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About The banner of the South. (Augusta, Ga.) 1868-1870 | View Entire Issue (June 13, 1868)
:Iu railroad, was but a few miles in the rear. And now. while the servant has gone cm his errand, and the surgeon and nurse are dressing the wound, and laving the tace of the battle smoke, blood and grime, suppose we give a short account of the previous life of the young hero lying here before us, and rapidly traveling the pat h way which leads beyond the portals vi an other world. [to nr: continued.] AUNT GAMALIEL. A TRUE NARRATIVE. Candidly, 1 do not believe in ghosts. Nevertheless, I had a strange experience connected with my father's death, and my aunt, which might be sufficient excuse for me if I did. Cut 1 do not like unhesita tingly to attribute to the supernatural that which is simply beyond rny comprehension of the workings of Nature. We know so very little of the ways of Nature at most, and, as the world grows wiser, we find so many appearances, long held to be super natural, explaining themselves by natural laws, 1 hat it seems like presumptive egotism to say, this or that is past Nature’s explain ing. when it is only past mine. I have ail idea that all authentic ghost stories consist of incidents not in themselves unnatural in the proportion of one part, and of deduc tions wrongly made from those incidents, under the mistaken idea of their being supernatural, in the proportion of two parts. For this reason, I prefer relating the exact incidents of my experience with out any ghostly deductions therefrom. A lien I was a girl of eighteen, a merry young Jewess, proud of my good looks, I ■.vent to London to pay a visit to my aunt, Mrs. Gamaliel. She was a cross old thing, my aunC and always wore a morose-look ing stuff dress of dark brown, which matched her humor. Iler heavy intluence seemed to brood over me, as if she were mentally sitting on me (and she was a heavy woman, mentally aud bodily, too). She kept my spirits down. She ponder ously oppressed my mind. She looked upon me as a “grig” of a girl, because I was lively and cheerful, and always up braided me with being flippant. If I am flippant still, it is a good deal owing to the rigidness with which my aunt endeavored to weed out from my mind every disposi tion not in accordance with her own. I cultivated the weed in my mind to annoy her when she would tain have rooted up weeds and flowers indiscriminately. 1 had left my father at home in CE.il minster in good health—that is to say, for him, ns for years lie had been obliged to keep very quiet, on account of an affection of the heart, which, the doctors said, might at any time suddenly prove fatal, or might not interfere with his attaining the pre scribed years of threescore and ten. There was nothing in his state whatever to alarm me when 1 left, and the accounts I received of his health since my stay in London had been continually favorable. 1 had remained over two months in Lon don ; my visit was drawing to a close, and 1 was looking forward to returning home as a pleasurable relief from my aunt. My bedroom was on the first door. I entered :t one Tuesday night without the least dis position to gloomy foreboding of any kind, uml went to bed in my usual cheerfulness, it a shade of regret passed through my mind, it was, at most, because a very nice young fellow J had flirted with at the last hall 1 attended, had not a penny to bless himself with. Not that this affected me inurh, for 1 laughed to myself the next minute, and thought how lie ought to bless me tor snubbing him as I did—for if j was a giddy, thoughtless girl then, neither lifted nor desirous to settle down into mat rimony, 1 believe I had sufficient sense to know it. I mention how trivial were my thoughts, to show that I was not, that aight, either dull or desponding in mind, or predisposed to nervous fancies. I went to sleep happy enough. ' woke in the night—not in that dreamy way in which one often wakes, and becomes 1:1 * conscious, to turn round again and 1 io.'C ones eyes on the vision, part of this world, part of dreamland, that is before tuem, but suddenly and broad awake. I could not tell what it was that woke me. Listening, 1 heard no sound. I then be -1 mue aware of a light in my room glowing a*, the loot of my bed. It had been there '•> ion I awoke, but I had taken no notice m it, thinking it caused by the lamp light oni the street; but I remembered there ''•iS no light near us which could cause Bllch h reflection. Nor was it such a light as could be cast by a lamp. Brightest in tue centre, t]l ough even there faint and dis persed, its edges shaded into the darkness, she one peculiarity about it was its ap -1 cuiing to be suspended in the air. * am I*v no means timid. Throwing a shaw round me, 1 got out of bed and lamed tne blind. The night was dark, and .10 distant lamps, burning bleared and Try T * \ e . fi al P uW e brown air, could not mm. sue i a Jght into the room. Turning round I saw the light still between me and tne- bed, glowing m mid-air, self-sustained a- iliouga it originated in the room As I approached, it moved. It floated towards i,e <looi \ . 