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YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT.
THE PILGRIM.
A CHRISTMAS LEGEND FOB CHILDBED.
Tho Bli&dos of night were brooding
O’er the *e», the earth, the «ky ;
The passing winds were wailing
In a low unearthly sigh;
The darkness gathered deeper,
For no starry light was shed.
And silenoe reigned unbroken
As the silence of the dead.
*, ' ' ’ 'ft
The wintry clouds were hanging
From the starless sky so low*,
While ’neath them earth lay folded
In a winding sh*'ct of snow.
’Twas cold— ’twas dark —’twas dreary
And the blast that swept along
■ The mountains, hoarsely murmured
A fierce, discordant song.
And mortal men were resting
From the turmoil of the day,
And broken hearts were dreaming
Os the friends long passed away,
And saintly men were keeping
Their vigils through the night,
While angel spirits hovered near,
Around their lonely light.
And wicked men were sinning
In the midnight banquet halls,
Forgetful of that sentence traced
On proud Ikitthazar’s walls.
Ou that night so dark and dismal,
Unillumed by faintest ray,
Might be seen a lonely Pilgrim,
Wending ou his darksome way.
Slow his steps, for he was weary,
And betimes he paused to rest;
Then he rose, and, passing onward,
Murmured lowly : “I must hast*.
In his hand he held a chaplet,.
And his lips they moved in prayer,
For the darkness and the silence
Seemed to whisper, God was there.
On the lonely pilgrim journeyed,
Nought disturbed him on his way,
And his prayers he softly murmured,
As the midnight stole away.
Hark! amid the stillness, rise3
On his ears a distant strain.
Softly sounding—now it ceases—
Sweetly now it comes again.
In his path he paused to wonder,
While he listened to the sound;
On it came, so sweet, so pensive,
’Mid the blast that howled around.
And the restless winds seemed soothed
By that music, gentle, mild,
And they slept, as when a mother
Rocks to rest her cradled child.
Strange and sweet the calm that followed,
Stealing through the midnight air ;
Strange and sweet the sounds that floated
Like an angel breathing there.
From the sky the clouds were drifting
Swiftly one by one away,
And the twinkling stars were shedding
Here and there a silver ray.
“Why this change?” the pilgrim whispered—
“Whenco that music ? whence its power i
Earthly sounds are not so lovely!
Angels love the midnight hour 1 ”
Bending o’er his staff, he wondered,
Loth to leave this sacred place;
“I must hasten,” said he sadly—
On he pressed with quickened paoe.
Just before him rose a mountain,
Dark its outline, steep its side—
Down its slopes that midnight music
Seemed so soothingly to glide.
“I will find it,” said the pilgrim,
“Though this mountain I must scale.”
Scarcely said than on his vision
Shone a distant light, and pale.
Glad he was, and now he hastened—
Brighter, brighter grew the ray—
Stronger, stronger, swelled the music,
As he struggled on his way.
Soon he gained the mountain summit,
Lo! a church bursts on his view;
From the church that light was flowing.
And that gentle music, too.
Near ho came—its door stood open—
Still he stood in awe and fear;
“Shall I enter spot so holy ?
Am I unforbidden here ?
I will enter—something bids me—
Saintly men are praying here;
Vigils sacred they are keeping,
’Tis their matin song I hear.”
Softly, noiselessly, he glided
Through the portal—on liis sight
Shone a vision, bright , strange, thrilling.
Down he knelt—’twas Christmas flight—
Down, in deepest adoration,
Knelt the lonely pilgrim there;
Joy unearthly, rapture holy,
Blended with his whispered prayer.
Wrapped his senses were in wonder,
On liis soul an awe profound,
As the vision burst upon him,
’Mid sweet light and sweeter sound.
“Is it veal? is it earthly?
Is it all a fleeting dream ?
Hark! those choral voices ringing,
Lo! those forms like angels seem.’
On his view there rose an altar,
Glittering ’mid a thousand beams,
Flowing from the burning tapers
In bright, sparkling, silver streams.
