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TIIOIGlJJji IILDS.
Adventures in the Arkansas
and Red River Regions Half
a Century Ago*
PERSONAL BEMIN’ISICENi CES OF 0 1. WH. SPARES,
THE AUTHOR OF * FIFTY YEARS AGO. ”
With no very enviable feelings, Gilminot and
myself went to our lodge, when weoonsnlted up
on the situation. Oar horses were h. bbe 1 oh the
prairie, grazing. Hal they been at command,
we should have left Btealthily, and as best we
could, have found our way down the river
to tbo nearest white settlement, then buta little
way above where is now the ancient town of
Nacbitocb' s To attempt to recover these might
< xcite suspicion and increase the peril of our
position. We knew we were under the ban of
the head chief's displeasure, and we had just
seen that his will was law, urauimously acqui
esced :n eyen against the oj position of his ii.flu-
ential son. Reluctantly w- yielded to necessity,
and agreed passively to abide the issues of to
morrow. This, however, was no relief to our
apprehensions.
The evening w. s beautiful, clear, calm and
balmy. The stars came out upon the blue ether
above in lovely brightness, and the quiet w: s
ominous of sleep and rest. I believe it is the
universal habit of the Indian, when co: scions
of security, to retire very early. To-night, at
an early hour, none were astir. The sleepy
atilloe s was undisturbed, save an occasional
dispute snarlingly made between two or more
hungry curs over a bane, unearthed by some
more provident canine from where he had con-
side; ately concealed it. Lean dogs are always
on the watoh, and it was the noon of night,
when, near our lodge, we heard an ominous
growl—and a whispered rebuke instantly obeyed
— and all was still again. To ns, under tbe cir
cumstances, sleep was impcsiible, and every
sound alarming.
There was audible a stealthy tread near the
entrance of our lodge, and presently a low call
—evidently meant only for our ears. It was
Ghalal i and the young Lipan. Unbound and
free, she bade i s take up our traps and follow
her. This we did with silent alacrity, because
we were assured this was the doing of Chaleo.
Saon we were prepared, and silently follow
ing outside the circle formed by the lodges.
Occasionally a prowling cur wo a Id growl at us,
but would crouch to her. She had, at her pa
rent's bidding, stolen into the lodge where was
tbe Lipan boy, where she found bis guards
asleep, and had cut the binding thongs and re
leased him. He had received the hint from
Chaleo rot to sleep, and the coming of friendly
aid was expected, consequently his release was
noiseless.
The wily girl I led us across the little stream,
putting the ribboa of fading yellow foliage
aloDg its margin between us and the village.
Our march accelerated, soon brought us where
Chaleo was standing with our hordes, and the
Lipan caparisoned and ready for flight, with
instructions not to leave the stream until morn
ing, and then to dash at speed into the open
prairies. In a moment we were under way.
Slowly and noislessly i s possible, when suffi
ciently away not to ’*» heard, we quickened our
_Dacf u following as l**J W could the stream,
crossed the stream Af^an'cT 'ftUf
smiling in t!he coming^day just as we pmerged
from the bushes into the open prairie. We were
astonished to find there, in waiting, Chalala
upon her hunting pony, with her bow and quiv
er slung ready on emergency for aDy peril.
Reining her pony from the shade of the bushes,
she dashed at speed up the sloping plain, and
young Oclocone (for that was the boy's name)
followed without thought or hesitation.
Ignorant of the oause of her presence, we fol
lowed.
and for a moment remained still, with every in-
dication of listening, as simultaneously eaoh
lifting bis head, looked inquiringly in the same
din ction.
Oclocone gently raised his head and listened
attentively. Then placing his ear to the ground,
was a moment silent and still. Rising.he looked
intently, and gave a significant grunt, which
was only comprehended by Chalala. Shi sprang
up, stood a moment, when she said,‘the Pawnees
oome‘1’ and rapidly caparisoned her pony and
was ready to move. All were ready in a few
moments, but stayed to listeD and look.
