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WILD WORK;
A Study of Western Life.
BY MARY E. BRYAN.
An honr afterwards it was again dark. Zoo
sat where she had been sitting last nigbt when
Hirne threw himself at her feet and told her the
storv of his turbulent life. She tmd been look
ing for him every hour ot the day. She craved
his coming that she might hear from his own
lips the solution of a doubt that ached at her
heart. 8he longed to hear from his own lips
that he had not disregarded her prayer, that if
it was true these men were murdered, he had no
hand in their massacre. She sprang up esgerly
when sho beard some one ride up to the gate.
But it was Henry Bronn’s low, sturdy figure that
came up the walk and stood before her. holding
out his hand. . She grasped it and looked hard
in his face. .. „ ,
‘You have corn" to answer my question Henry,
she s<»id. ‘What has become of the parish officers
yon went to guard ?' ..... .
His hand shook as she held it, his eyes drop-
^•Miss Zoe, they got what they deserved, I
reckon,’ he said at last.
‘Henry, do you mean to tell me they were
killed ? „ ,
•Thev are dead, Miss Zoe
•Oh God ! all of them killed-Omar Witchell
too-that gentle-hearted, inoffensive soul, and
young Edge field, and Devene. who has just mar
ried one of our Southern girls; gray-haired How
ard, and Wallace and Hollin, who have wives
here in onr midst and little children; were all
theae killed.’? >
‘God have mercy on the soul that planned this
dreadful deed, and the hands tba £ exec ]> t ® < *
‘They deserved it Miss Zoe. ^ They tried to
stir up a riot among the blacks.’
•I am glad you believe so. I am glad to think
that most of these men-slayers believed they
were doing a just act, that they were executing
rightful punishment upon criminals. 1 tear it
was a mistake, or a deception. I fear a great
wrong has been done. . ..
‘Miss Zoe, you know that Captain Witchell ex
tortioned upon the people. , ,
•Should his sins be visited upon the heads of
these men ? or should a suspicion be punished
as if it was a certainty? But al discussion
is wasted breath now. The deed is done. There
is one thing I must know; you say the guard did
not kill the men—who did ?’
‘A mob that followed us.
‘And who composed that mob ?’
He shook his head.
•There were so many strangers here, he said
evasively, ‘no telling who did anything.
‘Why did not the guard try to defend the men
that were in their charge ?’ ......
Again he shook his head. ‘They never helped,
none of them that I saw,’ he said,
back to the tnen pretending to stroke his horse s
neck, taWMes Blair’s picture out and look at
it, and his face got sober as he looked. Home
of the men were cutting watermelons: waldon
was standing by his horse, looking down the
road we had just come over. Omar was telling
me not to go away after we got to S- without
- - - ■ > u o letter f»r
when
‘but-
must’nt say, though; I wont accuse anybody, for
I don’t know. But it was very strange. I know
I never once suspected. It came so sudden and
awful; it makes my head whirl to think otit. 1
see it all before me every minute: I see Omar s
face, I hear their groans in my ears. Oh Miss
Zoe, it served ’em right I s’pose, but it was aw-
* U ‘Henrv will you not tell me who did it ? Zoe
cried, trembling. The thought that Hirne
might be the leader in the assassination was ag-
° D ‘I wilitoll you all I know. We started to car-
rv the men out of the State. We started m good
faith; at least I did. I don’t answer tor anybody
fclBC, beoar.ee I don't bnotr. I hnrdlj Unevr the
CaDtain ol the gnard, beseemed a clever enough
fellow. The officers picked-us out; Omar chose
me. I knew him right well; we had camped out
on Lake Clear, and fished and hunted together.
He was a first-rate fellow to camp with—so good-
humored and so full of dry tun. Edgefield was
with us too. He was a splendid shot, and could
tell such tales of wild adventure around the
camp fire. Oh. to think of how I saw him this
morning-; ’
‘The sun was an honr high when we started.
The men had sat up all night fixing up their
business and writing letters. I carried the let
ters up to their wives and brought back the
things they wanted to take with them.