From unnumbered crystal vases,
Rose and bloomed the fairest flowers,
Shedding round their balmy fragrance,
’Mid the lights in sweetest showers.
Rich and gorgeous was the altar,
Decked it was in purest white.
Mortal hands had not arrayed it
Thus upon that Christmas night.
Amid its lights and lovely flowers,
The little Tabernacle stood—
Around it all was rich and golden,
It alone was poor and rude.
Hark! Venite Adoremut !
Round the golden altar sounds—
See that band of angels kneeling
Prostrate, with their sparkling crowns!
And the Pilgrim looked and listened.
And he saw the angela there,
And their mow-white winga were folded,
As they bent in silent prayer.
Twelve they were—bright rays of glory
Round their brows effulgent shone;
But a wreath of nobler beauty
Seemed to grace and circle on*;
And he, beauteous, rose and opened
Wide the Tabernacle door :
Hark! Venitt Adoremut”
P.i6es—bending, they adore.
Lo! a sound of censers swinging!
Clouds of incense weave around
The altars rich a silver mantle,
As the angels’ hymns resound.
List! Venite Adorcmus
Swells aloud in stronger strain.
And the angels swing the censers,
And they prostrate bend again.
Tusing now, with voice of rapture,
Bursts aloud, in thrilling tone,
“Gloria in Excel sis Deo,”
Round the sacramental throne.
Oh, ’twas sweet, ’twas sweet and charming,
As the notes triumphant flowed!
Oh, ’twas sweet, while wreaths of incens*
Curled, and countless tapers glowed.
Oh, ’twas grand! that hymn of glory
Earthly sounds cannot compare;
Oh, ’twas grand! it breathed of heaven,
As the angels sung it there.
Ravished by the strains ecstatic.
Raptured by the vision grand,
Gazed the Pilgrim on the altar,
Gazed upon the angel band.
All was hushed! the floating echoes
Os the hymn had died away;
Vanished were the clouds of incense,
And the censers ceased to sway.
Lo! their wings are gently waving,
And the angels softly rise,
Bending towards the Tabernacle,
Worship beaming from their eyes.
Ono last lowly genuflection!
From their brows love burning shone —
Ah, they’re going, they’ve departed,
All but ono, the brightest one.
“Why remains ho ?” thought the Pilgrim,
Ah! he rises beauteously—
“ Listen!” and the angel murmured
Sweetly: “Pilgrim, hail to thee!”
“Come uuto this golden altar,
I’m an angel—banish fear—
Come, unite in adoration
With me, for our God is here.
Gome! thy Jesus here reposes,
Come! He’ll bless thy mortal sight—
Come! adore the Infant Saviour
With me—for ’tis Christmas night.”
Now approached the Pilgrim, trembling.
Now beside the angel bent,
And the doepest, blissful gladness,
With his fervent worship blent.
“Pilgrim,” said the Spirit, softly,j
“Thou hast seen bright angels here,
And hast heard our sacred anthems,
Filled with rapture, filled with fear.
“We are twelve—’twas we who chanted
First the Saviour’s lowly birth,
We who brought the joyful tidings
Os His coming, to the earth;
Wc who sung unto the Shepherds,
Watching on the mountain height,
’That the Word was made Incarnate,
For on that blessed night.
“And since then we love to linger,
On that festal night on earth,
And wc leave our thrones of glory
Here to keep the Saviour’s birth.
Happy mortals! happy mortals!
To-night the angels would be men;
Ah! they’d leave their thrones in Heaven
For the crib of Bethlehem !”
And tho angel leu the Pilgrim
To the Tabernacle door;
Lo, an infant there was sleeping,
And the Angel said “Adore!
“He is sleeping, yet He watches,
See that beam of love divine,
Pilgrim ! pay your worship holy
To your Infant Gan, and mine!”
And the Spirit slowly, slowly,
Closed the Tabernacle door,
While the Pilgrim lowly, lowly,
Bent In rapture to adore.
“Pilgrim,” spoke the Angel sweetly,
“1 must bid thee my adieu;
Love! oh, love the Infant Jesus!”
