Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

8 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.