Hbd they not see their families to say good-
by * e \o it was against orders. The women had
honed to see them up to the last. It was rignt
niuful to hear them cry over the letters. I sa
“ nn t he gallery while they read 'em and
oacked up the 8 things. I knew Mark Hollin’s
wife They stopped at our house when they
firit'eame to this country. She came out to me,
nnd tcok mv hand and said, ‘Henry, stand by
Keep gomT faith with them an,
“ D j we will pray for you forever. Her little
boy knew me and threw his arms around my
n „ck- ‘I send this kiss tc my pa, be said, tell
him we’re cornin’ tc him soon. Ma hae sent
him my picture and hers, and I put ms diamond
buttons in his shirt myself. Mamma, what
makes you cry so? you know we are going where
na is right soon.’ I think A itcheli s sisters had
fears of what would happen. But the men seem
ed in pretty good spirits when we started. Tney
looked pale and anxious, but Omar spoke to. us
pleasantly and so did Devene, though he kept
f a eye s looking over the heads of the crowd at
the house we could just see, where his wife stood
at the window kissing her hands to him. She had
been bent on coming to see him and he had to
r d a special messenger to tell her not to try it.
V,Icefield joked and laughed. He had sent a
fitter by me to Auzete Blair the night before,
and I bad brought back an auswer to it and her
picture - I saw her crying as she wrote. There
was a crowd round the door when the prisoners
came out and mounted, but they all fell back
and we rode out quietly, nobody following us.
Alver pledged them that they should be taken
care of then he came up and took Kick Waldon
—the Captain of the guard-aside and talked
to him for some minutes, and then a big, dark
looking fellow they called Cobb spoke a few
words to Waldon and laughed; I saw that same
man afterwards with the mob that did the kiil-
inc. He bad his hat slouched over his eyes but
I knew him. , , „
•\Ve took the road up the river to S—. Tee
officers were riding fast horses; they were fresh
and wanted to go. ‘Not too fast, the Captain said
and we checked in a little. We baa put a good
many mihs between us and Cohatchie, when
“e mounted a hill, Wallace looked back and
Tmmed to a cloud of dust way behind us, half
nSSteiJUofc »■>« -wtotvaar
and Bick told him it was some of tne boys of
the guard, whose horses could not keep up Ev
ery time we mounted a rise, we saw that cldud
M-Vnst and once we saw men on horseback
through it, and Howard said: ‘Lets ride taste ,
tnroagju > a quicker pace and we
seeing him first, as he would have a
his wife he wanted to trust to my care;
suddenly Howard cyied out: ‘Look! see R-
ttiose men with guns; what does, that mean .
We turned our heads and saw a parcel of armed
men on’horseback turn the bend in tho road,
and come galloping up to us. Devene cried
out: ‘Mount, and ride for your lives. They
ran for Their horses and sprang into the saddles
as quick as thought, but their pursuers were
upon them. The foremost man cried out: ‘Sur
render,’ and the others yelled the word after
him. The mob begun firing. Omar turned in
his saddle with tbe blood running out of a
wound in his neck. ‘Give me a gun. I don t wan .
to die like a dog! he cried.* The bullets rained
on him and he fell under the horse s feet. Edge-
field cried out: ‘I’ll die, but I wont surrender,
and he dashed ahead and reached the top of the
hill, when a bullet struck him in the head ana
he leaped up out of his saddle and fell dead to
the ground. Devene was killed too. Wallace
and Howaid and Mark Hollin got away, but
they were caught and taken to Bard s store, a
little way beyond. Howard was the first one
shot. The old man trembled like a leaf. He
got down on his knees and begged and prayed
them to spare him. Wallace too, asked to be
spared. He said: ‘God is my witness I have
never done a wrong to any man in this country.
I am only a magistrate. Mitchell sent for me
here to superintend his business. He was kind
to me, he gave me a home in his house and this
office. I have only held the office a little while.
I have tried to do what was right.’
They shot both of them. I counted the pla
ces where ninety buckshot had entered How
ard’s body. Mark Hollin stood and saw them
shot; when they came to him, he said: ‘Let me
say a prayer before you kill me ! and he knelt
down and prayed silently. Then he rose npand
said calmly: ‘There is only one tuing I ask of
you; that is, for God’s sake don’t harm my wife
and little child. Let them go away, in peace.
