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THE OLD SEVIER RTBLE
Annice Sebicr Lybarger.
I opened it —the old and time-worn
800k —
And then, as on a scroll,
The Past, its scenes and thrilling
dramas, seemed
All slowly to unroll.
The curtain of the ages moved aside,
And there, in shadowy guise,
The brave Kings Mountain hero, John
Sevier,
Gazed down with dreamful eyes.
CHAT.
While trying (in my story now run
ning in The Golden Age) to portray
the conflict between the spirits of
light and of darkness in a woman’s
breast, I was constantly reminded of a
noted Southern woman—Charlotte
Crampton—whose entire life was a
stormy battle between the forces of
good and evil.
Born in Kentucky, I believe; gifted
and ambitious, she was induced to
seek a career on the stage. She made
her debut when she was only fifteen,
and took the stage-world by storm.
She possessed great magnetism and
fire of soul. She was kind hearted- and
had noble impulses, but no self-control.
She formed passionate resolves to lead
a worthy life, then yielded weakly to
temptation. She threw away her
money and her affections, disappointed
her managers and disgraced her pro
fession.
In her day of beauty and glory she
had hosts of admirers and flatterers.
Yet when excesses had marred her
radiant brunette beauty, and riotous
extravagance had brought poverty
upon her, how many of her numerous
men worshippers, on whom she had
lavished smiles and money, came to
her aid? Not one. It was a woman,
the mother of an eminent lawyer, now
living in Boston, who came to the
rescue of Charlotte Crampton. Tins
good woman supported her, inspired
her to reform and aided her to get
honorable work as a teacher of French
and Latin. She became a member of
the Church, a member of the Tem
perance Association.' Her fiery, mag
netic temperance speeches drew im
mense crowds to Hanover Chapel, in
Boston, where they were delivered.
But alas! the spirits of evil would
not give up their hold on a being so
fitted to work for good—or for ill.
They found the unsound spot in her
make-up. The moral cancer broke out
again. Charlotte Crampton went back
to the stage and the wine-cup. There
after her life was a series of fitful
gleams and dark eclipses. She played
Pizarro with brilliant success; she
played Mazeppa with magnificent
abandonment. One night, after play
ing this thrilling drama of Byron’s,
she was so wrought up with wine and
enthusiasm that she leaped her horse
into the street and rode at break-neck
speed through Boston in her scant
Mazeppa garb, followed by a howling
mob.
Her last appearance on the stage
was in Louisville, Ky., when she
played the Queen in Hamlet, in sup
port of John McCullough. Her last
words on the stage: “The drink! the
drink! It is poisoned!” Significant
words on the lips of one whose life
had been made a failure in a great
measure through drink-
She died in Louisville, Ky., in 1895,
THE HOUSEHOLD
A Department of Expression For Those Who Feel and Think,
cSSJ
A nobleman of Nature—strong of
soul,
Tender of heart was he —
His image lives again in native stone,
Guarding his Tennessee.
Ah! ancient Bible! holy memories
Make fragrant all thy leaves —
Memories that moan upon me when
the wind
Os Autumn softly grieves.
Kingston, Tenn.
destitute and almost friendless. In her
last days she is said to have earnestly
repented and prayed for redemption.
Let us hope that her strongly assailed
and tempted soul was at the last in
the mastery .of good, and not of evil.
Among the redeeming traits in her
character was mother love. She was
devoted to her only son, and when he
entered the army of the Civil War, as
a boy soldier, she followed him as a
vivandiere, and ministered to the
wounded on battlefields and the sick
and dying in the hospitals.
The greatest battles on earth are
those fought by the human soul
against its evil assailants. “Deliver
us from evil,” was the prayer the Mas
ter put on the lips of men. It is a
prayer daily needed. Evil comes every
day in some form; trivial it may
seem, but little yieldings weaken
character. Every house of life has its
weak door, and this door evil is sure
to find.
TTClitb Our Correspondents
WHAT MATTIE CAN DO.
The last copy of The Golden Age is
especially interesting. The editor
and his wife’s runaway trip read like
a romance, and our Mater’s account
of her anxiety for "Fritz” thrilled me
with interest. Yes, I feel like her lit
• tie boy as I used to read of him in her
talks is an acquaintance, the more so
because at the same time I had under
my care two boys about the age of
Fritz, or Fred. Their names were
Ben, one a cousin and one a brother.
They are grown men now and have
traveled almost over the world, but I
think are settled now.
Annie Peavey’s letter was also quite
interesting. I hope Mattie Beverage
will be cured, but, like Annie Peavey,
I would say to her not to despair if
she is not. Sometimes one can accom
plish more good in an invalid state
than if perfectly well. She can go
back to her country home, redeem her
church, build up a Sunday-school and
societies, and perhaps, in the course
of time, a town will grow up from her
beginning a good work. Then she
will make so many friends, and, no
doubt, her life will be full of happi
ness. It makes me feel ashamed when
I think how often I have absented my
self from church and edifying enter
tainments when I read how our shut
ins appreciate going the few times
they have the opportunity.
Dear Mater, excuse me this time
from writing more, as a wave of sor
row has again swept over me —a grief
I feel deeply. My oldest and wisest
sister has recently died. How I recall
her many kindnesses in caring for me
almost like a mother! How she coun
seled me and directed my studies and
reading, and assisted me when child.-
The Golden Age for November 10, 1910.
hood departed and womanhood
dawned on my innocent, unsophisti
cated nature! She led a grand life
and left children who saw no fault in
her, and grandchildren to remember
her as the kindest and best of grand
mothers.