A dull, monotonona sound rode upon the
breeze, like the coming of a strong wind. In a
few moments, upon the distant horizon, was
seen, as the noise grew more and more distinct*
a dari (moving mas«,when Chalala leaping to her.
saddle, exolaimed:
It is buffitlos stampeded on the plain,
and flying b< fore the Pawnees. They come on
our trail, and now if we would escape, we must
flee before this herd. They leave none save
their own trail, and will tramp out ou:s. Then
let them follow where we go.’
N jw they were distinctly visible—a mighty
mass of animal life, frightened and fleeing from
the apprehended danger. Nearer and nearer
they come and we dash away before them.
Careful to keep the mighty herd in ourw ake,we
rode sufficiently in advance not to alarm them,
for we felt in their following was our salvation.
For hours the chase was continued on, until
the twilight found us upon a small stream,
adown which, and in the water we followed the
lead of Oclocone and the Pawnee girl for a mile
or so, when we listened for the biffalos. With
slackened pace they were coming down the de
clivity towards the stream where they seemed to
stop.
Here, amidst the sparse bushes and tall grass,
we made our bivouac. Oar horses were held
unhampered, and let to feed upon the abundant
grass which was green and rich, and keenly
relished by our beasts. The stars shone out,
and presently the horizon was lighted by the
moon coming up and showing us the east.
Picketing our horses, each made his bed by a
shadowing btsii upon the grass, and rolled in
b.s buffalo robe, reposed upon it
The illumination of the moon showed us the
extended plain over which we had oome, but
there was no evidenoe of the presence of the
buffalos.
li was not long before Chalala stole softly from
her lair and went st<atbiiy away, and the night
was far spent before she returned, when she
quietly aroused Oclocone and sent him away
She had been to keep watoh for the apprehend
ed pursuit, and had sent the Lipan on the same
mission whilst she slept.
With the morning we renewed cur march, fol
lowing the stream. The third day alter our
flight we came to t.ni crossed Red rmr, and
found a sparsely wooded country.
Oclocone was leading to his Lipan home and
a sured ns of welcome and protection there.
He no longer manifested apprehensions of cap
ture, and was gay and at times mirthful. ,Oace
with the Lipans we would find securely our
w ay down the river to Coffa trading station,
and thence by the river to the sutlements be
low.
Chalala feared the treachery of the Lipans
and pleaded to follow us, avoiding the Lipan
towns we were approaching. No prof station of
Oclocone assured her. She knew the Indian’s
treachery and she feared it, but unhesitatingly
confided in the white man, and would follow
him, leaving parents, kindred, ail and forever.
But, query, rH-i-she think ? or was her conduct
the f -—’ Q 't,'. 1 ..:.tTTg B *“ t f re ’„ fllr A
ontstriped by the boy, and fearing they
were in dangerous proximity of the Lipan towns,
had arrested the chase, and returning, trailed
us to our hiding place, and then awaited the
morning for our capture. Now they were re
turning upon our trail
O ! the anxiety and agony of that march. How
the advioe of Madam Natribe orowded upon my
memory, followed by bitter regrets. Home and
the happiness there I had thrown away for this
aimless, vagabond life: the peril I was in—and
for what ?
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Anything hut a Help-meet.
A Picture From Life.
t was eVeninkFaud £« were threading
our way through >:he open woods and uocon
scions of our approach fco the Lipin’s home. He
was riding in advance of i s considerably, when
from the hill's summit which he had attained,
he gave fiercely the war wloop and wildly dash
ed away into the valley below, and into the
denser forest. He was a: s wered defiantly by
many voices, and the woods rang with the clat
ter of horses feet going at speed and the wild
shouts of their riders.
In one of J nuie Jane’s ‘Talks with Girls’ oc
curs the following sketch illustrative of a dis
position too frequent among young girls:
‘The most common discontent is that which
com s from unoccupied lives, from an ambition
which has nothing in or out of itself to satisfy
it. There are hundreds, doubtless thousands,
of young women who long for distinction of one
kind or other. They would like to be authors
or artis s, or women of society. They are poor,
aud have no distinguished connections, and
their lives are one long wail over what they have
not got—are not likely to have. In themselves
they are as poor ?•;&- their fortunes; the little
knowledge they "’possess is snperficial, and they
have no real love, even for those things which
they affect to admire and desire to reach. They
only wish, in reality, to avoid the duties and
obligations which they have reotivei as their
birthright, and appropriate the rewards which
others have gained, without the trouble of work
ing for them.
