Newspaper Page Text
frame, covered with paper, like those
hoops through which horsewomen vault
; n the circusses. This frame, the instru
ment of the first trial, is supported by his
brothers. . . ...
“What must we do with this profane
>j an ?” inquires Brother Terrible of the
Venerable. #
“Introduce him into tne cavern.
Two Masons imm diately seize the
candidate, and push him with all their
Strength against the papered frame,
through which he easily finds a passage,
aDC j j s received into the arms of two
uthers on the opposite side. Then is
beard the violent shutting-to of a door,
the creaking of hinges, and shooting of
bolts, aid an intelligent postulant can
fancy himself in the famous cavern.
Some instants pass in profound silence ;
it is the silence of the tomb. Forthwith
the Venerable strikes some object, no
matter what, with the mallet, orders the
aspirant to kneel down, and addresses a
r aver to the Patron of the Establish
ment. whom they call the Grand Architect
of the Universe. If this prayer is pre
tended to be addressed to the Deity, the
hypocrisy is most arrogant, since the de
clared end of Masonry, according to
official authority, is the worship of the
Sun.
The Venerable next directs the aspir
ant, vvh >se eyes are still baudaged, to
Lie seated on a chair, bristling with sharp
points, for his greater ease, and asks him
if he continues bent on prosecuting bis
noble design ?* A simple “yes,” is the re
ply. Then follows a pathetic discourse by
the Venerable on the duties of Masons,
the first of which is to preserve absolute
silence upon their secrets—no very diffi
cult, duty, as we believe. He is again in
terrogated with respect to his sincerity,
and afterwards brought to the Altar by
the Brother Sacrifice!*, and made to drink
from a cup separated into two compart
ments by means of a pivot. “If you are
not sincere,” exclaims the Venerable,
“the sweetness of this beverage will be
changed for you into subtle poison.” By
means of the pivot, they cause him to
drink first of pure water, and next of a
bitter draught. He naturally grins, alter
imbibing the unpleasant potion.
“What do I see ?” cries out the Ven
erable, striking with his mallet, “what do
I see, sir ? What signifies this change
in your features ? The sweet liquid has
become for you a poison. Let the wretch
be removed from my presence ”
Brother Terrible forthwith conducts the
postulant between two columns. The Ve
nerable has one parting for him : “If you
tlnnk of deceiving us, hope not to succeed
therein; better for you to withdaavv at
once; you are still free. The certainty
is that your perfidy would be fatal to you,
and you must then renounce the hope of
seeing the light of day.”
Brother Terrible, replace this profane
man in the Reflection Chamber.”
Should the postulant decide on perse
vering, he passes on to the second trial.
The first of the three courses of travel
of which this trial consists, is made by
performing Jhe tour of the Lodge three
times with the eyes of the would-be Ap
prentice blindfolded, and guided by
Brother Terrible. He is then made to
travel over shifting platforms, set on
rollers, which pass from under his feet;
nest upon a swing-gate, or see-saw, which
suddenly gives way beneath him, and
seems to let him sink into an abyss. He
next ascends the “endless ladder ;” if he
exhibits a symptom of wishing to arrest
his progress, he is commanded to ascend
tuither still; and when he has mounted
to what he considers a terrific height, he
is ordered to precipitate himself to the
earth, and, obeying, falls from an emi
nence thirty inches. During all this
time, the initiators create a dreadful din,
imitating, by means of tin plates and
other contrivances, the sounds of thunder,
high winds, cries of infants, and falling
houses, Ac.
The second tour resembles the first, and
the third resembles the second. Between
each journey the Venerable makes pre
tence of doubting the aspirant’s courage ;
hut each time he perseveres and over
c >mes all difficulties.
1 here is one slight novelty introduced
on tlm third course, in the way of flames
purificatory, passed under the nose of the
omortunate postu lan t.
Let him pass through the purify in a
mimes,’' cries out the Venerable, “in or
der that he may no longer remain pro
mr.e, and, forthwith, Brother Terrible en
velopes the unhappy man thrice in a sheet
o: light produced by means of some gas
Prepared for the purpose. This is pre
paratory to the final trial, which imme.
cliately takes place.
"Profane man,” says the Venerable
“you have been purified by the earth',
an, water, and by fire. I could not pos
hly praise your courage too highly; let
it not yet abandon you, since you have
still some other trials to undergo. The
Society into which you aspire to be
ad. nutted mil, perhaps, require the shed
ding of the last drop of your blood.