Faithfully,
MUDA HETNUR.
*
MY JOURNEY TO OKLAHOMA
CITY.
My Dear, Kind Friends: I am back
once more in my little home among
the Arkansas mountains, after my
journey to the big city in Oklahoma
and my stay in the city. It was a
wonderful journey to me, and I can
never sufficiently thank the noble
friends who enabled me to have this
grand break in my shut-in life. For,
though one of ray experiences was
bitter —how bitter only God knows —
yet others were so sweet, so grand,
that they will be a comfort to me as
long as I live.
You have shown such a kind inter
est in me that I want to tell you all
about my trip, though I am afraid I
shall make the story too long. I
wanted to write to you while I was in
Oklahoma City, but I was kept going
all the time by my kind friends and
relatives, and I was never alone.
You know that through the kind
ness of two friends, whose names
I wish I were allowed to tell,
and through the mortgage of my
little church-house I had enough
money to take me to Oklahoma
City to see the two surgeon spe
cialists who were to examine me and
find out if I could be cured. My
cousin, Dr. J. M. Postelle, of Oklahoma
City, whom I had never seen, had
written to me about these specialists
and told me if I could pay my fare to
the city and back, ray stay there and
the examination and treatment should
cost me nothing. He wrote again that
he had engaged a nice room for me
in a private house. He would have me
in his own home, he said, but all the
rooms had been rented out except
those occupied by his family.
I can not tell you how happy I was
that this great opportunity had come
to me. I thought and dreamed about
it all the time. I felt sure —almost
sure —God meant for me to be cured
and made able to earn my living and
help my dear old grandmother, who
has devoted herself to caring for me.
And when I found that I was not to
leave her —that she was going with
me —my cup of joy was full. She had
been saving up a little money for a
long time to go to see her daughter in
Wellman, Okla. She had not seen her
for thirteen years. She said I must
not go by myself, so she took this
money, and, by making some great
sacrifices and selling some things she
prized very much, she had enough to
pay her fare. Then we had a surprise.
My father and brother said it would
not do for two helpless people (grand
mother is seventy-three) to go off like
that. So they managed to arrange for
my sister May to go with us. My sis
ter is seventeen years old and very
sweet and kind. She lives with my
father, not far from grandmother’s
home. She and grandmother cooked
up enough provisions to last us during
our journey in the wagon—forty-five
miles to the railroad station, where we
would take the train. My brother
drove us in his wagon. I had a nice
seat fixed for me in the bottom, and
m.y sister sat by me and held me to
prevent my being thrown out when the
wagon jolted over the rough, rocky
road.
Soon we were on our way. It was
a bright, beautiful morning, and I was
so happy, looking around at the chang
ing scenery. We drove up hill and
down (some of the hills were like
mountains), and into green little val
leys, with clear streams running
through them. There were prairie
lands, level and grassy, and little, pic
turesque houses, looking out from
trees and orchards.
We crossed an iron bridge, and I
had my first sight of a river. How
grand it looked, rolling below us!
Also, I saw a steamboat in the dis
tance.
At noon we stopped beside a large
creek and ate our lunch and fed and
watered the horses. I was very tired
when we stopped at nightfall, and the
horses were unharnessed and we
made a fire and fried some meat and
made coffee. We stopped near a
house, and the man of the house came
out to our camp and proved to be an
old friend of grandmother’s. He in
vited us to stay all night in his home,
which we were glad to do. We were
up and on our way at daybreak, for
we did not wish to miss the train that
was due at the station at 11 o’clock.
We arrived there in ample time and
stayed in the waiting-room until we
heard the whistle of the approaching
train. That whistle —how it thrilled
me! And when the great engine
came rushing up, my heart gave a
bound and I trembled a little, but I
kept calm while brother took me in
his arms and carried me in the cars.
I looked at grandmother. She was
quite brave, though she had never
been on a train before, and soon she
was so delighted. I had a seat by an
open window, and oh! how I enjoyed it
all! I seemed to have wings and to
be flying across the beautiful world.
I looked at the quick-changing pic
tures until it grew dark, and then
there were the beautiful stars.
At 10 o’clock that night we stopped
in Claremore to change cars. We had
to wait in the station-room until 3:30
o’clock. We were very sleepy, but
afraid to go to sleep lest we should
miss getting on the cars. I was glad
indeed when the train came and we
could try to sleep a little. The railroad
people -were very kind, taking me on
the cars.
At 9:50 o’clock next morning we ar
rived at our destination. As the train
steamed up, with clanging bells, to the
depot of Oklahoma City, and we made
our way to the waiting-room, we
looked over the sea of faces, but could
not see one that we knew, or meet an
eye that seemed to be looking for us.
My cousin, Dr. Postelle, had written
that he would meet us. He had never
seen us, but would know our party by
ray helpless condition.
We waited for some time, and were
tired and hungry, so I remembered
that I had two nice lady correspond
ents who knew of my expecting to
come, and that they had written me
they lived within a block of the house
in which Dr. Postelle had engaged a
room for me. I told grandmother, and
she engaged a cab to take us to my
friends. Then we were soon rolling
along the bright, busy streets of the
beautiful city and seeing the cars and
the automobiles whizzing past us. It
was just splendid. I never dreamed
that the world was such a grand, busy
place.
We arrived at my friend’s home, and
