufu,'
Which e'en to name wad be unlawfu'."
There was a great excitement among
he people of Bullock's Creek, in the
nmedlate vicinity of Adam Meek'B.
n Gordon's Old Field, which had for
ears been a large open barren, and
hrough the middle of which ran a
oad, an apparition had appeared to
iany. Indeed, every one who, for
ome weeks past had, after dark set in.
een traveling that way, were sure to
ee the phantom-shape, at which sight
hey hesitated not to confess, they inariably
put whip to their horses, or
ight in their heels, and made off with
11 speed till they could reach the
rood which skirted the field around,
ar this was the limit of the ghost's
ralk; as when they drew near the
hadows of the friendly forest, it vanihed.
Some faint-hearted, but reliable
eighbor. was relating to Mr. Meek a
lew he had of the spectre a few nights
efore, as he passed along the road
tirough the old field.
"What did It say?" inquired the 11s?ner.
"I never stopped to let it get near
nough to hear a word from It," was
tie candid reply.
"Well! If ever I see it, I will talk
ith It," quoth the bolden spirit of
.dam Meek.
It was npt long afterward, he told
le brother (who narrated the tale to
>e) that he had one evening been dedned
till a late hour, and it was dark,
rhen, on his way home, he entered the
aunted old field. About the middle he
escried the ghost approaching. He
topped his horse and waited until it
ime up to his side. He and the ghost
jnversed together, and it accompanied
im to the woods, a distance of 200
ards, talking all the while, when it
isappeared. He came on home, but
le substance of the discourse he said
e could not then reveal; but perhaps,
iter, he might be able to do so.
Mr. James Meek said that an uncomion
amount of fraternal affection and
jnfldence existed between his brother
nd himself, in all the concerns of life,
rom boyhood they had been used to
;pose all trust in one another?neither
> V. U 4 | VI /? A V* Q t V* _
1 Liiuuiuiiig any oc^icio n via vuc wittherefore,
he knew If it were posslle
or right, his brother would not con;al
any part of the matter from him.
Some weeks after his Interview with
le apparition in Gordon's Old Field,
tr. Meek left home?and was gone
early two months; and still, after his
iturn, never divulged the meaning of
Is long absence as to where he had
een or for what purpose. In reply to
uestlons on the subject from his famy
and brother, his answer was. "I
mnot tell you now?I may before I
le; but that is not certain. This I can
>11 you, the ghost at Gordon's Old
ield will never be seen again. I can
ssure the vicinity it has been seen for
le last time."
It was even so. The road through
ie old field lost its terrors to the be.ted
traveler, whether riding or walkig,
for the specter visitant was seen
o more from that time forth.
The mysterious interview and jour?y
of Mr. Meek, his brother thought
a.d some connection with the ghost
' Gordon's Old Field, but no explanaon
was ever made, as he died withit
ever giving any further account of
ther. There was certainly someling
strange in the tale, but his
rength of mind gave him some
nowledge his neighbors were afraid
> fathom. What this was?some
romise made, perhaps, or his discreon?made
it undesirable for him to
>peat.
A WITCH STORY.
This weird story brings to my mind
ie my step-mother used often to tell.
. happened before she married my
ither, and she herself was present at
ie scene. The narration never lost inTest
to me, as I knew the people
nom it concerned. After hearing it,
would creep to bed, my excited imaglation
easily conjuring each gust of
le wind, rustling through the trees,
> be some old witch on her broomick,
who might come down the chimsy
and ride me away.
Old Mr. Rainey, who lived in the Belesda
congregation, believed himself
switched. He was, for many years, a
eakly, sickly man, and all his aillents
were, by the whole community,
ttributed to the power of old Balsey
ox, a noted witch, who lived in the
Black Jacks." The only way to relove
the spell was, by some means to
Dtain the benediction of "God bless
du" from the old sorceress. To do
lis, some scheme must be fallen upon
? entrap her into it unawares, as, of
lurse, she would not voluntarily ablre
her dominion over him.