Tni«, it need-Jiardly be said, is the most ig
noble disooutent of all, and calls for no sym
pathy, while it is pretty sure to bring suffering
upon any one who indulges in it.
Take a case ip point. I knew a yonng girl
who lived in the country, and indulged iu am
bitious dreams in which young girls will. So
thoroughly did they absorb her that si e nr
lected all her home duties, and failed to perfect
herself iu even those common housewifely ac
complishments which it is essential every wom
an should hi.ve acquired by praotica! experience.
She was a burden rather than a help at home,
and it was a relief when, during a brief visit to
the city, she became acquainted with, and en
gaged to, a young man employed in a banking-
house, with whose reputation for large and hon
orable dealings even the residents of a small
country town were acquainted* But a very few
months of married life sufficed to dispel illu-
sioLs of both sides. The husband, who thought
he had wedded a bright, intelligent young coun
try girl, well trained in household matters, and
able to make for him a pleasant home upon
small means, discovered that he had for a wife
a restless, ssheming young person, ambitious in
a small way, not for his honor and real success,
but for the notice of certain people, who repre
sented her world, to see her name figure in little
society paragraphs, to ‘give receptions,' and be
able to say that she knew or had been invited to
the houses of people she had read about. On
her dide, instead of the entree into brilliant so
ciety, thi v sits to theaters and opera, the free
dom ora fuibpurse, aud ability to gratify her
inclination f *r dress, she found a husl.a-id full
of anticipa^ s of l quiet, economical home, in
accordanc.rles Lehrs slender means, able lo af-
tunities which it placed within her grasp.
But the habit of her life, and the tendencies
of ber character, were too much for her. She
had cultivated no useful acquirement-she was
not even yet a good housekeeper—and she
blamed everything and everybody but herself
for her misfortunes. She had no real friends,
and she drif ed back finally to ber old home.
Away from her, the husband began to retrieve
himself. He wrote to his firm declaring bis
good intentions; he devoted his time aud ener
gies to r storing that of which he had wrong-
folly deprived it ; he sent occasional small sums
of money to his family, which assisted them to
a poor maintenance, but no member of it was
made aware of bis whereabouts, or in what part
of the world he wi.s living, at least up to the
time at whioh the knowledge of the writer of
these lines terminated.
Was It a Ghost?
‘It is the Pawnees,’ said Chalala, and turning
back she said, ‘follow me.' We obeyed, when
Tutsc prairie ponies appear a peculiar race. I back she said,
When the Spaniards first peopled Mexico, they , rapidly we rode deeper inio the forests depths
brought from Andalusia this African beast, then to fiud concealment and security, conscious we
the only breed of horses in Spain. They had J were in the presence of danger,
been brought by the Morns, and during their . Twilight found us in a densely clustering
long stay, had been propagated by both Moor thicket of stunted trees, and near a noisy li"
and Spaniard as more enduring andUf greater \ tie rivulet. We no longer heard the thrilling
yell of the Indian and save the prattling wa-
had
ter, every thing was silent. What a stillness
peivades the wilderness, where neither man
or beast make their homes, whether forest wild
fleetness than the Spanish stock. There
been imported some others, and there were
none native to the country. Tbe genial clime
and abundant pasturage obviated thenec ssity of
providing forage, or food of any kind for them, | or treeless plain*
in the Mexican dominions. They were permit- I u , , ....
ted, and are to this day, to roam at large, and r ,fj,V a f r an f d hcw P ainfal ° ur summon,
wandering far from the spaiss settlements, they | 1“ 1 ® 6xtent , wa knew
knAimiA wild ab the elk and hnifon and aa *aa«fni ^ inhabited at all, it was by strong
Indians, who might kill and scalp us, without
staying to hear who we were, or our motive for
being in their country. Almost without food,
our horses jaded aud now away frem their ac-
“feW head juIy on the rarest qejasiens,
nd wilUng^, -l-lv- Juait uo Lu x..-, .