That is all.’ , ,
‘He was so cool and brave they stood and look
ed at each other with their reloaded guns in their
hands as if they thought it almost a pity to kill
him. He had been in the country only a little
while, you know, but he was so friendly and
free hearted one could’nt help liking him. As
they were going to shoot, a man galloped up and
offered a thousand dollars to have his life spar
ed. ‘I do it on the part of another man,’ hesaid,
—a man that got a fall from his horse and was’nt
able to come on, but he is just behind a few
miles and he’s got the money, tor I know h.m.
He said he’d give a thousand dollars for every
life you spared, and I am only in time for one,
I see.’
‘Some cried: Humbug !’ and some ‘Plank out
your money, let’s see it,’ and several called out
to Mark Hollin to run into the cotton; they’d give
him a chance for his life. But he stood still
and said: ‘You’ve killed all my friends, now
kill me. I will not run for my life.’ And he
too was shot. I went up aud looked at him. his
face was as calm as if he had dropped to sleep_
I don’t know what they did with tbe bodies; I
came awav. I felt sick and stunned-like, as if
I d had a bullet in my own head. The looks of
those dead men will never get out of my mind.
As I rode back and passed wherg the others were
lying, I saw one of the men taking r ff Edgfield’s
watch and chain; his pocket book lay on the
ground, and by it was scattered Miss Auzete’s
letter and nicture. I picked them up and
brought them to rive to voa for her. I saw
some one taking out tbe diamond studs
from Mark Hollin’s Bhirt—the same his little
boy told me be had put in. I couldn't help
feeling sorry to thick of the child and the wives
of the men, that were hoping and praying
they were safe while they lay there dead. I
knew they deserved to be pnnished but it
looked like a bad day’s work Miss Zoe.’
Horror had kept Zoe mute throughout this re
cital. When she spoke it was in a hoarse, unnat
ural voice. , , , ,
•Yon said the party of lynchers had a leader;
who was he ?' „ ,
‘They said he was a Texan. I don t remember
his name. They called him Captain some
thing.’
‘Was it Hirne?'
‘I think it was. He was a man with long hair
and a keen eye; a splendid rider. Do you
----- :j wan tired and our horses were
oetting 1 blown! He would not go a step farther
until he rested; Here was a watermelon parch
until farther off, was a store and
fctsteTn We’d strike a halt and send for water
a cistern. t v, e horses took a rest. So
wASTdown. It was just beyond our parish
we got down •> j d gonie b 0 dy
“"■J ””d q-icUj- « Witeh.ll
BR y so, disturbed, but Omar didn t Beem to
aDd d hfiMook He was sitting on the grass and
m,D pale and absent minded Edgefield was
P . _i j saw him wjitn ho had his
know him ?’
q_ I believe I do:’ She articulated faintly,
her hands were tightly locked; her features
drawn, and pale. Henry Bronn looked at her
with distress in his good natured face.
‘I am sorry I told you that dreadful affair. I
see it hurts you so." I am sorry it happened,
though I dont think the men were so wrong to
lvncfi the officers, because you know they were
accused of inciting the negroes to kill aDd rob
the whites. But it was an awful thing; they
swooped down on ns so sudden and we> i through
their w ork so quick that I was taken all aback
and never thought about defending the men,
and the Captain of the guard gave no orders
for us to do so. Do you blame me, Miss Z je .
‘No Henry, I do not ever, judge the men who
did the deea. I have no doubt they believed
they were justifiable. They believed they were
avenging a crime. In an excitement like this,
reaso"!! ceases to operate. The men were decei
ved. They knew not what they did. But it is
a sorrowful business; when the excitement is
over, they will feel it so. . .
‘The wives of these men, she said at last,
‘have they heard the fate of their husbands ?’
‘Not yet; some one will be sent to-night to
tell them. All the mcney in the parish treasu
ry could not hire me tc be the one.
Zoe turned awav and walked to the end o. tiie
gallery. To the picture of the murdered men
that rose before her, was added that of the snriek-
inc- wives the frightened and weeping children.
And before and around this dreadful picture,
glared as if in lines of fire, the words: ‘He was
the leader in this dark work; he was chief of
the assassins.’ , , ,,
Her endurance had been strained to the ut
most. She could no longer bear to listen to
Henry Bronn or to speak to him in return.