A plan was conceived of inviting all
le women of the neighborhood, within
circuit to include old Mrs. Fox, to
leet at his residence on a certain day,
le object of which was generally
nown. A large concourse assembled?
ten as well as women?but the witch,
las! was not among them; and with111
her presence the rest could avail
othing for the Intention had been
lat each woman of the assembly
lould lay their hands on the sick man
nd say "God bless you." It had been
lought the hag would be ashamed and
fraid not to do as the rest; and on the
ronouncing the holy name her reign
rould be ended. Old Mrs. Fox did not
3me, and what was to be done?
mong those whom friendship and culosity
had brought to the scene, was
olonel Edward Lacey. He declared
lat the witch should come; and off he
antered on his spirited bay. In due
me, expectation was fulfilled, for up
ade the gallant colonel, with the old
oman behind him?a lean, withered
eldame; but wonder of wonders! Alhough
she was only an old hag's
eight?96 pounds?the large blooded
nimal they had ridden was reeking
ith sweat?in a perfect lather?and
le horse blowing as if he were bellowsI.
Men and women gathered round
ae panting steed in utter amazement,
ut the witch had come. There was
othing longer to hinder their proceed?g
with the good work. All the fe-J
stitlons, and say they are sure not one
particle of It possesses them. I believe
it an often Infirmity of human
nature, and hold with Dr. Brazier, of
the Methodist church, when at the age
of 96, of whom I once asked the question,
"If he was superstitious?" "Yes,"
he replied, "and I believe all men are,
If they would tell the truth. I don't
like to see a rabbit run across my
path."
"Pshaw!" said old Colonel Ben Saxon,
secretary of state, who was sitting
by, "I don't regard it a picayune; I always
make a cross mark and spit on
it."
Once afterward, In conversation with
the late Chancellor Harper, In regard"
to the persecutions for witchcraft In
Scotland and New England, I asked
him what he believed. His reply was
like that.of a Roman augur, indirect.
His words, though, impressed me.
They were, "We have the highest evidence
of human testimony to believe
in witchcraft, for many individuals
have confessed, just before being
launched into eternity, they were suf
ferlng the just penalty of their crimes,
for they were guilty of witchcraft."
In discussing the subject of mesmerism,
In Its early days, with Rev. Mr.
Elliott, of Beaufort, In which he
strongly believed, he told me of Mesmerist's
power and clairvoyant skill to
a marvelous extent. I told him we
might begin to believe with our forefathers
In witches, and, for his amusement,
related to him the tale of the
bewitchment of
MOSIE OABBIB, OF YORK.
Mosie Gabble lived two miles above
York court house, and it was either In
the year 1820 or 1821, when he lived
with a brother-in-law named Burns,
that his family and neighbors were
much excited and bewildered by his
case. He said that he was bewitched,
and his curious state confirmed the
minds of others In the same belief. All
day long he would lie In bed, in a kind
of stupor, and could be roused only
when directly spoken to, when he
would relapse Into the same comatose
state, If left alone. Between 11 and 12
o'clock at night, he would utter a fearful
yell, spring from his bed where he
had been lying all day, rush out of the
house, be absent till daylight, when he
would return with his hands and feet
full of chestnut burs. On being questioned
by his family as to when these
nocturnal aiurma in hi uegan, iu wucic
he went, and why he so behaved, he
would plteously declare he could not
help himself; that old Mrs. Blggart, a
commonly reported witch, rode him
every night to old Violet Weston's and
hitched him under a large chestnut
tree, In front of the house, while the
witches had a dance in the rickety old
dwelling. In vain did his Mstei and
her husband devise and execute me.ins
to keep him at home. F/ery effort
failed by some mischance, for at the
fatal hour he would gl /e the awful
shriek and be gone, the f scarce knew
how. At last they ceased trying to
prevent him, yielding undoubtedly to
the belief that Mosle was bewitched
and ridden every night. Winter came
and passed; spring, summer, fall?the
seasons made no change, for it was a
certain fact that every night, let the
weather be what It might?raining,
sleeting or snowing?he would, between
the hours of 11 and 12, give a hideous
yell, jump out of his bed and be gone
till daydawn next morning.