ofore’ffiad the •.necessiti’s rtf his new
became wild as the elk and bnffalo and as fearful
of the presence of man. There the blood and
breed continued unadulterated. They are
small, compact, fleet, enduring, full of spirit
and energy. Reared exclusively upon the
grasses of the plains, they have more wind than
muscle—hardly and too long driven they will
lag wearily, but a few hours rest|rt stores the < x-
hausted muscles to their wanted elasticity and
strength, and they are ready for another run of
many hours. 1 heir wind is never, in horse par
lance, broken, because it is more enduring than
their mnsoular strength.
customed grazing, found but slight support
from the rough and coarse herbage, upon which
they were obliged to feed. Oclocone, our pilot,
had fled, perhaps was slain, and we knew no
path of safety, or the distance we were from
succor. To me this was a terrible situation.
But aocustomed to the woods and a wandering
life, Gilminot was not so much oppressed. Cha-
Onward we followed the lead of Oclocone and! L a 'r i r spass t ive ’ but e , vide " tly alaruied - «4 r
OjSI* ti'ling to the grain.fad horaea, j £“ .° ’"“““i ““Ji?"
and when the sun came np and sent his
rays
over the dense green grass of the outspreading
treeless prairie, we were many a mile away from
the Pawnee villiage.
Our paces was slackened to a walk, and it was
then that we learned the cause of the following
of the prairie belle.
There was nothing of mock modesty in her wild
nature,she was full of woman’s instincts,and fear
lessly avowed them. She acknowledged the de
ceiving of her parent and her motives, and
avowed ber determination to follow wherever
we might go, at the same time «xpressiug her
conviction that we would be followed, and with
out extreme caution in our movements, be cap
tured. Our protest availed nothing—she was
persistant, and regardless of cols quenoesto us
or to herself. Her only reply to what we said
was :
‘Quick! quick! be quiok ! The Pawnee is on
our trail!'
Onward we went, over hill and dale, until
fatigue and fastiDg ioolined both man and beast
to stop and partake of rest and refreshments.
The care of Chaleo had filled our haversacks,
that we might not be delayed in queet of food.
The Lipan boy understood well tbe way to
his home beyond the river, for whioh we were
hurrying, and we followed his lead. Ascending
tbe loDg,gradual slope of the plain to attain the
summit of its elevation, we slackened our paoe.
Arrived at this, we stop and picketed our po
nies to graze and rest We made a slight repast,
then prone upon the dense grass, we sought the
needed repose.
For miles away, in every direction, the eye
oonld not detect an objsot moving over 1
plain. All, in this extended space, was q*iei
No moving thing was seen or heard. The hj ras>
was yellowing, and the autumn breeze fitful!
came and it’s breath was ohillv. Our ponies
had rested and were grazing with avidity.* The
yonng Lipan was a little way off, apparently
sleeping calmly. My companion watched anx
iously, apprehensive of pursuit, while I contem
plated the form of Chalala, (reposing upon a
buffalo robe spread out upon the ourly muskeit j
upon the dry earth.
When the morning came, tbe last of our pre
visions were consumed and afforded but a lean
meal. Scarcely had we mounted and emer ed
from this little thicket, before^we were surround
ed by a band of painted warriors, and at their
head wt.s Chaleo. Halting his band, he rode
threateningly at me and commenced to npbraid
me with the theft of his danghter.
In a moment Chalala was between us, and I
saw her in a new phi ss. There was nothing of
timidity about her; on the contrary, she was not
only bold and fearless, but fieice and defiant,
avowed my innocence and asserted the truth
that of her own free will, and not only without
my consent, but without my knowledge, she
had followed me, and defying his vengeance
upon me, declared that tbe blow which slew
me should be the signal for her own life. Slowly
her father eyed her daring this paroxysm of
rage, unmoved and motionless his features and
his actions.
For a moment he was silent. Then he called
his sons, and placing Gilminot and myself in
their charge, moved away with his daughter,
followed by all his band.
Tnese two brothers had been of the party
which found us at the lodge of Yanlaudinsham,
The elder of these had given me the mare I was
riding, but now he was silent, watchful aud
stern.
It was noon before there was a halt, and then
only for half an hour. Chalala was constantly
by her father's side, but not allowed to speak or
i"0 with Gilminot and myself.