‘Supper is ready,’ she said to him, ‘I know
you are hungry and tired. Go in and see Hugh,
he knows you are here and will be glad to see
^ It was a relief to be alone, that she might go
out into the orchard and fling herself down on
‘he grass and let the dew and the coolness o,
the night quench tho fire that burned in her
temples. The man she loved was unworthy.
She knew now, by the sharp pang at her heart,
that she uid love him. He had been foremost
in the work of death, though, unlike the others,
h6 had been warned not to take the lives of these
men, lor in all probability they were innocent
of any criminal plot against the people. _
She had told him her reasons for believing
this Dan Nolan had confirmed her words,and yet
—he had disregarded her r. quest, her pleadings,
but had fallen in with the treacherous plan to
pursue and kill the officers who had been spared
by the Committee of citizens. Such ferocity 1
such a cruel, savage spirit! Could sue ever lo^e
its possessor? No, she must put the thought of
him away. He was a monomaniac, or a born
savage, his bravery was an instinct for blood,
his strongest passion was revenger
No wonder he had not returned; he could not
face her with his hands stained with the blood
of tbe men she had implored him to spare. She
would not see him ii he cams. She determined
never to see him agfci. She must not think of
him. She must for^ those passionate, melan
choly eyes that hp) made her unfaithful in
thought to her betqthed. They should not
again come between^* and her plighted faith.
This night she wolfl write to Roy. She had
not answered his las jitter, In which he urged
her to name a day fo |he marriage she had so
long delayed. She \jpld write now and name
a day—an eajly day must be. She must put
the irrevocable vows ejween her and this man
who had so strangely ^thralled her. When she
was the wife of tbe h^rable, true-hearted gen
tleman to whom she as promised, mistress of
his pretty home, Bounded by his elegant
friends, in the deligbnl society in which she
had moved before deh and misfortune broke
up her city home, shefonid forget this roman
tic dream. It was on a passing lancy, a law
less growth, a wild sd, passion-blown, that
had dropped in her hm’s garden, and fastened
upon its soil, until—! what a pang it cost to
root it up.
Tho next day came, iff its hours glided on
tranquilly, as Summi hours do. Hirne did
not come. Zoe caughtjraelf watching for him.
Parties of horsemen ro down on the opposite
bank of the river and cased,from time to time.
Some of these were meiom Sabine returning
to their homes. Seven,! them rode up to the
gate and asked for wateof one of these, Zoe in
quired for Hirne, and l-»ed ‘that he was com
ing, but he was pretty*jly worsted aud Lis
horse too.’ The men ai^red little inclined to
talk. They seemed dissented and troubled.
The fever of exciteme|ad died out; in the
cool light of reason theilsty rush to the res
cue seemed to them a errand. They all
disclaimed any participtp in the murder of
the Radical officers.
Noon-came on: there ^ no more men cross
ing the river. The shad, began to lengthen;
the dreamy quiet of a Sqaer afternoon steep
ed ' the scene. The beouzzed lazily in the
deep-hearted blossoms oje vines, the young
orioles dozed in their ne the deep blue of the
sky was unbroken except two or three slow-
circling vultures. Zoe ceased her restless
flitting about the house tyard, and sat where
the breese-rippled leavesa tree soothed her
with their pleasant whis The peace of the
hour dropped its balm u, her heart, and for
an instant, as she lay ban the cool, cbiDtz-
covered chair, the horrilevents of the three
past days seemed a kinf night mare. Her
eyes fell upon a pair of lv negroes, lying in
the shade of a fig tree anuciiy sucking the
crimson-hearted fruit.
‘Look at dem buzzards fo’ up yonder,’said
one, and the other answer‘Dey come from de
swamp. Dey's been eatin’ole Levi.’
Zoe sprang to her feet ai stung. She had
been drifting into thoughbHirne—murmur
ing to herself one of his sc. The spell was
broken; the late horror and part he had play
ed in it, came to her; but it came the feel
ing that her heart was wead hardly to bo
trusted. She ought to go t before he came.