Are you prepared to male that sacri
fice?'^
This is the second time he is so ad
monished. Upon receiving an affirmative
answer, the Venerable adds: “It inav,
perhaps, be necessary to inform you that
this question is no matter of form. Are
you prepared to have a vein opened this
minute?” The postulant consents, and
receives a slight scratch, as with the
poiut of a needle, from some sharp imple
ment, on his extended arm. There is a
noise of trickling liquid, but it is not the
willing victim’s blood, for lie survives to
receive the Masonic seal. This mark is
imprinted on his breast by means of a hot,
not too hot, iron, or a glass instrument
warmed with some burning paper. The
initiated Apprentice makes an offering for
indigent brothers, and he has completed
the famous trials. His next duty is to
take the oath. Before it a slight cere
mony has to be undergone. The neo
phyte, with eyes still blindfolded, is con
ducted to the “Altar of Testimonies,” or
Swearing Altar, where lie kneels down,
until the Master of Ceremonies applies
the point of a compass to his left breast.
Upon the Altar lies an open Bible, and
on the Bible a flaming sword.
“Arise, and hear my orders, Brothers,”
exclaims the Venerable, “the neophyte is
about to take the awful oath.” All the
assistants rise, and stand erect with
drawn swords, whilst the newly admitted
Apprentice takes the following truly
awful engagement:
“I swear, in the name of the Supreme
Architect of the Universe, never to reveal
the secrets, the signs, the grasps, the
words, the doctrines, and the practices of
the Free Masons, and to preserve thereon
an eternal silence. I promise andsw T ear
to God never to betray them, neither by
writing, signs, words, nor gestures;
never to make any writing, lithograph, or
printing thereof; never to publish any
thing of what has been confided to me
up to this moment, or which may be en
trusted to me in the future. I pledge
myself to submit to the following penalty,
if I fail in my promise: That my lips
shall be burned away with a hot iron ;
that my hand shall be cut off; that my
tongue shall be plucked out; that iny
throat shall be cut; that my dead body
shall be bung up in a hedge during the
work of admission of anew brother, in
order to be the branding of my unfaith
fulness, and a warning to others ; that it
shall then be burned, and the ashes
strewn to the winds, so that there may no
longer remain any trace of the memory
of my treason. So help me, God, and
ITis Holy Evangelist. Amen.”
The foregoing account of the ceremony
of initiation, epitomized merely from the
little work of Mgr Segur, will serve, it
is hoped, to give a fair notion of Masonry
as a whole. It is only its fairest aspect,
however, which is revealed in that pro
cess; the anti-Christian, aye, and even
atheistical grin which it wears in the
higher grades, is never beheld, except by
a select few. Aud so the lower grades
of Masonry are only probationary. It
may be said that the Masonic Institution
cannot be so bad as here represented, or
some clever and very excellent people,
whom one may know, would not belong
to it, as it is not at all probable they
could be so completely deluded. The
reply is brief; these good men and
women are exterior members, mere
loiterers in the vestibule of an outwardly
fair mansion, who little suspect the char
nel cells which its inner recesses contain.
Even were there no printed and published
documents of its own to condemn it, “a
tree," says the proverb, “may be known
by its fruit,” and the stem, which has
nourished such productions as Kant,
Fitchte, Voltaire, George Sand, and
Joseph Mazzini, must be a rotten one,
indeed.
Rev. Robert B. Tillotso.w— A genial
and lovable gentleman, a devoted and
fervent Catholic, and a Priest that, as
such, won many hearts to viitue, has
ended a life of suffering, by a pious death.
Dr. John Henry Newman, the illustrious
convert to the Catholic Church in Eng
land, many years ago, in a private letter
to us, spoke of having received him into
the Catholic Church, and in terms of
great personal affection for him. Father
Tillotson returned to his native New
York, and exercised the Priesthood at
the Church of St. Paul the Apostle, in
Fifty-ninth street, along with Father
Hecker, aud his associates. The very
slight personal acquaintance we had with
him makes us understand how severe a
blow his death has proved to those that
knew him more intimately. A fuller
notice of him, from one that knew him
well, appears on the third page of this
number of our paper.— N. Y. Freeman's
Journal, Sept. 2.
