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About The banner of the South. (Augusta, Ga.) 1868-1870 | View Entire Issue (April 10, 1869)
2 who had no means to procure them. They instructed the ignorant and pre pared them for Baptism. A hey assisted at funerals and prayed in common for the repose of the faithful departed. Their devotedness to their sacred cause was worthy of praise and they added dignity to the Church by their presence in the sinctuary. They were in fine the germ of those holy institutions which later years have developed and brought to ma turity, and which in our day have com manded the respect even of unbelievers by the succor which they have lent to suffering humanity. The mother of Vi via was there. Since her baptism, her whole ambition was to serve the church, and practice its sub lime virtues. She was as usual accom panied by the pious und gentle Rufina. The venerable Patriarch related that he had left Jerusalem in the night aud alone. He was obliged to disguise him self under the garments of a certain old man. He was constrained to chauge .them frequently as well as take different directions in order to avoid several of his Priests who had come in pursuit of him with the intention of bringing him back to the city. He travelled by night, as the heat of the day was too great, and his feeble constitution could not have withstood the fatigue it would have occa sioned. When the dawn would appear, he would choose for himself the foot of some tree, and there he would rest his wearied limbs concealed from the sun by its outspreading branches. The brook that flowed by in sweet murmurs at his supplied him with water, while the wild fruit that the band of Nature had planted afforded nourishment to his wast ed frame. Thus did he pass day after day until he arrived in Egypt. His in tention was to enter some monastery where he was not known and there pass the de cline of his years in the calmness of of a peaceful repose. lie wandered on the banks of the Nile, in the vast deserts which the children of Israel had crossed iu their journeying towards the Promised Land, until he came to the frontiers of Africa. “I passed, lie said, sometimes westward, sometimes eastward, some thing like the first descendants of Adam who went from place to place without knowing whither they were going. Provi dence sometimes conducted me to some kind habitation where I was well received. They pitied the poor traveler when they saw his bleeding feet and tattered gar ments I never stayed to take repose. I betook myself to the woods and slept. But from 'the heavens above the Lord looked down upon his old wearied ser vant and the wild ferocious animals that prowled round about, appeared to stand off in token of respect. “I came to your city after having visited nearly all the Churches of Africa. 1 was rejoiced to find so many virtues among your Christian population. I have assisted at your religious assemblies and with you I have humbly' approached the table of the Lord, and my trembling lips have drank the adorable blood of the Saviour. “God has spoken. My tears and pray ers have not obtained what they so ar dently sought which was to die forgot ten in the silence of solitude. He de sires that I return to my people and that I take once more into those aged hands the symbol of my former authority. But before I go back to Jerusalem, that city so long the beloved City of God, I have a mission to fulfill amongst you hero. “Some months ago, I passed through that lamous city that owes its name to the conqueror of Asia. I was retained there by sickness. The Patriarchal See was then vacant; the clergy and the people were unable to meet in order to elect a successor to the pious Pontiff whom death had just taken from their midst. r lhick clouds, the presage of a storm, had gathered on the horizon. Un happy Provinces that are governed by cunning and wicked men! They will not resist the popular cry, and rather than forego a title that flatters their pride and their cupidity, they would stifle the most generous movements of the heart and suppress the voice of conscience. They renew the scene of Pilate. They hang upon the smilos of Caesar, and sooner than incur his displeasure they are ready to c mderun the innocent and shed the blood of the just. “Aquila, who is the Prefect of Alex andria, has no personal hatred towards the Christians. He esteems their virtue and has often testified to their