She heard her brother’s voicing out: ‘Here’s
a boat at last.’ The river been so low there
had been no regular naviei. She went out
to the front piazza, where Hin his cool dress
ing gowD, lay upon the lou
‘She is blowing her whisid going to stop.
It’s the Mabel that hasn’t blown this sum
mer. Likely Mondes mo* *j on board. She
was coinine is soph
of his rheumatism. T ▼-
The boat stopped; a middle-aged .lady
got off. came up to tnet and tfas soon fold
ing Monde and the neiiy in h?r am pie arms.
The boat made fast tOgetre»on the bank,
preparatory to taking wood. A sudden
thought had come to ZShe said to her sis
ter-in-law: ‘Now youlher has come to stay
with you, I think, if sure you can spare
me, I will go on the Mgown to N— and rest
a while at the convent.ther Doremns gave
me permission. She uy teacher at St. Jo
seph's before she cam( to be Mother Su
perior of this convent,
‘Certainly we will syou, Zoe. You do
need rest badly. Yoo* done every thing
for us, and it has madi paie. Let Mandy
help you dress quickl take your trunk to
the boat.’
A traveling dress wickly donned, a few
changes of clothing p in a little trunk, and
Zoe hurried to the ley as the Mibel sound
ed her warning whisfl was soon on board
the little craft anam-ing slowly down
the river to her desti—the convent of St.
at the town of )ut thirty miles down
power should be wet with so much hlood ? When
the news came he turned deadly pale, and said,
‘I would give my right hand that this had not
happened ’
Was it so that his plot hadgone beyond what
he purposed? That iiavmg summoned the red
fiend, Riot, to do his work, it would not ‘down’
at his bidding? His female accomplice had
counted on this, when she said: ‘Once set the
ball in motion, and ieuve results to chance.’
Even she turned pale and trembled when she
heard the screams of the bereaved wives. She
whs riding on horseback that evening when the
news of the massacre-came suddenly upon the
inmates of Omar's Cottage, where the wives ot
the officers had gathered like scared cloves for
mutual sympathy and protection
those shrieks of mortal agony. They pierced
even her heart of marble. The hand that held
the bridal rein shook; then, sharp4y cutting her
horse, Bhe fled from the sounds.
I TO BE CONTINUED.)
HARVEST.
From the Diary of a Layman.
BY JO. BEAN.
“These were liis exact words. The circumstan
ces oft iie pursuit and killing of these officers are
given here almost word for word as they were told
me by one of the guard who accompanied the pri
soners The sum offered to have the life of Ho 11 in
snared was three thousand dollars,however, and the
man who offered it was a Southerner aud a staunch
Democrat.
the river.
Scarcely was thee of the boat out of
sight when Captaine rode down to the
river bank on the sidsite to Vincent's store
and hailed for tbe fli brought over to him.
He looked pale and there was a trace of
bodily pain on his fit his brow lighted, as
looking over to toe t cottage, he caught a
glimpes of a ladies o tho gallery.
‘Are all saftaand W9 asked of Tom Ludd,
who came in tne fia him across.
‘Yes sir, Mr. Hmp. Miss Zoe is jes
gone away.’
‘Gone?’ the ligh out of the Captain,s
face.
‘Where did she g<
‘She we,nt on de fat Mabel to de city.
Heap uv her friendhie and de gen’leman
she’s goin to marry and his sister come
up here las’ spring a mighty handsome
gen’laian and richais. Won't you go by
de house Cap’n andglass uv clar't wid
Mars Hugh ? Mam carried your coat up
dere.’
‘ No Tom,’said thin gloomily. ‘I’m
tired and must get ing the coat out to
the gate for me. I leg by a fall yester
day.’
Tom brought the
‘ God bless yot Hirne. Me and
Mandy’ll never forfie said as his fingers
closed over the hal: Hirne had put into
his hand.
1 So that’s all ove&xan said to himself
as he rode away- 'fool’s hope anyway.
I might have knoWald not care for me.
What is there in S woman like her to
care for ? But I WC loved her. Oh God !
how I love her ! | is foolishness must
stop, I’ll Bhut dow. once. My will shall
crush it. I'm us««J bufferings.’