Posts ot honor do not confer true glory.
It is ihe manner in which we till eminent
stations that dignifies us, not the stations.
A man’s hat is the most characteristic
part of his dress. No matter whether it
sits jauntily upon the owner’s head, or
rests idly in his hand, or hangs neglected
on the wall, there is something about
every well regulated hat by which an ob
servant person can readily divine to what
sort of individual it belongs. Os course,
I do not allude to new hats, fresh from
the merchants’ shelves ; but one that has
been used a reasonable length of time
always contracts a certain air from the
wearer, which marks it indelibly as be
longing one of his species. It is strange
that ladies’ bonnets, with all their beauty
and variety, do not possess half the power
of expression that resides in a common
old felt bat. You may sit and study a
whole congregation of bonnets, any
Sunday morning, through a three hours
sermon, and you cannot identify a single
woman by her head gear, unless you have
seen it before ; but stand at your window
any fine day, watching the various bats
that pass in the street, and see if you
cannot tell, at a glance, what sort of man
each one belongs to. Who, for instance,
could be the owner of that tall, old-fash
ioned, grey beaver, with the nap begin
ning to rub off, but an antiquated coun
try parson, who can drive a sharp bar
gain with you Saturday night, and hold
forth against the vanity of riches on Sun
day ? That pert little “Derby,” with its
narrow rim and round crown, looking so
briskly, on the other side of the street,
can be worn by none but a Yankee
“drummer,” who will cheat you if he
can ; while that broad brimmed, palmet
to, with the low crown, and rim a little
kicked up in front, belongs to an honest
country tanner, who has corn to sell ; its
companion, the broad brimmed straw,
with a tall crown, rim turned up behind,
and slouching a little before, covers the
bead of a rustic wb« is going to meet a
creditor. The sleek old gentleman over
there at Dryreading’s bookstore, with the
shiny blackbeaver, as tall as a stove
pipe, planted plumb on the top of his
head, is a Presbyterian divine, much ad
dicted to lengthy discourses; and the mus
ty old fellow, in the tall hat, beside him
is professor in a theological seminary.
Here come three or four very brash look
ing glazed hats, out of the door of
a second rate boarding house—you spot
them at once as belonging to railroad
conductors and express men. Y T onder
Jljoes “ina’s dootiful son,” under that low
crowned beaver, so mathematically pro
portioned, aud as scrupulously brushed,
with a studied little curl stealing from
under it, and falling over the temple.—
A swaggering old felt hat conies
next, with a slouchyrim, and a tall peak
ed crown, smashed in at the top ; you
have seen it a hundred times at cross
road groceries and rustic taverns ; it
marks the country politician. We all
know’ that fellow across the street yon
der, with the sneaky, mortified hat, that
looks like a turnip top running to seed,
and slouched over his eyes so that you
cannot get an honest look into them ; he
carries a lean carpet-bag under one arm,
a cotton umbrella under the other, and
prates mightily about his mission. Give
him wide berth, as he passes, and look
well to any small change you happen to
have about you.
But here comes the hat that I like best
of all. It is a good round felt, somewhat
the worse for wear, and careless usage—
just enough battered, in fact, to give a
slight dash of rowdyism to its expression.
It is worn with a little rascally set on one
side, as who should say, “what the deuce
do I care ?” and is a standing declara
tion of independence against all unrea
sonable conventionalities. The wearer
of that hat, is a jolly good fellow, who is
never ashamed to look you in the face.
He was as trusty a soldier as General
Lee ever had, and doesn’t mind the smell
of gunpowder, any more than you or I
would a whiff of Lubin’s best.
Somehow, I have always had a fancy
for rowdy looking bats—provided, there
For the Banner of the South.
Southron Chief’s Welcome to the
Old World.
Gallant Chief! all Europe greets thee,
Greets thee with a lotid acclaim,
Peer —amid her sovereigns seats thee,
Crown’d with thy own self-wrought fame.
Peerless Patriot, Christian Statesman,
Welcome to the Old World’s soil!
Noble Chief! e’en Monarchs wait thee;
Regal tones thy welcome sound;
Royal palms extended greet thee,
Exiled from thy Southern ground.
Peerless Patriot, Christian Statesman,
Welcome to the Old World’s soil.