Chaleo did nut approach us, but I learned
o'loiigh to k:<ow we were prisoners, and on our
r*i ip. m«roh to the Pawnee towns.
The band hud been foiled in their attempt to
follow our trail across the prairie, and believing
Oclocone would pilot us to his town, they had
crossed Red river lower down than we had, and
knowing the route we would probably pursue,
had lain in wait for us but a little way from the
Lipan village, the home of the boy.
Riding in advance, Oclocone and the Paw-
grass. How calmly quiet she appeared. ' n * ea bad simultaneously discovered each other.
An hour bad gone by, when suddenly our j tbe b °y g av ® the defiant war whoop,
ponies simultaneously oeased to nip the grass, ai,d dae,n 8' ‘he Pawnees pursued until they
tofore’
iifo. to society which her imagination
had fondly pictured, she found that marrying
had cut it off, instead of enlarging its boun
daries, even for her husband. Inviting a mar
ried man and b's wife, with whose antecedents
you are net acquainted, is a quite different
tning, in a city, from inviting a well iniormeu
and rather prepossessing young man, who is
free from any 'encumorance' of this sort, and
this disagreeable fact soon made itself kao^n to
the young woman in question’ much to her
disgust.
Here was she, appreciative, or so she consid
ered herself, with the strongest desire for an in
troduction to the charmed circles of att, literat
ure, and taste, within a stone’s throw of their
mater al boundaries, and yet as iffootually shut
out as if she had remained an inmate of the pa
ternal homestead. Had her experience been
greater, she would have formed no such extrav
agant expectations; had she been less selfish
and more conscientious, she would have found
abundant occupation and opportunity iu filling
he rouud of duties, »nd taking advantage of
the chances for pleasuae afforded her. Bat the
word duty had no place in her vocabulary; she
‘hated it,’ she said, prettily, though petulantly,
and her husband laughed at her until he found
her growing moody and cross, dwelling with
bitterness upon what was out of her reach, and
neglecting the good that lay close to her hand,
a pd which only needed its touch, as that of a
divining rod, to have started springs of sweetest
refreshment, that would have fed her whole life
with blessing.
Even the advent of children male little change
in the temper and spirit of her mind; it only
intensified, if anything, her morbid craving and
bittterness. She did not want children, she as
serted, and she could not bear to be ‘tied’ down
to them; she did not want to spend her life
washing children’s faces; she might as well be
in a ‘nursery’ or a ‘hospital.’ All the sweet ties
and affections which grow out of the household
relations and family life were unrecognized by
her, or, at least, found only such nourishment
as they could catch in passing, and struggled on
in a sickly, uncared-for way that gave little
promise of healthy life in the future. Thehu.s-
band began with sense and intelligence, and
perhaps with desires for a cultivated life as
strong and much more clearly defined than
those of his wife, but gradually the foundations
of his honor, his integrity, and high principles
were sapped; his patience gavo out; he deter
mined if he could not satisfy his wife iu oue
way he would iu auotuer. He borrowed the
money of his bank, without leave and entered
into speculations. The first were successful,
and the heart of the foolish, worse than foolish,
wife was rejoiced by removal into a better part
of town, by the acquisition of finer furniture,
and the ability to vie with her neighbors iu ele
gance cf dreis, and above all in opening her
house for the entertainment of visitors. It is
true there wes less satisfaction in these things
than she imagined, but ber craving had not
abated, and her husband made no objection to
the expenditure of money. He never inquired
what she did with what ne gave her, and sue did
not Btop to inquire from whence it came; in fact
she had an uneasy oonsoiousDess that all was
not rigiit, and was afraid aud unwilling to veri
fy her impressions. But there came a time
when her dearly bought ease was disturbed by
a shock as rude as it was unexpected. Her hus
band had grown reckless, his defalcations had
been discovered, he absconded with what mon
ey he could raise, and she was left to the horror
of her awakening. Too late , he saw what dis
content had done for her, for her husband, and
for her cnildren. How gladly now she would
have gone back to the quiet of their first little
home! how strongly she realized the possibili
ties whioh had lain before her, had she then
taken up her share of the burden of life and
borne it bravely and patiently, waiting and
working for what she wanted, instead of rebell
ing agafnst destiny, and neglecting the oppor-
Last June, while travelling in Franoe, I spent
a few days at the chateau of a Breton friend. It
was a venerable, castl' -like building, surround
ed by moats, with draw-bridges and lodge gates
with turrets aud arches, all muffed iu ivy and
dark with the stains of time. We drove up be
fore it in the iovely calm of a June sunset,
while the chapel bells were ringing the evening
Angelas and the air, heavy with oders of heather
aud fern and broom, wa3 stirring the leaves of
the fine, old trees surrounding the chateau.