The family became so accustomed to
It that their slumbers were scarcely
arrested by it for a moment. Among
the daily tasks assigned the childre
the picking of the burrs out of their
Uncle Mosie's feet and hands, was one
- 1 ? A?1?
or tne most arauuus. umj untc, onci
the first unavailing efforts made at the
beginning of the strange occurrence by
the frightened household of his brother-in-law,
to keep him from his midnight
Jaunts, only once again?was an
attempt made, I say, to outdo the
witcn. It happened thus: Old Sam
Burns, father of Mosie Gabble's brother-in-law,
with whom the latter lived,
was talking with Colonel Billy Ferguson
on the subject of haunts, in which
Burns was a strong believer. Ferguson
hooted the Idea. Burns told him of
Mosie's case, and Ferguson laughed
the tale to scorn, offering to wager that
he could keep him at home. Old Mr.
Burns insisted that it was supernatural,
and proposed that Ferguson should
go some night and make the trial. Colonel
Ferguson was eager to do so, and
a night In the next week was agreed
on for the purpose.
Punctually the two met at Gabble's
house, and having announced to the
family the cause and object of their
visit, the family, at the usual hour, retired
to the other room of the cabin,
and left the old gentlemen to their
watch in the room with Mosie. Time
wore on rather slowly, as time watched,
usually does, and Ferguson, a little
weary, reclined himself upon a chair
which he placed down before the fire,
resting his back and head against this
hard pillow, but still chatting with
Burns, who, too, had sought a recumbent
position, by lying across the foot
of Mosie's bed, which was standing
near the fire. Conversation grew more
tedious and labored: they had no candle:
the blaze of the fire flickered uncertainly,
and the old men, before they
knew it, and certainly against all their
intentions, fell into a doze. All was
still, when the quiet of night was
broken by a horrible shriek from Mosie
Gabble, as if he were possessed of
numberless fiends. Colonel Ferguson
was fully aroused in a moment, and
sprang from the floor to his feet. Old
Mr. Burns, too, was awakened, but
rose more slowly from where he was
lying. Seeing Burns rise from the bed,
Ferguson, in the excitement of the moment,
and the dim, uncertain light,
mistook him for Mosie Gabble and
mounted him, determined to prevent
his escape. Poor old Mr. Burns, horror-stricken,
thought the witch had
chosen to mount a new horse and was
on him; and in the agony of apprehension,
rushed under the bed. It was not
very long until the double mistake was
discovered; but meanwhile, during the
scuffle, Mosie was up and gone till daylight,
when he returned, haggard and
burred as usual. I do not know that
Ferguson was a convert to Burns's
opinion, but he never could be induced
to make another effort to keep the
witch from her ride and Mosie was left
to his fate for five years.
One day I was passing Sam Wright's
hotel In Yorkville,' when I noticed a
crowd of people in the house and yard.
It was not a public day, and my curiosity
was a good deal excited as to the
cause of the assemblage, and I concluded
to go In and see. Enquiring of some of
the crowd, I was Informed that the celebrated
Dr. Brindle, from Llncolnton,
North Carolina, a witch-doctor, was In
the house to prescribe for all who needed
his services; and, furthermore, that
the day before, he had cured Mosie
Gabble. Old Burns, who always kindly
took great Interest in the poor lad,
heard of Dr. Brindle and his great success
In like instances, and went to
North Carolina to see him. The doctor
said, with confidence, he could cure
Gabble, and agreed to return with old
Mr. Burns to try It. A large numoer
of persons?probably 50?from the
neighborhood, gathered In to see how
the doctor would proceed In the matter.
