Newspaper Page Text
THE SUNNY SOUTH.
APPLES OF SODOM
CHAPTER XVI.
“semper fidklis.”
Wild was its mingled music,
Fitful its chorus free,
Sorrow and joy its echoes woke
To changeful melody; ... ..
Till H(i|k's bright buds lay dead beneath
The gaunt-eyed Terror’s stifling breath,
And Pestilence strode, with Grief and Death,
Down stricken seventy-three.
Sept. 2oth, I873,
My Best and Truest Friend:—
Your dear letter is just received. It is like
you—what better could be said! For its
brave, kind offer I thank you from mv heart’s
core. As far as we could accept we had read
vour heart aright and anticipated your wish.
We found a safe and reliable escort for Lorna,
she left us two days ago and will be with you
the day after this reaches you. I commit
her to you, Elsie, perhaps forever, for my
friend, 1 cannot go. Archie’s place is here.
He would as soon have thought of turn
ing his back to the enemy while the shot and
shell of the sixties fell around him, as of de
serting his post now. And that decides my
duty. “Where thou diest I will die, and
there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me
and more also, if aught but death part thee
and me.” We hope to pass through the or
deal safely, but whatever comes we must
stay and "abide the result. I gave Lorna a
long letter for you and one for my dear doc-
to r _God bless him! I have asked therein
many things of both of you for my baby, and
I know how readily, how lovingly they will
all be done.
We have many strange and startling ex
periences here. I have never in my life been
so profoundly moved as by the death of a
woman with whom I nursed side by side,
last week, and who was buried to-day. She
was one of the world’s “unfortunate.” For
years she has lived a life of shame, was mis
tress of one of the gilded halls of sin. When
the fever first broke out she provided trans
portation for every inmate of the house and
sent them away. Then she placed her house
and all it contained at the disposal of the city
officials, to be used as a fever hospital, taking
herself the position of an unpaid nurse.
Since then she has worked faithfully night
and day. and no one could have been
more watchful, more tender, more untiring.
Last night the hand of Death was merciful
and touched her, and she rests from her
labors. Pitying Father! will it atone;
Only an outcast! the dust of the street,
Trailing her crimson-stained robes at Thy fee*.
Only an outlaw from friendship and love,
Knocks at the portals of mansions above.
Homeless and loveless, bereft of all ties,
Bringing her life as a last sacrifice,
Casting it prostrate before the White Throne,
Father, omnipotent! will it atone?
Only a Magdalene! weary and worn,
Joyless and desperate, hardened, forlorn,
Casting her treasure at Penury’s door,
Giving her life for the suffering poor.
Thou who so lovingly pardoned of yore,
Breathing the lienison, “Go, sin no more,”
Bidding thestainless to “cast the first stone.”
Thorn-crowned and crucified! will it atone?
Only a Pariah! lost and undone;
Friendless anil hopeless beneath the bright sun.
Scattering whispers of comfort and rest
O’er the dark, path which her bleeding feet
pressed.
Spread thy soft pinions, oh, heavenly dove!
Gather the sin-stained to shelter and love.
Hush the wild wail of her soul’s weary moan.
Pitying Comforter! will it atone?
Only an outcast! she kneels at thy door.
Only an outlaw! she dies for thy poor.
Only a Pariah! bringing Thy rest
To hearts (‘rushed and bleeding and souls sore
oppressed.
Father, omnipotent! take the lost home!
Crucified Savior! oh, whisper her “come!”
Comforting Spirit! Thy healing make known;
Merciful Trinity! will it atone?
Friend of all desolate women! to Thee
Comes a lost daughter, from earth-stain set
Take the lone prodigal home to thy arms,
Feed her fierce hunger with heavenly charms.
Whisper of pardon and peace from above,
Wrought by the trinity, Faith, Hope and
Love.
Lo! at thy feet she lies, prostrate and prone;
Ave Sanctissima! will it atone?
Brother and sisterhood! faithful and tried,
Giving your lives as this prodigal died,
Bearing her company home to your rest.
Spotless and purified, blessing and blest;
Bring the white robe, let the golden ring
shine, . .
Give her more joy than “the ninety and nine,,
Let the broad mantle about her be thrown
Faith, Hope and Charity'—they shall atone;
Lowly I kneel at thy sacrificed feet,
Mutely I offer the reverence meet;
Humbly acknowledge how faintly afar
Glimmers my light by this bright-glowing
star.
How shall I stand at the reckoning day.
Bringing my poor and unworthy array?
How make to heaven my pitiful moan,
If this supreme sacrifice shall not atone?
I will write, at least a little, every day,
to Lorna, and as often as possible to you, but
our days and nights are full of work and full
of woe, and if mv letters are short and hur
ried you, my Elsie, will know how to excuse.
Kiss my little pet,' and Loring, and my
dear old doctor, for
Yours always faithfully,
Alice.
CHAPTER XVII
It is the first night in November. The
winds howl mournfully, and the chill rain
drives against the window. A slight figure
clad in black, with a pallid face and large
eyes, set as in the stillness of death, sits by a
table writing. It is Alice Melvil'e, widow.
Her face is calm and composed, and her pen
glides steadily over the page.
November 1, 1S~3.
My Dearest Friend:—
I am writing to you for the last time. We
laid Archie down to his rest this morning,
and before many days I shall sleep beside
him. It is not nervousness, or fear: I have
not known either since this ordeal began.
But I feel the chill creeping over me and it
will not be many hours before the fever will
run riot in my veins. And I have worked
too nard, my* strength has been overtaxed
and my- power of resistance is gone. I shall
not live. I wrote to-day to Dr. Grey, giving
him all necessary business details regarding
Lorna’s propety. He is appointed guardian.