A short pause, the creak of the old lodge
gates thrown back, another stoppage at the first
moat, the rattle over it, one more draw-bridge,
with its bolts and claiLS clanking ghostly, a
deep-toned bell iu the old tower booming
through the silent air, the scream of the startled
peacocks from the magnolia thicket, the baying
of the hounds in the kennel, the big boar hound
m-jestically stretching himself and coming to
meet us, a pet white fox terrier rushing from
the s'ables in wild delight at getting the horses
home and possibly at the notion of supper, the
old oak door opening studded with nails like
smoothing irons, lights gleaming and tbe family
headed by the venerable marquise, advancing
from under the arch to meet tis. leaning on the
arm of her great-g audson, a rattle of the ste( s,
oi e bound, and again I form part of the group
of those I love so well.
How swiftly and merrily the days glide by !
Even Sundays, usually supposed to be some
what dull, partook here of the general happi
ness. Early mi.ss said in the beautiful little
chapel belonging to the house, in the afternoon
vespers and benediction in the parish church
beyond the river—a visit or two—a few friends
to dinner, and that day was over.
How 1 loved that ohapel, all old oak, save the
broLze stations and marble altar, with ils pic
ture of Notre du Chene above !
Oue night, I lingered in the lovely chapel af
ter the r. st of the family had retired. A simple
vax candle burned on the Pre Dieu, bat the
moonbeams, falling through the old Gothic win
dows, were all the light I wanted in the mood
of meditation and memory that had come over
me. I was roused to a smse of the laten ss of
the hour by a clock striking twelve in deep tones
that reveibrated through the building. Start
ing up, I saw that the candle had burned down
and expiredinitssilverscoi.se. “3 o 1 night,
sweet. Madonna,' I Slid to the fair mater that
smiled at me in the faint moonlight, as I left
the chupei and made my way to my own, room.
I found it dark except for the moonlight that
s.ole turough a parted curtain, but I knew that
a box of match s was on the table and candles
ip-ere iu the jbteu^e candelabra an the m^atle-
piece. ^ sj y
I closed and locked the door gently, though
as all doors and stair.? do wheu they should be
silent, it groaned uneasily, but before looking
for the matches I thought I must gaze out of the
open wiud.w and just enjoy onexmore scented
bre.-zs from the magnolias beyond. Reluctant
ly at last I turned away from the lovely scene,
aud previous to shutting out the moonlight, it
occurred to me that I had better find the
matches.
I ad van od toward the little table next the
carved stone mantelpiece; it was usually placed
in front of a door which I had been told only
led outside on to the roof—presumably for re
pairs—and which was never opened.
Merciful powers I the table was moved and
I that door was njar.
I looked in from my room down a long ghost
ly passage inhabited only by the deaf marquise,
who snored like an asthmatic png dog, and fat
old rats scampering about.
I shivered all over and felt line a ghost my
self.
‘Stuff and nonsense,’ X angrily exclaimed, ‘I
must find the matches, and now that I have the
chance I will investigate that passage; possibly
the match box may be by the bedside.’
In the shadow of the deep alcove there stood
the huge bed. Moving toward the recess I saw
a3 plainly as you, reader, see this page, the fig
ure of a tall woman arrayed in white with a
broad green scarf oaielessly knotted round her
waist, ber tiny white feet that looked like bits
of sculpture peeping from beneath the hem of
her garment.