The first step of the physician was to
administer an emetic, which caused
Mosie to eject from his stomach crooked
pins, needles, hair balls, etc. This
was attested by many persons who
were present, who, In telling the tale,
would say they were willing to swear
on the Bible they saw him throw up
this trash. After this, a black cat,
which had been procured for the purpose,
was tied to a chair, a switch of
dead hog-weed was provided, and the
doctor gave the cat nine "clips." Mosie
then taking the switch, gave the cat
the same number of strokes, then waited
nine minutes and resumed the feline
castlgation, striking a different number
of times, and pausing a longer or shorter
period, but always by odd numbers.
The doctor told them that the witch
who rode Mosie, would, by this means,
be brought to the house and ask for
some trifling favor, and would be In
great distress of mind and not leave
until the favor was granted. They
continued the discipline of the black
cat until late In the afternoon, when,
sure enough, up walked old Mrs. Biggert,
as the doctor had predicted,
though as Mrs. Burns said, she had
not been In the yard for years before.
On this visit she asked for some little
thing, perhaps a pitcher of buttermilk,
which being refused, she seemed In the
greatest trouble and hung around Instead
of leaving. f
This seemed a singular fact for those
present. By a little sleight-of-hand the
needles, pins and hair-balls might have
been so manipulated as to deceive them,
but the presence of old Mrs. Blggert
was unmistakable. Late In the evening
Mrs. Burns gave her what she wanted,
whereupon the old creature expressed
great delight and trudged off home.
From that hour Mosle Gabble was free
from the spell, and slept In his bed all
night like other folks.
After this ower tale, I, even, must
test the conjurer, and went Into the
room at Mr. Wright's to see him. Advancing,
I told him, I wanted to know
If he could cure a pain in my arm. "O,
yes, he could make It well." Taking
my hand so as to extend my arm to a
right Inclination, he passed his hand
quickly down the length of my arm
from shoulder to wrist, and with a
flourish, as he passed the extremity of
my fingers, said, "in!?out!" with each
manipulation; and repeating It three
Mmoa nrnnnilnr>oH me well. T eertalnlv
was, for my ache was entirely feigned.
I paid my quarter for the manoeuvre
very willingly, having satisfied my curiosity,
and amused myself awhile
longer watching him with others.
When I finished my tale, Mr. Elliott
said, 'Do you think any one could believe
such a tissue of absurdity?"
"Yes," was my reply; "many, before
your revelations of mesmerism." "Oh!
no," he insisted. We were walking up
the hill at Glenn's Springs, and I pointed
to a group of men sitting In front of
the store-door talking politics and
news while waiting for the mail. I
proposed we should join them and repeat
our narrations, predicting I would
have the most believers. He willingly
agreed, and joining the crowd, I introduced
the topic. He talked well, and
they were much entertained. When he
was done, I said it reminded me of a
case, I'd heard of in York, and told
them of "Mosie Gabble." When I was
done, I asked, "Now, gentlemen, if you
were bound to believe one story or the
other, which would it be?" "The witch
story," was the reply of all. Mr. Elliott
with his true courtesy, laughed at the
confirmation of my statement. Now,
probably as memerism is no longer
new, he would find as many believers
as I.
- ? . ? n
[TO BE CONTINUED NEXT BATUKDAX.J
Story of Dr. Carlisle.?The following
incident is related by a correspondent
of The Plain Dealer in the South.
It is told of Dr. James H. Carlisle, the
venerable president of Wofford college,
South Carolina, and counsellor of the
great Chatauqua system, with headquarters
in this city.
When ten years old, young Carlisle
was attending a typical country school
of the old South, under the manage- ?ment
of a typical teacher of the time,
a stern and scholarly old gentleman.
One day little James found considerable
difficulty in some of his work, and
his teacher, becoming impatient, took
the boy's slate and writing upon it the
words, "I am a fool," gave It to the
little fellow saying: "Here, James sign
your name to that."
The learned pedagogue proceeded
with the other lessons; but on coming
back to his young charge after a time
noticed that the name had not been
written. Becoming angry he demanded
in thundering tones, "James Carlisle,
why did you not sign your name
to that, sir?" And little James Car- /
lisle slipped from his place on the high,
rough, old bench, and looking his /
teacher squarely in the eye, replied: /
"Because it is a lie, sir!" /
A