And he vanished from his view.
* * * * * * =* *
All was silent— fil ? t —silent—
Faded was the vision bright—
But the Pilgrim long remembered,
In his heart, tk t cla-Stmas night.
David J. Rya>\
Extraordinary Heroism of a Boy.—
The llev. E. J. ! ’oclr, the Bishop of New
foundland’s Commonry, relates an heroic
incident furnished him irom that colony ;
“A poor boy, whose name no one knows,
but we may hope that it is in the Book ot
Life, found three little children who, like
himself, had been washed ashore from one
of the many wrecks, wandering along
that dreary coast in the driving sleet.
They were crying bitterly, having been
parted from their parents, and not know
ing whether they were drowned or saved.
The poor lad took them to a sheltered
spot, plucked moss for them, and made
them a rude but soft bed, and then taking
off his own coat to cover them, sat by
them all the night long, soothing their
terror until they fell asleep. In the
morning, leaving them still sleeping, he
went in search of the parents, and, to his
great joy, found them looking for their
children, whom they had given up for
dead. He directed them where to find
them and then went on himself to try
to find some place of shelter and refresh
ment. But when the parents were re
turning with their recovered little ones,
they found their preserver lying quite
dead upon the snow, not far from where
they parted with him. The long expo
sure in his exhausted state was too much
for his little strength, and having saved
his little charge—a stranger to them and
they to.liim —he lay down to die. ’
ENIGMA —No 11.
I am composed of 16 letters.
My 7,8, 14, 2,4, no one can do with.
out, .
My 10, 3,4, 9,2, is a useful animal.
My 8. 13, 12. 2,9, is a girl’s name.
Mv 12, 11, 13, 6,4, is a river in Africa.
My 1,6, 15, 4, 13,11, 8, is a Southern
State. .
My 4,8, 14, is a troublesome animal.
My 8, 11, 16, is what we all should
avoid.
My whole is a name which should be
dear to every American.
Minnie.
g*' Joseph's Academy, Columbus, Ga., April , ISCS.
ENIGMA—No. 12.
I am composed of 16 letters.
My 4, 11, 3,2, is the name of a girl.
My 1,5, 10, 13, is part of a tree.
My 9,2, 5, 10, is what Southern hearts
never felt.
My 16, 7, 12, 2, is a number.
My 15, is a pronoun.
My 13, 7, 14, 16, is an oven for baking
bricks.
My G, 11, 10, 13, is the name of one
of the Evangelists.
My 9, 11, 6,2, is what we all possess.
My whole was a celebrated American
philosopher. Katie.
,S lt, Joseph’s Academy, Columbus, Ga., April, 1808.
Answers to Last Week’s Enigmas
No. 10 : Stonewall Jackson—Saone —To-
kat—Ocean—Nantes —Etna—Western
—A tl an t a—L a ssa—Le n a—J e sso —Atlas
Canton—Kelat—Saale—Oesel —Nelson.
F. X. R.
J. I). S., Augusta, Ga., and M.—Your
answers to Enigma No. 10 are correct.
+♦»
For the Banner of the South.
THE HISTORY OF THE “COLORED EGGS.”
[concluded.]
“ You have not told us your name yet,”
said the Countess.
“My name is Louis Granville; my
mother is a widow, while my father has
gone to the Crusades.”
“All! there are many such widows,”
said the Countess, with a sigh; for she
had been wailing a long time for the re
turn of her lord from the Crusades.
“ lam going to look for news from
now, that her heart may be cheered,”
and a tear glimmered in his eye.
“God shield you, my precious boy;
and bless your mother with a return of
good tidings. How far are you going ?”
“lam going to travel on towards the
East, till I can hear something certain
about them.”
“ How could your mother consent for
you to go all alone ?”
“ My mother felt afraid for rue to go at
first; but when she knew that I had made
a vovena of prayer to the Blessed
that I might be allowed to go forth, and
to bestow upon me strength to find my
father, she said I might go,”
“ And you feel strong in mind and in
body ?