She was leaning against one of those twisted
oak columns which apparently supported the
alcove, her blond cendre hair falling like a cloud
aronnd her and the moonbeam revealing to my
startled guze a deep crimson stain extending
down the left side. Thinking it might be a
trick I looked for the blue eyes, which are as
great a peculiarity in that family as is the blond
cendre hair. There were no eyes, only two deep
hollows. I rubbed my own to be certain I was
not dreaming, and when I ventured to look
again the fignre was passing through the door
way and I heard the door close evidently by a
spring. I bangei at it. Nothing but an echo.
I rushed across and unlocked mv own door.
Nothing but the snores of Madame La Marquise
and the obligato accompaniments of the fat rats.
I found the matohes which were on the floor un
der the fable. I lighted all the oaudles, and
leaving them burning, I tucked myself up in
the alcove, with not so much as the tip of my
nose to be seen, and it was not until the July
sun was streaming in that I dared think even of
sleep.
What should I say to my friends at breakfast?
Could the apparition have been a mischievous
trick, or Wi.s it a bona fide ghost, were the ques
tion that perplexed my pnzzled brain, as I was
putting on my travelling costume, for I was to
leave directly after breakfast. Down I went,
and was greeted, as usual, with only the addi
tion of affectionate regrets concerning my de
parture. It must have been a ghost, so bravely
1 dashed headlong at that supposition.
Bites done cherie, who was the young lady so
like you leaning up against the column of the
alcove in my room last night, and who had left
the door you told me was never unlooked, ajar ?’
said I to my young friend.
A dead silenoe followed this abrupt question,
and oue of the footmen nearly landed a dish
of asparagus on the top of the oap of Madame
La Marquise. The oomte recovered himself
first, and replied in that calm way so peculiarly
his own. ‘Was it not La Sainte Godelieve yester
day ?' I had forgotten all about it. It really is
too bad chere Madame, not to have warned you.
She was a wicsed young ancestress of mine'
aud her husband, Barthulphe, in his eagerness
to get baok from the taking of Jean d’Aore on
thf fete day of his wife, preceded his retainers
and gained entrance into the house through the
ohapel of which he had the key. He knelt a
moment previous to banging up his oross-hilted
sword over his own stall after the manner of
crusaders, and while so doing he saw his young
wife hurriedly cross the ohapel. He followed
and eventually beheld her leave a room which
certainly was not her own. He sprang on he*,
and there and then thrust his gauntletted
fingers into her eyes—a savagery he had learned
from the Turk—dragging her along that passage
aud opening the door he flung her on the floor
of your room leaving his jewelled dagger
plunged in her heart. My ancesters knew these
details some years after, for Bertulphe, distract
ed bv remorse, wandered hither and thither all
over Europe, and flna'ly founded an abbey in
Fiandtrs about the thirteenth century, but
before dying made confession of his deed.
As we all know, on Saint Godelieve’s day tte
unhappy spirit always reappears, and not one
of us would sleep iu your room on that partic
ular night for the whole universe, and I cannot
imagine why none of us recollected the day.
Tact being a virtue I merely said, ‘Tiens how
very pleasant l and I leave it for you, reader, to
decide whether I really saw a ghost.
THE CHURCH.
•
Dcings and sayings In the Re
ligious World.
Dr. John H. Vincent wrote: The memory of
Atlanta is very precious. It was probably one
of the most enthusiastic and i: spiring, and prac
tically helpful of all national and international
conventions which have baen held in America.
I trust that the same fervor and -ffaotiveuess
may characterize your meeting in New Orleans.
The self-denial and salf-oontrol enjoined by a
religious life, together with the general conflict
with temptations, afford a constant and vigorous
discipline for the will.
Tbe Bishop of Montreal has issued a circular
forbidding ladiis to belong to Cbnroh choirs af
ter the 1st of June next. Mauy Catholio
Churohes have anticipated the ordtr by dismiss
ing lady singers.
Nothing is so infeotious as example, and we
never do great good or evil without producing
the like. We imitate good actions by emula
tions, and bad ones by tbe evil of our nature.
Near the site of Jacob’s well, in the city of
Samaria, Palestine, there is a Baptist Church
with a congregation numbering a hundred.