fidelity to the Empire. In the beginning he went so lar as to tavor them openly. After wards he came to find out that this poli cy did not accord with his interests. Pub lic opinion regarded as a crime his spirit of tolerance, and there were many who murmured against him and threatened to report him to the civil authorities of Rome. From this moment he changed his plan of action. Christians were sought out and imprisoned. Those who could not escape were laden with chains an and subjected to the most cruel tor tures. Their eyes were torn mercilessly from their sockets, and their arms cut off for having assisted at the celebration of the sacred rites. Others, again, were exiled to the deserts and retained in sub terranean caverns in which they were constrained to breathe a heavy and em poisoned atmosphere. Thus were they condemned to perpetual slavery and every kind of ill treatment until death came to release them from the miseries of their existence. The pagan crowd were not yet satis fied. They thirsted for vengeance, and they could only quench their thirst in blood. At Rome there were amphithea tres and the people were amused from time to time with the thrilling sight of Christians struggling in the agonies of death in the fearlul arena. Why should they r not have the same thing in Alexan dria ? The impious scot of the Naza reens were progressing with astonishing rapidity and severe measures must be taken to arrest the evil and preserve in tact the worship of the gods. How shall I depict those dreadful scenes which I myself was called to wit ness! Many were called to receive the crown of martyrdom. Some were tied up and flogged until their lacrated flesh became one whole wound. Others were torn with sharp instruments and when their bodies presented the appearance of a bleeding mass they were suspended over a slow fire and consumed by inches. Some there were who received their death by decapitation or by being thrown alive into the riv.r; but this only oc curred when the executioners were fa tigued and unable to exercise their re finement of cruelty. “Every day witnessed scenes of this kind. Old men whose blanched hairs indicated that they were already on tho brink of the grave, were led to be exe cuted together with the rest. Young children whose locks were golden on their brow, were torn asunder by the swords of the soldiers, and women whose baauty and exterior grace was but fche faint reflection of their interior virtues, were subjected to every kind of outrage and Anally tortured to death by a thou sand inventions of barbarous ingenuity. Often their bodies were trampled upon, and lacerated by the weapons of the mob, when already life was extinct and the soul had appeared before the throne of God to receive its reward. [to be continued.] [For the Banner of the South.] MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR. BY MIRIAM. It had been nearly two months since we left our quiet country homes to re turn again to the city. Left, simply be cause William had never been raised on a farm, and therefore knew nothing of farming. He had tried it in vain, though it had been pronounced absurd, in the very first instance, for one who had been born and raised in a city, to move “ of a sudden” to the country. Still, in spite of the remonstrances both wiser and older than our own, no thing would do but that as soon as our nuptials were ended, but we must move, “ bag and baggage/’ to the country. It was a neat little cottage, not far from town, and surrounded by every in ducement, yet things went strangely wrong, and so, by the end of the year, we had wisely concluded to return once more to the city. And now the house was taken; it was small, yet convenient and airy, and quite large enough ou the whole to contain our very small family. Aud so the nov elty wore off again; my house was fur nished, and comfortable, and there was nothing left now for me to do but to toss my baby through the dark winter days, and wait for my husband’s return. Our house was situated in a quiet part of the town, away from the noise and bustle generally attendant upon city life. We were surrounded by neighbors, yet they seemed to have been there for ages; to have established a society among themselves, and to care very little for strangers. Two days had passed, and no one had bothered, by culling too soon after my arrival; another, and another, and yet no calls, till the days dragged wearily on, and