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: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