But the thund4i>w gathering in the
east was not gioonhis face as he rode
on and entered til
The flower of‘ifai!s to bear the bit
ter fruit of punifltfofully was Marshall
Witchell punishj|fins of gr^pd and am
bition. They h*Jto bring down doom
on the heads of I he loved, the brother
he cared for as to living thing. When
the news of the came to him in the
beautiful seasid is friend, General S.,
near New Orlea id to his feet with the
white agony of is face. For an inst
ant it seemed i 1 for belief, then, as
the terrible r |ched itseif into his
brain, he fell t in tones that none
who heard bin ‘Oh! my brother, my
brother, wonlc id died in your place.’
And Alver; 1 nt that his scheme to
rid the parish rule should end in
| this? Had helkt his path to political
Terrill Courtland never closed his record of a
day with more hope and satisfaction, than on
the eventful afternoon after hours of greater
trial and excitement than any during his brief
and brilliant career.
Having sealed his last letter and snatched his
hat, to change the close air of his office for the
pure atmosphere outside, he felt that his mind
had been so taxed all day his body demanded
exercise and* he determined to walk to his home
t) ough some miles distant.
He had never possessed over his clerks, great
er influence than his genial and courteous man
ner secured to him now. With each one he
shook bands cordially, and thanked them for
their extra services rendered during this his
most arduous conflict. Then with his usual
impulse he rushed from the room, but as quick
ly reappearing on the threshold he said:
‘•Jennings, please be sure the poor woman
gets her woou this afternoon or she will suffer,
and oh ! I came near forgetting a sick boy in the
alley that I promised to feed. I’m all worn out,
please do it for me. ’
He smiled back at the accustomed ‘yes sir,’
and crossed his door, how little did he think
so, the last time forever.
In all the land there was none to be so much
praised as Terrill for his beauty, and now as
his splendid figure with head erect swept out
into the crowded thoroughfare, he justly felt
that he was the greatest man in all this multi
tude. One month ago in defending what had
been pronounced a hopeless murder case, he
had won it, prevailing over the united efforts of
the two great champions of the bar, and to-day
in the State Senate where he was representing
his district, he had fought a measure, at first
against every member of the house, and argaed
it until the question called, showed votes unan
imously his.
As these little waves of vanity broke softly
over his soul, a voice seemed speaking from the
soul itself.
‘Rejoice oh young man, in thy youth and let
thy heart cheer thee, but know thou, that for
all these things God will bring thee into judg
ment.’
But these waves of vanity silenced that plea
for eternity.
His face was still flushed, his heart still beat
fast from the exciting triumph of the morning,
V-Wt iij .rta pig
and reflection. All this achieved, vanity whis
pered, and you scarce twenty-five ? Go on at this
rate and the next eleotion makes you governor
of your state; a glorious administration and
then your path is straight for the U. S. Senate.’
Alas ! this vanity did not ponder, ‘with God’s
blessing I will advance,’ it was proclaiming, my
own power and talents shall effect my ends,
and a neglected God was pronouncing:
•Thou fool, this nignt shall thy soul be requir
ed of thee.’
‘Why, Terrill,’ shouted one from a crowd of
bis friends, ‘our modern Cicero, your hand old
fellow; your speech was the grandest effort I
ever listened too. Everything goes your way
now.’
’Tis sweet to be flattered. A thrill of pride
passes over the young hero, as one bv one they
grasp his band and sound his praises, but ho is
a loving son, and he takes leave of his satellites
to meet his father and mother whose idol he is,
and whose loving looks and words his heart is
now craving.
•One drink, old fellow, one drink at least,’ his
companions insist as he struggles to get away,
and they drag him to the wine room near by.
Terrill’s greatest fault is, he cannot say ‘no;’ his
kind heart makes him a social martyr, and his
motto is, ‘what’s the good cf a man if he doesn’t
live for his friends?’
So glass by glass, the sparkling, rosy wine is
drunk, and Terrill at last, with confused ideas
leaves the room, though not so confused as to
entirely silGnce tee conscience once more rous
ed to action. With a noble nature, the purest
promptings of heart and religious influence
from birth, Terrill Courtland commits no sin of
which he is not, aware, but he always relieves
his mind by the reflection, ‘tis my unfortunate
good nature,’ and so with him religion becomes
a mere caprice. He does no: draw the greet
distinction,between right anrl wrong and forgets
that is not for the kingdom of heaven is against
it.