I almost wished myself once more seated in my own quiet coun try home. I was the last to come, and yet no one had called, and I, of course, thrust myself upon no one. Yet I’d often look from my little side window at the vacant lot, aud wish that someone would take it; someone of whom I could make a friend on her. And I watched it day after day, aud hour after hour, uutil at length, one cloudy morning, I heard the iron gate slam, and hastening away to the window, in the gray mist of the morning, I took in the following picture: A lady, rather MHHSB ©I fSI S©HS. short and stout, dressed in a dark brown calico, a dark grey shawl, drawn tight at the throat, and a veil tied close at the neck; while a servant girl followed lei surely behind with a bucket, a broom, and a scrubbing brush. I watched them with interest up the long brick walk, then into the porch The lady took from under her wrapping a ponderous bunch of keys, and pro ceeded to try them on the door. “My Next Door Neighbor,” thought I, with infinite pleasure—“ My Next Door Neigh bor!” One key was tried and slipped through her fingers ; another —it partly turned, then stopped; another —the iron bolt grated, and the door thrown open. Their steps sounded loud and their voices hollow in the vacant hall, but a scream from the baby and a bump on the floor, called me away from the window. I took the sobbing infant in my arms and walked the room, singing to calm its wailings, and pausing now and then at the narrow window to catch a glimpse of my new neighbor. But, no! they had disappeared within, and I could only hear their lower voices and echoing steps. On I walked, singing the while to calm my babe to slumber; stopping its fitful starts with motherly kisses, and walking on. One moment more—a tap at the door. “ Walk in;” the door moved slowly round, and, to my great surprise, I saw the servant girl. “ Mrs. Shaw sent me in to ask if you wouldn’t lend her a scuttle of coal, please marm ?” “ Mrs. Shaw?” I said, not quite re covered from my surprise. “ Yes, marm; we’ve come to take the house next door, and the provisions isn’t laid in.” Dinner was over, Mrs. Shaw gone, aud I sitting quietly over the fire, when my husband entered. “ It is bitter cold out, Ellon ; I’m afraid we are going to have snow before morn ing.” He drew his chair close beside me, and commenced warming his hands at the glowing grate. I took them in my own warm hands, scarcely able to clasp around them, and was just about to tell him of Mrs. Shaw, when he turned tome: “ Well, Ellen, did you see that you have at last ‘a next door neighbor ?’" A I laid my sleeping infant down, took up the basket, and led the way down stairs. “ Have you got the scuttle V’ I asked, turning to the girl. “No raarm; the things havn’t come yet; if you’ll be so good as to lend me yours, I’ll bring it back right straight.” The coal and scuttle were gotten, the girl disappeared, and I hastened up stairs; the child sleeping, so I took my work, fixed the fire, and sat down quietly. I had scarcely been seated ten minutes, when our servant girl appeared with the startling intelligence, that “ Mrs. Shaw was at the gate, and would like to see me. She wished to speak to me a moment.” I threw aside my work, picked up a shawl to put around me, and followed the girl down stairs. “ I hate to be so troublesome,” said Mrs. Shaw, as I approached the gate, smiling good humoredly ; “ but I’m just moving iu you see, and you must have done the same yourself” I also smiled back at Mrs. Shaw, for I felt in a very good humor myself that morning, and also iu a very obliging one, “ Yes, I only moved in a month ago.” “ A month! why you are quite as much of a stranger here then as I am ” “ Equally so,” I said, “for no one has called on me yet. I’m afraid you’ll find the neighborhood very dull, Mrs. Shaw, for they take no notice of strangers.” “Ah 1 indeed ? But, perhaps, you stand too much on ceremony, Mrs. Word ? Do as Ido : if they wont call on me, why then I’ll call on them.” She laughed again, good naturedly, while I drew the shawl close around rac. “ But, dear me! I’m keeping you in the cold. I forgot ! You see, Mrs Word, I’m just moving in, and my things havn’t come. I know I’m very trouble some”— “ O, no,” I put in. “ But, I forgot! I’m keeping you in the cold. I wanted to ask Mrs. Word if you wouldn’t let your girl cook mo a little lunch— just anything, Mrs. Word —anything in the world ?” “Os course I