1 flowed. Opening the door ' Issued it along the passage, and up the a t ll ' 8 ’ antl along the landing above, the mat meanwhile decreasing in volume, but meroasing in _ brightness. It went higher • lit mo wed still, up the attic staircase to ail empty, neglected room at the top of the ‘mm*, where, glowing smaller and brighter, mj" tu a , ssll S le tongue of flame at ‘ U Mckercd upwards and died out in Mck darkness. Groping my way down Mans to iny room, 1 found it dark again. I struck a match and lit my candle. I was not frightened at what I had seen, but in spite of myself the tears formed unbidden in my eyes, and rolled down hot and heavy upon my hands, as I strove to keep them back. I cannot tell why, but I felt hit father was dead. I wrote that very night to my sister. “My darling sister,” I said, “is it true that my dear father died at three o’clock this morning V fbis was the time I had seen the light. :t is difficult to explain to myself any sufficient reason for associating the appear ance of this light, which went out in the upper room, with my father’s death. I can only mention as a coincidence that we Jews burn a lamp day and night in the chamber of the dead, and that we consider the flame of it symbolizes the soul, the wick tHe body, and the oil the earthv matter whereby the body is sustained. But 1 felt as certain of my father’s death as ot my own existence. ! dressed myself and sat in my room, or walked restlessly about it till daybreak, and then went out into the keen morning air and posted my letter. That same morning my brother came up from Chilmiuster to fetch my aunt and me to the funeral. My father lead died at the hour 1 saw the light—too suddenly to allow the customary prayer of “Yig-dol” to be said, which is with us usually so offered that, as near as may be, with its last ex pression, “The Eternal is one,” that portion of His breath which He has lent shall be returned into His Essence. On reaching home, I found my dear father laid out, after our manner, upon clean straw on the floor, with his feet to wards the chamber door, and the oil lamp burning beside him. My aunt proposed that we should relieve the two watchers, whose business it was to remain with the dead. I willingly agreed, glad, at least to be near him whom our rites forbid us to kiss, lest he be polluted, or to weep over, lest our tears disturb his rest. 1 remember that dreary chamber as the twilight came on and the lamp flickered un certainly into the gathering shadow. My aunt, tired with her journey, and plethoric of habit, had dozed off into a kind of wake ful slumber, whilst I, tearfully wakeful, could not take my eyes from the dead form of my father lying there, sharply defined beneath the sheet which covered all but his lace. As 1 watched him—my imagination, disordered by the events of the last twenty four hours -i thought the dead, as though jointed in the centre, stiffly raised itself into a sitting posture, and opened its eyes, the sole living thing about it, which fixed upon mine and burned into my brain like coals of fire, till 1 thought f saw again in their glory the intensified light that had disappeared in the lonely top room of rnv aunt's house. Though I knew perfectly well it was only the morbid working of my own fevered imagination, I was none the less terrified on that account. I was obliged to cry aloud to break the spell. I did so, waking my aunt, and the dreadful fancy dissolved, so that, looking again to reassure myself, I saw only the quiet dead lying stiff and still beneath the sheet. I had to explain myself to my aunt, which I did partially, when she insisted that there must be on my part some grave offence against my father, for which 1 must needs ask the pardon of the dead, after the com mon habit of our race. J knew there was no wilful disobedience of mine to disturb His repose, yet at her bidding I stood at the feet of the dead, and taking hold of each foot said, “Dear father, 1 do pray thy forgiveness, if I have com mitted any offence toward thee ; pray for give me.” Here the watchers relieved us, and we went down stairs to “sit Shiva,” as is termed our sitting for seven days on cushions on the floor during the week of mourning* IHe funeral took place next day; one of the eight fringes was duly broken from his breast-cloth, and my dear father was buried with soil from the Land