“ Oh, yes, strong; and I know, that the
strength is given me. Never mind how
wearv I feel, if I rest a few moments I
am strong again.”
“And have you any safeguards with
you :
“ Oh, yes, my lady,” he said, rising
up. “My mother placed her own ‘ Agnus
Dei’ around my neck, and gave me her
own ‘ rosary.’ When she gave it to me,
she said : ‘ This is the safest and best
o-uard I can mvc you, my boy; and now,
may the blessing of the Father, and of
the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, rest upon
you, my loving boy.* ”
His lips quivered as he said these last
words; and he traced upon his brow,
his breast, and his shoulders, the holy
sign of the Cross.
lie was about taking up his bundle to
depart, when the Countess said to him :
“ Stop one moment, and I will give
you something to carry with you.”
She took two eggs from the basket,
and gave to him. One was blue and the
other red, and were marked with writing,
in plain characters.
The eggs which the Countess chose for
him, had these designs, which she read
as she gave them to him. One was, “Go
forth, walking humbly before God and
tbe next was, “ Thou art a messenger; he
vigilant.”
“ Thank you, my lady,” said Louis.
“ I will put them in my breast-pocket,
and read them each day, when I stop to
rest by the roadside.”
He bade farewell to the Countess, and
her children, and left a blessing, such as
sweet, good children always leave behind
them.
Pleasant recollecti ms blended with a
gracious love, as if an angel had folded
her wings at their side, and rested long
enough to leave a hallowed remembrance.
He went on, diligently keeping the
highway. His heart never failed him
once, though he encountered many diffi.
cultics.
He would often be asked by travellers:
“ And where are you going, my little
man
“ I am going to seek news of my father,
who has gone to the Crusades,” he would
reply.
“ Ab, 3’ou will have to go a long jour
ney to hear that, my lad.”
“Oh, I well meet somebody coming
from that way some day.”
“Well, God bless you, my child ; go
on.”
No robbers troubled him, because he
was a little boy, with nothing but a small
bundle.
Wherever he travelled, someone would
ask him to stop and refresh himself. In
deed, more than once, as Providence
would have it, Louis had been a guest in
castles with lords and ladies. But the
child kept in continued remembrance the
object of liis mission, and the words on
his egg : “ Thou art a messenger; bo vigi
lant,” and he would delay no longer than
his necessities required.
His eggs, lie showed to them all; told
them where he received them, and how
much that message had strengthened
him on his journey.
The Countess, and her way of coloring
eggs, thus became widely known, and
great numbers followed her example.
One day he seated himself on the road
side by a spring, hollowed out of a roek,
to eat liis lunch, which a good old lady
had given him in the morning.
After eating, he drew his eggs from his
pocket, and read them one after the other.
He thought of the day he left his mother’s
roof, and began this long journey. Glad
lie was that he did not know then how
long it was; because, his heart might
have failed him. It was hard for him to
realize that he would meet any one who
would tell him of his father ; but the
Blessed Virgin had told him so—he said
to himself-—and he knew lie wciuld ?wt
(rave! in vain to the end of liis journey.
Could a voice have told him that his jour
ney was nearly ended, the fact could not
have been clearer than it was. A horse
man was almost touching him, while he,
in deep thought, nearly bowed his head
upon his hand, that held the egg.
“ Halloo ! my little lad ! Is there any
water in that spring ?”
Louis turned liis head, and there was a
mounted warrior. He was from the wars!
A Crusader !
“ Oh, sir! the Blessed Virgin’s bless
ing be upon you! There is plenty of
water in the spring.”
“ Then, here 1 will rest for a while, till
my men come up with me.”
“ They are not far off, are they, sir ?
Let me take your horse, while you rest
on this seat.”
The child jumped up, and as he did so,
one of his eggs, that lie had not secured
in his hurry, rolled down on the grass at
his feet.
“ Oh, give me that egg to look at. It
reminds me of home, from which 1 have
not heard one word since I went away.”
“It was given to me,” said Louis.