would. I was glad to help Mrs. Shaw in any way I could; but, perhaps, Mrs. Shaw would come in and dine with me; I was quite alone?” “ 0, now! you are too kind,” pleaded Mrs. Shaw; “ but, my old dress is so dirty !” giving a downward look at her brown calico,” “I’m ashamed! but it’s such dirty work, Mrs. Word. 0! it is such dirty work.” I could make all allowances, and Mr. Word never came home till evening, and I was all alone. So Mrs. Shaw thanked me for my very great kindness, and, smiling graciously, drew the shawl around her, and went jostling away into the house. gentleman went into the vacant lot just as I came. There is a great deal of rub bish iu the yard ; looks as if someone were cleauing.” I told him of my day’s experience, aud remembering just then that my scuttle had not been returned, hastened down to send, for fear Mrs. Shaw had forgotten and might lock up and leave, “ And she dined with you, you say ?” “ Yes; she came to the fence, and very politely asked if I would have a lunch cooked for her. You see, William, she was not fixed, aud I found her very pleas- ant; and besides she’s to be our nearest neighbor. I’d like to make a friend of her —il’s so lonely here!" Os course, you intend calling on her ?” “ Yes, as soon as I find she is fixed and ready to receive tie ” So the evening closed with our 'Next Door Neighbor.” I again heard the irou gate slam, and Mrs. Shaw and a very slim little man, who 1 at once con cluded was Mr. Shaw, sally forth into the twilight, followed by the servant girl. The curtains were drawn, baby asleep, and William and I sat snugly chatting the long winter night away'. CHAPTER 11. Tin ee days had passed since Mrs. Shaw first arrived, and now the novelty had worn off again, and I sat silently taking my dinner alone, when the door was shoved open, and a pretty little girl walked doubtfully' in. She was very pretty, with large dark blue eyes and soft brown curls, and not over six years old. She looked slily at me, then dropped her long brown eye lashes, and played with the strings of her dark linen apron. I spoke to her, and asked if she would not set down and eat something with me, but she would not, and then said that Mamma was waiting for her. “ And who is your Mama?” I asked, taking her on my lap, and running my fingers through her soft brown curls. She lives over there.” She took her hand up to point from the window, and the saucer slipped from her lap and roll ing around the floor, stopped at length under the table. She slipped out of my lap, and bring ing it to me, said that “Mama wanted a little salt, and butter, aud pepper.” I took the saucer, emptied the cruet and salt cellar in it, cut the butter in half, aud handing it to her, she ran gaily out of the room. 1 finished my solitary meal, and sat dancing tho baby on rny knee, when the door opened and Blanch i appeared “ Mama says she don’t like to be troublesome, but won’t you lend her a yeast, and she’ll make some herself to morrow ?” Iliad no liquid yeast, but got up to get her the veast cake. It was the last 1 had, but could easily send to the apothecary’s for more, so wrapped it up and gave it to her. “ Blanch,” I said, “ does your Mama use this kind of yeast?” “O! she keeps her’s in a bottle, but tthe knows how,” and rolling it up in her apron, she once more ran out of the room. The next morning, while William and I were at breakfast, Blanch came in with a pitcher which held, 1 doubt not, a quart. She was not so shy now; she had gotten near to me, and running by Wil liam placed the pitcher beside me, aud shoving her curls out of her eyes with her little plump hand, said: “ Mrs. Word, Mama says won’t you give her a teaspoenful of milk in here ? The man hasn't come, and Papa is iu a hurry to go to the store.” I took up the pitcher and looked at William, who smiled at the idea of a teaspoonful of milk in a quart pitcher. Nevertheless, I halt filled it, and handed it to Blanch, who was soon out of sight. “ She’s a pretty little thing—it’s a pity to send her begging so.” He shoved back the chair, folded up the paper, and in a moment more the frontdoor slammed. All alone now, I thought, for a long quiet day, and taking my work, and sit ting the baby on the floor before me, fixed myself for a long day’s work; but I was soon roused from my reverie by Dorrie, the servant girl. “ Well, Dorrie, is Mrs. Shaw all fixed at last?” “ Yes, marm. She’s got all her fur niture up, but has not gotten her wood yet. Sent me over to borrow' a few sticks troin you, and says she’ll return it as soon as the wood man comes.” “ Is that all she wants ?” I asked. “ No, marm, she told me to ask you if you could let her have an egg, and a quart of flour, and a little piece of lard ?” “An egg!” “ A quart of flour!” “ A piece of lard !” “ And some wood!” I repeated over to myself, to get it straight. “ And, I forgot, she told me to ask you to let her have a cup of sugar.” “ An egg !” “ A quart of flour!” “ A piece of lard!” “ Some wood!” “ And a cup of sugar.” “ Yes. marm.” “ And that’s all ?” “ Yes, marm.” I rang tho bell, left the.