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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 ?”