Of the revival meetings in Baltimore, it is
said: For many ysars past there has not been
so general a religious interest in Baltimore. In
every part of the city special religious services
have been held. Even the Ritualists have be
gun meetings after the Moody fashion, and sing
some of the same hymns.’
An eccentric prea;her is often the life of a
country neighborhood, and bis sayings and do
ings are lovingly remembered long after he is
dead. A sensational oue would be booted out
of a village before the shoes were old that
brought him into it. Akers and Cartwright,
bold, rugged men both, are eccentric, an I the
West has brought forth many such; but the sen
sational variety is a sickly breed, nurtured in
variety and often inanity, playing its antics be
fore a disgusted community, and pleading its
excuse that such means are necessary to draw
the gaping crowd which waits UDon i s minis-
trations. Oat upon it I It is a‘standing blot
upon our Christianity
That only :s easy which at first was bard.
The artist paints grandly and with ease; the
musician plays with power and grace; the orator
pours forth enrapturing eloquence wlin marve
lous faoiiity—yot all this is the result of agoniz-
iug struggle. Thus the duties and burdens of
religion become easy to tbe gentle, docile, spirit
and obedient soul. Eater in then at the strait
gate. It is ‘strait only against your carnal
hindrances. Divest yourself of these, and strive
to enter in.
The Bible has been translated into two hun
dred and twelve languages, thirty-nine of
which have never before been written.
Neglect your devotion one dav, and you will
notice it in your inner spirituai consciousness
Neglect it two da;s, and those most intimate
with you will be oonscious of the change. Neg
lect it three days, and the world will notice it
in the decreased fruits and power of your life.
Aunt Samantha on Women Voting.
She Believes in it,
‘I don't believe wimmen ought to vote ’ ex
claimed Belsy B. 8 ' eX
•Nor I nuther,’ says Josiah. ‘She hain't got
therekrisite strength to vot«; she is too fraguile ’
Just at this moment the boy that takes the
milk came along, and Josiah, says he to me ‘I
am in iny stocking leet, Samantha, won’t you
jest step out and help i’homas Jefferson on with
IQ6 O&D r
to r fra guile to handle a paper
poaAiTmiu!“‘ ‘ ““ f “ 80,la '» “« 1“
* m * ^ ^ ^ ^ • •
yote /°" have 8 0t t0 go before a
iould be. 1 * 611 ’ aU<1 h ° W tryiD ’ t0 d «l ioa °y ‘bat
•I went before a board of men when
I joined the meetin house, and when I got the
T Bfni in “!i f0r my ./ a 8 oarpet. and I still live, and
I still call myself a respectable character, but’
7 am , of oiicoocealed sarcasism, ‘if 1
these delicate characters are too modest to
go in broad daylight armed with a umbrella, be- i
fore a venerable man setiia’ on a board, let ’em
have a good female board to take their votes.
sayl b0 ‘ aWfal t0 haV ® a femala boaf d ?’
‘Wimmen can be boards at charity sohoo’s i
and they can be boards at fairs and* hospitals
and peoitentiarys and picnics and Afrioaumis-
sions, and would it be any worse to be a board
before these delicate wimmen?’ says I almost
V
thfhon^to 1 8Cream ’ or Ba P ti8t watermelons* by
the hoar to a promiscuous crowd * *
-aassrijssi tirstts*
Says J, ‘Wimmen find time for their e^o.i» .
in iattin’ and oroshain*. They find rxi Ve ? aSt /
time for their mats, aud their tidvB d fK P x° f
tions. their feathei flowers fllrta ‘
hair flowers, burr flowers and nri. b f a , d fljwe ' 8 ’
and Grecian paintins, and face painfins^Thev
spend more time a-frizzin’ their x - T£ ey
• wh. .is t <,
through tbe fence. 'So d i “ .7
r.r, abort—bo abort It dld ? ot g o roSod"" ;
not pray for wealth; only to he nU^IT® 1 *’ 1 d .°
length of some man who hw g^t *
said anEoghsh traveller to^TT 1 * aroand here,’
tier girl, as she was mi.? a ^ n, *ed States fron-
‘There are plenty of them. D refuroid^ br *“ d '
ing some corn meal inrrT.i- returned she, ponr-
i».v. r«. Stsxa^j