* baby with the girl, and went down once more to h*nd to Mrs. Shaw. Scarcely had the giq gotten out of the door than Blanch stopped her, saying that, Mania had forgotten to tell her to borrow Mrs. Word’s boiler, she’d just gotten a ham and her’s was too small.” “ But my boiler was in use,” I not much inclined to lend it out; “tel] Mrs. Shaw I can’t spare it,” But, in a few moments the indefatiga ble Blanch returned, saying that "Mama would like to have my iron pot, if } could not spare my boiler.” “Then, take it,” I said. “Borrow' borrow! borrow!’ secretly provoked at myself for being so often imposed upon So the servant took the pot, and once more I was free of the Shaws. For some days after there was but little in. tercourse between my neighbor and my self, until one morning Dorrie agaiu showed herself at tny door with the as tonishing request that I’d lend Mrs. Shaw my baby ! “ Lend her my baby! And prav, what does she want with my baby ?’’ “ O! marm, she only wants to try on a sack for her sister’s baby, and says I’ll fetch him right back in a minute.” “ Well! if that's all, take it.” I threw a shawl around the child, and gave him to Dorrie, who soon returned him “all right." Some days had been passed since the baby borrowing, and William not being well, had not been able to leave the house. He was better now, and only wished me to go round the corner to have renewed a prescription left by the doctor. I stood before the glass, fixing the strings to my bonnet, just before going out, when Dorrie again came in. “ Well, Dorrie! What next?” “ Mrs Shaw sent me to ask you to lend her your hat, and she’ll soon send it hack.” I looked at William, whose mouth had already taken a sudden twitch, while lie bent still lower over his paper. “ You tell Mrs. Shaw I want my hat myself,” knotting the strings of my bin net frightfully as I spoke, in my haste to get out of it. “ You tell Mrs. Shaw I've got it on /” clapping the hat upon my head, and dashing the bonnet upon the bed with such foice that it landed quite beyond on the floor, while the door closed noiselessly on Dorrie. “Well, you’ve done it now!" said William, lauglfing, delighted to give vent to his amusement. “ Yes, aud I meant to do it! It’s bor row! borrow! borrow! from morn until night! There’s no end of lending her. I wish she was in Egypt!" “ Why, I thought you wanted a neighbor —‘ a next door neighbor!’ —and you have it. I thought you liked her mightily ?’* “ Well, 1 did , until she commenced this endless borrowing. There’s no en during her. Why, what do you suppose she sent for last week ?” “ I have not the slightest idea. A little of everything, I reckon.” “Well, she sent to borrow my baby!" He laughed, but called me back as I closed the door, to say that “ though i might lend my' baby, he was neither tor sale or rent /” A few weeks alter, I saw a furniture wagou stop at the door of Mrs. and°chairs, and tables, aud things in general, carried out to it. “ What are you looking at Allen; said William, who’d just thrown his book aside. “ A furniture wagon.” “ Humph! an interesting thing! “ Yes, decidedly ; for Mrs. Mia* !<i moving.” “You don’t say so!” ar.d throwing down his book, he came to the wiuau* beside me. “Well, Allen, are you not going t’ pay' a farewell visit?” “ Not TANARUS! I’m afraid she might chang l her mind.” “Well! three months, and you art. glad to get rid of your ‘ AeJ’/ Neighbor /” “Yes! yes! heartily glad. “ Wagon after wagon rolled away. length Mrs. Shaw, Mr. Shaw, and Blanc got into a hack and turned the corner The doors wore locked, the blinds c and it looked very lonely; but, 0. 0 preferable to Mrs. Shaw ! , “For, said William, as we away, there was nothing left that could not borrow, irom an iron p O, baby!” M g Reader, have you ever had a wr for a “Next Door Neighbor ?”