The warrior took up the egg, and cx
amined it, and said :
11 I never saw such eggs, anywhere but
at my home; and this is certainly rny
wife’s handwriting. Tell me quickly—
where did you receive them ?”
“ At the*Castle of Colombiere.”
“My own borne 1” said the warrior.
“ Did you see the Countess ? Say—and
the children ?”
“ All, my Lord—all arc there.”
« There was an Plaster feast for the
children, was there not V
“ Yes, my Lord; and they saw me
going by, and invited me to partake,
which I did; and, when leaving, the
Countess gave me these eggs.”
“By the blessing of the Holy Virgin,
I have received this token at your hands.
I sincerely thank her for putting the de
sign of the colored eggs into the heart of
my wife. She shows her blessing by
this divine direction.”
“ Oil, that they would convey a bless
ing to my own dear mother, as they have
to you, sir. She is sick, and in sorrow,
till I return with news from the war.”
“ What is your name, my boy ?”
“ My name is Louis Granville.”
“ Granville ! He is a noble scion of
a once noble house ! His name stands
hich among the warriors of the Crusade.
He fought like a lion, under the banner
of the Cross, and returns to his home
with many honorable scars.”
“ Where is he, sir ?”
“ He is with those who are coming on.”
“Oh, my mother ! my mother ! how
happy will you be ; and how we will bless
tbe Virgin Mary for the colored eggs.”
“Your journey from home ends here,
my boy. When the rest come up, we
will go on towards home, with light hearts,
knowing from this little sign,” holding
out the egg, “ that we are under divine
guidance. I was looking for you, and
you were looking for me, without know
ing it ourselves.”
WIT AND HUMOR.
At a public school exhibition in a
Michigan village, one of the visitors made
a brief address to the pupils, on the ne
cessity of obeying their teachers and
growing up loyal and useful citizens. To
give emphasis to his remarks, lie pointed
to a large national flag, spread on one side
of the room, and inquired, “boys, what is
that flag for ?” A little urchin promptly
answered, “to cover up the dirt, sir,”
Kratsalatt’s wife discovered her old lien
sitting in the back yard, and “bust up
her nest.” Soon after the poor wife came
in, much excited, and said, “My dear
Kratsalatt, I took the eggs from Brownie,
and she has gone and sat onto an old
meat axe.” ‘ Let her set,” said the
billious old fellow, “if she sets on an axe
maybe she'll hatchet!”
When a good wife bad prepared an ex
cellent dinner for her husband, and he
declared lie liked it, she said, “Well, kiss
me, then.” “Oh, never mind that, my
dear,” was his reply, “the necessaries of
life we must have, but the luxuries we
can dispense with.”
A gentleman, on leaving a hotel, where
he had been stopping several days, re
warded the attention of an obliging ser
vant with a gratuity. “Ah!” said the
grateful Pat, “long may your honor live,
and may I make your tires hereafter !”
The Troy Times, alluding to the state
ment that this is the year for the return
of the seventeen-year locusts, says : “So
is every year for that matter. The fact
seems to be that there are seventeen
kinds of locusts, and they come round in
turns.”
Fowl culture is receiving attention in
Paris. “I've got a henery,” lately saida
great lad}’ to her cousin. “Dear me."
said the cousin, “I thought his name was
Charles.”
The late Archbishop of Dublin, making
one day a very small joke, all the com
pany laughed heartily, except a certain
popular author, who was present. Ilis
grace, somewhat nettled at the very se
rious countenance preserved by the hu
morist, remarked, “1 don’t, think you see
what I mean.” “Oh, yes, I do,” was the
reply; but the living my brother is seek
ing is not in your diocese ”
The Boston Post, describing the ar
rangements of the Dickens banquet, say.-1
Opposite the door, on an elevated plat
form, and ruuning lengthwise of the room,
was the table to feed the “big guns;” an 1
extending at right angles fVoin this were
seven other tables, for the “small bores.
The hog may not he thoroughly posted
in arithmetic, but when you come to
square root he is there —the hog is.