On his way homo Terrill is stopped a hundred
times by friends who clasp his hand and praise
him for his rising power and renown.
‘Good-bye, Terrill,’ one of them shouts as he
leaves him;‘go with me to the play to-night,
the tragedian is sublime aud just your style.’
Terrill says to him as he says to all, ‘yes, with
the greatest pleasure,’hurries on nnd then re
flects:
‘I cannot be there, I must stop this habit of
saying yes to everything. I wonder that I have
friends after so many broken engagements and
a conscience after so many untruths. Perhaps
I had better turn now and tell him, but no
some other day I’ll be stronger and say no.’
He goes on and now a beggar with ■ tattered
garb and haggard look, holds out his withered
hand.
‘Why not work ?' asks Terrill.
The beggar with one hand points to heaven as
he murmurs:
‘Long illness.’
Terrill’s heart cannot witness suffering, it
sends his hand into his pocket which returns
with all the contents, a ten dollar note and which
he hands the beggar without looking.
The astonished recipient holds it up for the
donor to see and Terrill calling ‘keep it,’ half
smiling and half crying hurries away to avoid
the poor man’s thanks.
A little further on the young man is met by
his pastor who baptized him in childhood and
who now takes his hand as he proudly says:
‘My boy has outstripped them all, Terrill,
have you ever thought who gives you all these
honors ?’
The young man’s face grows pensive.
•I have not sir,’ he says ‘thought as I hope to
think; you must talk and pray more with me.’
‘It is the time, my boy,’ continues his pastor,
‘when your creator loves to hear you best. Oh,
Terrill, remember him now while the evil days
come not nor the years draw nigh when thou
shalt have no pleasure in them.’
‘I will strive to sir,’ and the young man with
that reverence which is so becoming m> the young
presses the old man’s hand and hurries on.
He is soon at home with his father’s smile up
on him, his fevered brow, upon his mother’s lap,
while his brothers and sisters crowded around
him eager to catch his accents.
‘Oh, father ! I was so excited until my mo
tion was called,then as I rose my thoughts were
‘how father’s and mother’s happiness depends
on my success.’ Then a vision of yon all pass
ed before me, until my voice loudly and clearly
pealed out, and I lost Terrill Courtland nntil
I found him, surrounded by senators and law
yers in a maze of hand-shaking3 and congratu
lations while my ears were deafened with ap-
S'ae heard j plause. Then I thought how happy father and
mother and all of ns will be, and it brought to
my mind those halcyon days when at the head
of my class your wishes urged me to control my
college honors, and gave lustre to that diploma
up there, which otherwise would have been to
me but a dingy sheepskin.’
The proud and happy parents can only gaze
and dote upon their beauty, their eldest born,
while he rattles on.
‘No, No! do not make me vain, there are many
drawbacks and deficiencies about- me. I was
shocked to-day on thinking that I have not said
my prayers for a week, and I am terribly care
less about promises. I say yes to everyone and
think no more Rbout it, but this excitement over
I hope to do better and join the church. Don’t
be shocked at my confession, mother,’ he added
laughingly, ‘if life were guaranteed to me, I’m
living splendidly, but it is not and I am not
prepared to die.’
The last strange allusion drilled his paren,.-'
heart. Why in his random talk should he spea:
of death? They chided him gently for his lev
ity and would have exhorted him to think on
heaven, but just then the tea bell rang and away
he merrily ran. He partook of a happy and a
hearty meal; he was unusually gay and affec
tionate with his brothers and sisters; he sat with
them to a late hour of the evening discussing
hopes and plans, and then he kissed them all
and left them for the night and—forever.
Here as he pauses on this threshold, let us al
so pause and gaze on him in the zenith of his
splendor, the meridian of his beauty and pow
er, for the silver cord will soon be loosed and
the golden bowl be broken. Whh an unsullied
name, the admiration and goodwill of his fel-
lowmen, and the affection and gratitude of his
parents, even Jesus looking on the young maa
loved him, though departing he must say, ‘yet
one thiDg lackest thou; follow me and I will
give thee eternal life. He that acknowledges
me before men, him will I acknowledge before
my Father in heaven.’