Matchless Chief! all hearts here own thee,
Type of Southern blood and home;
Scorned be the land that would disown thee.
Hail Chieftain ! to the Old World come.
Peerless Patriot, Christian Statesman,
Welcome to the Old World’s soil.
W. C. M.
Brookhaven, Miss., August 29, 1868.
For the Banner of the South.
MEN AND THEIR HATS.
BY ELZEY HAY.
is nothing essentially rowdy about the
appearance of the wearer. A woman
must always be more particular about
her bonnet, than any other part of her
outside dress, but his hat is the one thing
about which a gentleman can afford to be
careless. There is an air of coxcombry
about a trim, spruce, bran new hat, which
is far from commanding the same re
spect that ladies feel for anew bonnet.
Let a man be well dressed in every other
particular, and a little touch of rowdy -
uess about his hat, like a dash of red or
yellow sometimes, in a lady’s bonnet,
redeems him from foppery, and gives a
don't care look of independence and in
difference, which is far more attractive
than the air of stiffness and prudery that
lurks under a solemn, two sturied beaver.
lam glad that our Southern gentlemen
have always had the good taste to es
chew these ugly stove-pipe hats, which,
in London and New York, seem to be
regarded as the only suitable covering for
a gentleman. In a climate where hats
are needed for protection, they could be
of no use; and, as for ornament, they
make a tall man look like a lamp post, and
a short one like a grasshopper under a
candle extinguisher.
There is even more in a man’s way of
using his hat, than in the color or fashion
of it. One who manages his hat well,
can express more with it than a coquette
with her fan—only there is this difference
—that the use of the former must be
spontaneous and unstudied. An under
bred man often appears as much at a loss
what to do with his hat, as a country
bumpkin how to dispose of his hands and
feet, while a thoroughly well-bred one, al
ways seems equally unconscious of both,
except, that he never forgets touching his
hat in passing a lady acquaintance.
And, here, let me remark what a variety
of characteristic ways there are in which
men perform that one little act of touch
ing their hats to the ladies. There is
the brisk, business-like touch of the mer
chant ; the quiet, firm touch of the par
son ; the lazy, abstracted nod of the
scholar ; the obsequious, conciliatory
salute of Boniface; the studied,artificial
air of the dandy ; and the easy, graceful,
offhand mariner of the thorough-bred
gentleman, as if far less conscious of
himself and his hat, than of your pres
ence. The same variety may be remark
ed in a man’s manner of putting on or
taking off his hat, or even of holding it
in his hand. Asa case in point, I may
mentiou a gentleman who called to see
the writer not long since, and sat the
whole evening with his hat in his hand,
but seemed so entirely unconscious of any
such encumbrance, that the writer felt as
if it would be a positive rudeness to call
his attention to the fact by offering to re
lieve him of it. A lady * once said that
she was induced to reject a suitor, partly
by the awkward manner in which he fum
bled with his hat, while paying his ad
dresses. So, gentlemen, take warning,
and if you are not perfectly au fait , in
the management of the hat don’t hold it
in your hand when you have anything
particular to say.
A writer on etiquette, in some of our
contemporary magazines, says that a lady
should never appear to take any notice
whatever of a gentleman’s hat, even so
much as to show him where to dispose of
it in her own house. This writer doubt
less speaks from a tacit admission of the
fact that every well-bred man knows how
to manage his own hat. In this matter,
however, as in all others, etiquette must
be controlled by circumstances, and the
common sense of the parties concerned.
A Beautiful Extract. —That emi
nent French Catholic writer, Louis Veu
illot, concludes one of his splendid philo
sophical essays, entitled Daux Confes
sions, in the Revue du Monde Catholique,
in the following manly and eloquent
language: “The Catholic Apostolic
Roman Church alone bears aloft the
banner of the supernatuai authority of
God. The drainings constantly made by
scepticism in all the reservoirs which
still contain some of the waters of sacred
origin, are rapidly turning them in the
direction of a deep abyss; soon they will
become dry. At present, we cannot say
that we have any more particular here
sies; the choice is now between the man
made God of rationalism, or the God
made man of Catholicity. “The pride
of man,” says Donoso Cortes, and the
remark is repeated by many eminent
Catholics, “the pride of man will con
quer exhausted mercy.”