of Promise beneath his head, and a locked padlock in his grave, of which the key was thrown away (to prevent further mortality in tlie family), and “Caddish” being said the mourners returned to us with their clothes rent, which we call “Krceah.” Our funeral rites being little known, I must explain that whilst sitting Shiva, we have nothing to do but listen to the pray ers which are said, night and morning, during the seven days, and receive the visits ot friends. Every Jew in the neigh borhood will call, acquaintance or not, and sit down with us. Most of them will bring some kind of cooked food, as weave forbidden to attend to domestic duties at such times, it must not be thought that our visitors com® to mourn and to condole with us in Gentile fashion. On the con trary, considering it breach of decorum to make any reference whatever either to the dead or to tHo nature of the bereavement we have suffered, they try to divert our minds from the loss, by discoursing on every foreign topic they can think of, so that these funeral levees frequently assume a. cheerful tone that would surprise a Gen tile. Among our visitors was a young gentle man, who affected some partiality lor me, and whom I liked about as well as I wished to like any one at that giddy age. It was not my fault it he would sit by me and talk all manner of lively conversation after our fashion. My heart was heavy enough, but sitting from morning till night in enforced company of the kind, one cannot help fall ing in with it in some sort, if only mechani cally. One cannot weep in a crowd. I answered Lis sallies, and rallied him in turn, possibly. I have no doubt I laughed —that I might not cry. At all events, my MBBIB ©g fll gfflim.' aunt, witnessing what took place, stigma tized my proceedings as “scandalous,” and said it annoyed her eye sight to see such things. I retorted thoughtlessly, “that the sooner she lost such a sensitive sight, perhaps the better, for her own peace and of those about her.” “Do you wish me blind then?” said my aunt, sharply. I believe the fact of doing violence to one’s own feelings by assuming an artificial cheerfulness when the heart is sad, is not calculated to make one tender of the feel ings ot others. Annoyed at my aunt’s strictures on my acting apart it cost me a good deal to play, and certain of giving way to tears before them all, if I spoke, 1 merely shrugged ray shoulders, and said nothing to dissipate the exaggerated inter pretation put upon my words. “Did you hear your child cursing my sight ?” cried my aunt, in a rage to my mother, with whom she had already quar reled on another subject. “The curse causelessly shall not come,” my mother replied quietly. “What'do you mean?” my aunt exclaim ed, still more bitterly, “Do you want to im ply that there is a cause, ami to support your flippant girl in her wickedness?” My mother, conscious of no such mean ing, held her peace. “I have vowed,” continued the angry woman, “never again to set foot in your house, after Shiva is over; but, if the curse does come, your daughter shall be the first to see it.” And rny aunt looked at me as uncannily as if she possessed the “Auyin bora,” or evil eye*. * * * * * * Some years had elapsed after my father’s funeral. My aunt kept her word, and never visited any of us. I was alone one winter evening with my two younger sis ters in our sitting room at home. We had finished supper, and had been sitting over the fire chatting until, ordinary subjects of gossip being exhausted, I amused myself by drawing upon my imagination for superna tural stories, and then enjoying the ner vous terror they produced on my sisters’ minds. This went on until they had hush ed their voices to a whisper, until they looked at each other with white and anxious faces at every sound the wind made ns it rattled the casement, or swept up the garden path to shake the tall acacias against the window panes. But it is. hard work being noisy-merry by your self when your companions will not join in your humor. I found the effort very depressing, and though neither timid nor nervous, I must admit my solitary laugh began to sound so artificial that I gave it up, and gradually relapsed into a quieter tone. For some time we had been staring at the fire with nothing to break tlie silence but the ticking of the clock in the hall. “Hush, Rachel,” said my youngest sister to me, “I hear something in the passage.” “No doubt it is ghosts, my dear,” I said, reassuringly, “or the cat, perhaps.” Tap-tap at the door of our room. “Oh, Rachel, don’t mock,” they said. “You don’t know what it might be.” “Certainly not, but we will see. Come in,” I said, cheerfully enough. After some minutes of mute expectation, during which no one spoke, I was begin ning to rally them