‘Terrill Courtland as he passed into his own
room, passed into a reverie, and slowly pacing
up and down the floor, he gave full sway to deep
and earnest meditation.
The little monitor within his breast kept urg
ing into his soul, the words which his pastor
had uttered that day, and as his mind would
recur to the happy faces of his earthly parents,
his guardian angel without and the holy spirit
within, would plead with him to raise his heart
to that great and loving Father on high, who
had crowned him with such loving kindness
and tender mercies.
Three times did he fall upon his knees to
mak6 his peace with God. Three times did Sa
tan enter his thoughts and lead his mind so oip-
tive away, tha: feeling ne had sinaed in the
presence of Jehovah by making other gods be
fore him, lie would rise from his knees and pace
his room, until overpowered with remorse, he
would once more bow in the presence of his in
jured Creator. When for the thirjTtime he had
vainly wrestled long in prayer, and the hopes
of eternrd heaven were blotted by the recollec-
i tions of earthly triumphs aud temporal elysium,
1 he rose to his feet and let the full tide of vanity
sweep over a soul enraptured with aud worship
ing itself.
As bis consciousness of legislative influence
faded before the softer dreams of social fascina
tion, he dwelt with pride on his personal attrac
tions, and instinctively ho strode to the mirror
and there stood gazing on the lofty brow, o’er-
shadowing those lustrous, dreamy eyes, the
handsome features and luscious ivory neck that
lost itself in majestic shoulders.
T’was strings ! Nothing stirred within the
room; he stood there wrapt in self contempla
tion, when the mirror into which he was gazing
tell forward, and ere he could spring and arrest
its course,was shivered into atoms.
He was not superstitions, but looking round
to find the cause of his image being broken, and
seeing and hearing nothing but the shadows
and the silence, a horror of being alone with an
injured God, fi-11 upon him and he roused to
pray again, when the midnight tolling of a city-
clock reminded him of his broken resolution,
to retire early that night. ‘I am too weary and
exhausted now to pray’ he sighed, but determin
ing -I will rise to-morrow an hour earlier for
prayer,’ he lulled his conscience by taking his
bible to read.
T’was strange! the chapter that by chance
opened be ore him, was the same quoted by his
pastor that day urging him ‘to remember his
creator now,’ and once more he roused to pray,
when the reflection ‘this is childish,’ stopped
him.
Almost, but not altogether,he was persnaded
and the holy spirit sent its pleading tones no
more.
There was no more struggle now; earth tilled
his soul, and as Iris head lay back upon the pil
low it. builded fairy castles in the air and linked
its thoughts to worldly pleasures, until his con
sciousness took wing in a realm of dreamy splen
dor, and the shadows thrown by dickering em
bers on the wall, seemed subjects bowing down
to do him homage.
Next morning when the old servant who al
ways waked him, knocked at his door the laugh
ing voice did not make reply, anu when he
knocked again and still no answer came, the
old man thought, ‘he is weary and needs rest,’
and so he left him.
But as the morning hours rolled by, and still
to their repeated summons, no answer was re
turned, they forced his door, then shrieked and
stood aghast at the pale white form that never
more would warm to their caresses, and the
laughing eyes forever closed to earth.
Upon the face there was no symptom of pain
or suffering, upon the body no sign of disease
or violence.
No one could tell when the 3onl that had strug
gled so hard for its salvation, had quited its fair
exterior, the star so lately shining with such
brilliancy had gone out into the blackness of
darkness forever.
It was appalling to stand beside the clay-cold
forn and know that this man, so grand in the
image and attributes of his maker had gained
the world, but lost his immortal soul.
Riches,
Many a man is rich without money. Thou
sands of men with nothing in their pockets are
rich. A man born with a good heart and good
iimbs, and a pretty good head piece, is rich.
Good bones are better than silver, and nerves
that flash fire, and carry energy to every func
tion, are better than houses and lands. It is
better than landed estates to have had the right
kind of a lather and mother. Good breeds ex
ist among men as really as among herds and
horses. Bducation may do much to check the
evil tendencies, or to develop good ones, but it
is a fine thing to inherit tbe right proportion of j
faculties to start with.