“But it is not impossible to find an
answer to the sacred texts and to the
reasonings on which these gloomy
conjectures are founded; nor does the
Church permit us to share in them. For
our part, we hope that the mercy and
the glory of Jesus Christ will give to his
word the victory over human pride. The
Holy Ghost will breathe: God will send
extraordinary ambassadors, and Catholic
ism will supernaturalize all nations, I
despite the errors of science and the
defiiauce of philosophy. From the East
of modern times reason as well as faith
may yet behold beautiful age descend
upon the Church. Science, Catholic
Science will deliver the world, driven to
the verge of destruction by impious
science. Catholic Science will furnish
the key to the problems which bewilder
the human family; its light will dispel
the phantoms w>th which our darkness is
peopled. Not only shall it continue to
place the faithful beyond danger, justi
antem liberabunter scientiee, but it will
also save the stranger—the ignorant, even
vs i en n *°dern rationalism
shall liax e been conquered, all the new
forces of civilization will pass over to the
conqueror. In words of light and of
faith, with the Cross of Christ on high
before them, they will proclaim through
out earth, vincit , regnat , imperat,
liberat." — Baltimore Catholic Mirror.
Gov. V ise.— We publish on the sixth
page a communication in relation to a
subscription set on foot for Gov. Wise
to whose case we alluded, in a recent
number of The Pilot. The Richmond
correspondent of the Norfolk Day Book
says :
“It will be exceedingly gratifying to
the many friends of General H. A. Wise,
in your section, to learn that the foreign
population of this country are raising
funds for the purpose of purchasing a
fine homestead for this gentleman, the
noblest Roman of the nineteenth cen
tury. The plan originated in the North,
and an editorial in the last number of
Ihe Boston Pilot created quite an enthu
siasm here among the foreign residents
of this city, and a large subscription was
raised in a little while. I am told that
there will bo at least SI,OOO raised here
for this purpose. The amount expected
from each foreigner is only sl, but many
here have subscribed $5. It is intended
to purchase a home, stock it well, and
furnish it elegantly in every lespect, and
settle the old gentleman comfortably for
the balance of his days.”
The proprietor of The Pilot will cheer
fully receive subscriptions towards the
laudable object. —Boston Pilot.
Ashhmed of One’s Name. —When
one starts in life, his name is a mere con
venience, hut not a symbol. It serves to
distinguish between man and man, and
is, as it were, a handle by which we
seize one man, rather than another.
But, in process of time, by the law of
association, we cluster about a man’s
name all the circumstances of his history,
the elements of his character, the promi
nent traits of his disposition. The name
becomes a history. The moment that it
is sounded in our ears, we do not think
of the name itself, but of a life, person
ality, and character. In fact, the name
is a portrait painted in letters. What is
specially curious is, that to its wearer,
the name may suggest one train of asso
ciation, but to all others another, a
different and often repugnant »idea. It
would be a curious literature, if one
could put in parallel lines what each mau
thought of himself, and what all other
men thought of him.
No person should be ashamed of his
name. No person should ask for any
thing without being willing to take the
responsibility of the request. The habit
of standing up frankly to one’s own
actions, opinions, or feelings, and taking
the proper personal responsibility be
longing to everything concerning his
own personality, is manly and wholesome.
If we were writing letters, like Lord
Chesterfield, to a son, we should say,
never write any letter that you are un.
willing to sign. If there are reasons
which make it improper for you to give
your name, then you should not write at
all. I will not say that there are never
cases in which anonymousness is permis
sible. But they are rare, and extreme
cases. In general, it is a safe rule of
conduct not to do anything to which one
is unwilling to put his name. A good
name is better than great riches. This
habit of acting in all things frankly,
openly, courageously, and of taking the
consequences of one’s thoughts and
actions, cannot fail to result, in indi
viduals, and in communities, in a high
and noble type of manhood.
Therefore, never write anonymous
letters !— Beecher.
As illustrating the mixture of races,
and religions in New York, it is said
that Rev. Thomas W. Hughes once found
a family in a seven-by-nine cellar iu the
Fouth Ward, where the Catholic wife
was counting her beads, and saying her
prayers on her knees before a picture of
the A irgin, while the Chinese husband
was propitiating bis Pagan Deity with
offers of rice administered with chop
sticks, and the two little children of this
strangely assorted pair, were singing
the mission song :
“Jesus loves me, this I know,
For the Bible tells me so.’’
5