again on their fears. Tap-tap, again at the door. There was no mistake about it. “Come in,” I called louder than before. No one entered. My sisters were visibly agitated. I lost all patience with them. “Don’t be so silly, children,” I said. “I will go to the door and see who it is, if the rap is repeated. It must be someone very deaf, at all events. Tap-tap, again, quicker than before, as if in impatience. “Don’t go, Rachel,” cried my sisters, clinging to me. “Nonsense,” I said, throwing open the door, and looking out. No one was there. “Some silly trick,” I thought. “It can't be tlie servant; she has gone to bed, I know.” I walked along the dark passage. It was empty. But as I came to tlie far end I was aware of something between me and tlie wall, and I saw faintly, and as it were in a mist, what seemed to be tlie folds of a stuli dress. I felt them brush past mv frock, although I knew there was positive ly no room for anything to pass between me and the wall I was touching. I tried to grasp the folds, but my hand closed on air, and a long, sighing draught went past me. At the same moment, I had a vague im pression of my aunt’s presence, which I cannot more definitely describe. Return ing to the room, a little pale, perhaps, my sisters eagerly asked— ‘‘Rachel, how white you are. What have you seen ?” “Nothing, girls; only the clock, and that it is nearly twelve, and quite bed time. So, refusing them any further explana tion, I led them up stairs; but they were so nervous 1 had to make up a bed for them in my room that night. I have told all I saw with scrupulous ex actness. By a very little exaggeration I might have made an approved ghost story of it; but, as I have said, I do not believe in ghosts, and therefore prefer to confine myself to literal truth. it is a fact that my Aunt Gamaliel was stricken with blindness that night. I have seen my aunt but once since that time, when 1 visited her at her own house. She r efused my proffered sympathy and genuine condolence. She accused me of Having brought her blindness upon her, and in tlie name of tlie “Keytef Myreeree” vowed that, if permitted, her spirit should troubie me after her death. She is living i sttb and will not allow her mind to be i disabused of the idea that I have blighted ' her sight. So that there is a prospect be- j fore me of seeing a real ghost one of these days. If I do, I will let you know. [For the Banner of tlie South.] Hope and Memory. lam thinking to-day— how oft I think ! Ot a Land that haH faded from mortal eyes A Land, where I stood by the river’s brink, That washes the gates of Paradise! Ah ! washes the gates that never ope, Though forever trembling on golden hinges; While mystical lights to the river slope, And tne blue Champak its margin fringes 1 Whero I watched the day, with footsteps fleet, Come down, like the Lydian King of old. And saw at tlie touch of his kingly feet, How the rolling sands were turned to gold. But now—the Lydian King has fled— No more by tlie gates of Paradise, But by red and foaming waves I tread, Aud watch the blood of Ncseus rise. The hand has sunk ‘neath the sobbing flood, As darkly the billows onward roll; But ah ! it has left me the garment of blood, That wraps in llro my shrinking soul. I strive to tear it with quivering hands, That are powerless now to my will, While Pain, th’ Immortal, forever stands Beside mo and mocks—and still, yet 6till— 'Mid all the torture, how oft I think, Ot a Land, seen only through dreaming eyes— A land, where I stood by the river’s brink, That washes the gates of Paradise; And I see the day, with footsteps fleet, omoo down, like the Lydian King of old; And watch, at the touch of his kingly feet, How the rolling sands are turned to gold! Davie Barbour. MAURI BP. At St, Charles Church, in this county, on tlie 2Gth iust.. by Rev. Father Schacht, Mr. J, J. O’SULLIVAN, Political Editor of the Nashville Gazette, to Mies FLORENCE SPALDING MATINGLY, of Marion county, Ivy. The happy pair will please accept our most, hearty congratulations. Wo trust that their future may bo us bright and unclouded as the skies of June, and that along their pathway may ever bloom the flowers of hope, and love, and happiness. The lair biidc was one of the brightcsl ornaments our society, and her withdrawal will leave a void of which all will long be sensible. The bridegroom is a genial and popular gentleman, a ready and able writer, and, in short, everyway wortyy of hia good fortune Sero redeant in ccelum.—Lebanon, Ky., Clarion. ADVERTISEMENTS. J. J. BROWNE, GILDER AND PICTURE FRAME MANUFACTURER, 135 Broad Street, Augusta, Ga. Old Pictures and Looking-Glass Frames Regilt. Oij Paintings Restored, Lined and Varnished. niyßO—ly 18«8. THE OIJ) AND RELIABLE HOUSE OF CFRA3T & Txmxirsr, AUGUSTA, O^N.., Is always prepared to offer to the public, at wholesale and retail, a thoroughly complete assortment of STAPLE GOODS, —ALSO— -.British. French and Swiss Mrcss Roods, CLOTHS, CASSIMERES, CLOAKS, SHAWLS, EMBROIDERIES, LACES, HOSIERY, HOOP SKIRTS, NOTIONS, Ac., Ac. inh‘2l ts ©’Dowd <&. ftXulhcrin, GROCERS AND COMMISSION MERCHANTS, IN’o. S2H3. Broad Sstreet, AUGUSTA, GA,, HAVE OX HAND A FULL STOCK OF SUGAR, COFFEE, TEAS, t SOAP, STARCH, CANDLES, \ TOBACCO, LIQUORS, SUGARS, BACON, LARD, FLOUR, AND EVERY THING Usually kept in a Wholesale and Retail Grocery. PRICES AS LOW AS THE LOWEST. mh2l t NEW SPRING- DRY G-OODS. James A. ©ray 6l Cos., 228 BROAD STREET, AUGUSTA, GEO., Btg to inform the public that they are now receiving TIIE LARGEST SPRING STOCK OF STAPLE iI.VXJ PAXCY X)KY fiOOXJS Which have been received at this Establishment for the past twenty years. These Go*xls have boon purchased EXCLUSIVELY lOR CASH from the most eminent Importers of the United States, from the Manufacturers’ Agents direct and in large quantities from tlie recent celebrated Auction Sales ordered by Messrs. Benkard & Hutton, one of the very largest Importing Houses in New York Having full access to the very best Houses in tlio world, and purchasing side by side with the largest Jobbers in the United States, we can confidently and truthfully assuro our friends that WE CAN SUPPLY THEIR DEMANDS FOR DRY GOODS, EITHER AT WHOLESALE OR RETAIL, AS CHEAP AS THEY CAN PURCHASE THE SAME IN NEW YORK. Merchants visiting the city, will please make a note of this fact, examine our assortment, and judge for themselves. We would respectfully invite tlie closest examination of both styles and price. JAMES A. GRAY & CO., a PB 228 Broad Street. GREENBRIER WHITE SULPHUR SPRINGS. Greenbrier County, West Virginia. The undersigned, Levees of this OI.I) AND WELL KNOWN WATERING PLACE, Announce that, encouraged by the liberal patronage received last season, they have largely added to their accommodations, in comfort and appearance, and are prepared to entertain FIFTEEN HUNDRED GUESTS. THE BATHING ACCOMMODATIONS ARE IN FINE ORDER. HOT AND WARM SULPHUR BATHS, So eminently efficacious in many eases, are at the command of visitors, at all hours. In addition to other amusements, they have provide and anew and elegant BOWLING ALLEY AND HILLIARD ROOM, CONVENIENTLY LOCATED. PROFESSOR ROSENBURG’S CELEBRATED FULL BRASS BAND, lias been engaged for the season. ■A- GOOD LIVERY STABLE Will be kept on the premises. The completion of the Virginia Central Railroad to Covington leaves only twenty miles staging, through a beautiful mountain country over a well graded turn pike. Taecisi $3 Bsy §3 O pec death. Children under ten years of age, and colored ser vants, half price. White servants according to accom modations. [mylG-lm] PEYTON is. CO. To the Public. The undersigned, so long arid favorably known as Broom Manufacturer, and Beater of Cano Chairs maker and renovator of Mattrasses, Ac., would re spoctfully inform his friends, aud tlie public, that, in addition to bis former business, he has supplied a want long felt at the Southwestern portion of the city , namely, a GENERAL NEWS DEPOT, Where all tlio leading NEWSPAPERS, PERIODICALS, and MAGAZINES can be obtained at the LOWEST RATES. I am also agent for the Banner of Ti e South, New York Freeman’s Journal, Charleston Ga zette, Ac. Metropolitan Record, La Crosse Democrat, Police Gazette, N. Y. Herald, Tribune, Times, World, Harper’s Weekly, Frank Leslie, or any of the leading Newspapers or Periodicals, delivered in any part of the city on the morning of their arrival. Earnestly soliciting a share of public patronage at my Old Stand, Comer York and Montgomery streets, Savannah, Ga. uiay23-lm E. M. CONNOR* AGENTS WANTED FOR THE r LIFE OF JEFFERSON DAVIS, By FRANK H. ALFEIEND, of Richmond. This is the only full, authentic and OFFICIAL history of tho Life and Public services of the great Southern loader. Mr. A1 friend has had the co-opera tion and assistance of the leading Confederate officials in the preparation of this work, as will be apparent to all on examination. Send for specimen pages and cir culars, with terms. Address NATIONAL PUBLISH ING 00., Atlanta, Ga. myff— G SFEGIAX NOTICE. STEEL AMALGAM SELLS, Every Bek*>ol and Plantation should hav< one. Will Bell those now on hand cheap. Those desiring to purchase will do well to call soon. Price, •deplete, from £7 to £lO. P. MALONE, Augusta Foundry and Machine Works. May 10th, 18G8. my3o—tf ~~ Augusta Foundry and MACHINE WORKS. WRIGHT A ALLUM’6 IMPROVED cotton screws, GIN GEAR, SUGAR BOILERS, SUGAR MILLS, ALARM BELLS, AND ALL KINDS OF CASTINGS, DONE A T SHORT NOTICE. HIGHEST PRICE PAID FOR OLD MACHINERY IRON, BRASS AND COPPER. PHILIP MALONE. mh2l 3