You and he will fulfill the trust, and I have
no fear. I have also written to the baby
telling iier all her mother wishes her to re
member. Again I commit her to your care,
and to Dr. Grey's.
I have asked often and fervently, “Father,
if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.”
But now I know it has been given me to
uriuk. and I try earnestly to say—“neverthe
less; not mv will, but thine be done.” It is
hard to believe it can be best for me to leave
my child, but since it must be so,—/ try. For j
your love and care of her, 1 have no words, 1
but my whole heart goes out to you in a j
boundless sea of love and gratitude. Kisses |
—good-bye kisses for my baby—my kind old j
friend, and my dear boy: and for yourself, j
my best and 'truest friend, the last, dying
words—I love you. Alice.
She folded the letter, and sat for some mo
ments white and still. At last the pen fell
from her nerveless fingers, she arose, dr gged
herself slowly across the room and threw
herself upon the bed.
On the table lay two large packages; one
addressed to Dr. Henry Grey, the other to
Lorna Melville; a letter addressed to Elsie
Vane, and beside it, a manuscript written in
pencil.
dead.
Slowly the night wanes; dead leaves faintly
flutter
With ghostly taps upon the window pane:
Sadly the night winds sob, and moan, and
mutter,
Drearily falls the chill November rain.
Pale phantoms flitting by with wings out
spread
Utter their baleful cry—“Bring out your
dead!”
Bring out the buds and blossoms of your
childhood
And lay them softly in the clay-cold ground,
Gather the faded violets of the wiidwood,
And strew their scentless petals o’er the
mound;
Let not one fragrant memory rear its head,
To dark forgetfulness, “bring out your dead.”
Bring out your day-dreams; lay them on the
altar;
The faded, fruitless dreams of faithless years;
Light up the flame, nor let your fingers fal
ter,
Nor quench the sacrifice with useless tears;
With white lips, firmly set, and measured
tread,
To sacrificial fire “bring out your dead.”
Bring out your burning fever-dream of pas
sion.
The regal lie that held your life in sway;
Smite the fair idol of your soul’s creation—
It shivers at your touch—it was but clay;
Its shattered fragments at your feet lie
spread,
To desolation’s dust “bring out your dead.’
Bring out your dream3 of fame and pride,
and power,
And lay them in the vault of dull decay:
Bring out the wreaths of dead ambition’s
hour,
The withered laurel, and the scentles bay;
All vainly seek ye thus to crown your head,
To Failure’s sepulchre “bring out your dead.
Bring out the snowy daisies of your spring
time.
Bring out the roses of your summer s day.
Gather the scattered fruits of waning au
tumn,
And lay them ’neath the valley’s clods
away;
With “dust to dust,” bow low your wearied
head—
“Ashes to ashes”—thus “bring out your
dead.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
ASLEEP.
Midsummer eve in 1876. The sunset clouds
are gathering their forces and spreading
from horizon to zenith,
“With crimson banner, and golden pall,
Like a host to their chieftain’s funeral.”
A golden haze, overshadowed by a veil of
soft amei hyst hue enfolds the silent city and
falls lovingly over two gravesthat lie side by
side. A plain shaft of granite rises between
them, bearing on one side, the inscription—
“Archibald Melville, M. D.—Died October
31, I873—aged 38years.” on another—“Alice,
wife of Archibald Melville, Died November
6, 1873—aged 35 years:” and on the third
side—“Died on the Field of Honor.”
Pale fillies bloom on Archie’s grave, and
sweet scented jessamines lift their starry
eyes and wave their long, verdant censers,
wafting sweetest fragrance heavenward.
The grave of Alice is covered from head to
footstone with the flowers she loved best in
fife, roses. The snowy arms of the Wood
land Marguerite are softly wreathing round
the red splendors of the Giant of Battles; the
pale petals of the Maiden’s Blush fall like
soft-tinted clouds over the rich beauties of
the Cloth of Gold.
Beside this grave, in the full flush and
strength of ripened manhood, stands one up
on whose youthful brow the angels of Purity
and Honor once wrote “Victor.” The mem
ory of a buried love throws its twilight shad
ow over the pale face, but the consciousness
of a fife “lived bravely, without a stain,”
illumine- it with the halo of a conqueror. He
leans his head upon the marble shaft and
stands iu silence, taking no note of time,
until,
Slow, one by one, the city’s fights are pal-
ing,
The sounds of daylight die;
Through rifted snows, and lashes of azure
sailing
The summer moon rides high :
From beds of starry blossoms softly -wend-
ing,
Sweet clouds of incense rise,
Blent with the mock bird’s vesper hymn as
cending,
An evening sacrifice :
Type of a love that stretcheth out infinitely,
Whose vigils never cease,
Over the hushed earth, broods the watchful
trinity
Of night, and sleep, and peace.
As the midsummer moon floats upward to'
ward the zenith, he knee’s, and throws hi”
arms over the grave in a long embrace; then
rising, gathers a last remembrance from the
flowers she loved—a handful of white and
crimson roses, “the flowers of secrecy and
silence”—and turns away.
“Roses, my secret keep—”
Whispers a maiden from her casement
dim,
Where, on the night, their passion-laden
hymn,
The summer roses sweep.
I tell it but to thee,
Sweet maiden’s blush," and Woodland Mar
guerite white,
What, underneath the fair magnolia’s light
He whispered low to me.
No jewel-laden ships
Flying white winged before the summer
breeze
Bear half such treasure from the coral seas
As whispered from his lips;
When from its kingly throne
The proud head bending, looked into my
eyes,
And murmured soft, beneath the summer
skies
“My beautiful ! my own I”
Roses my secret keep I
These fairy visions, holy mysteries,
These golden gleams from Passion’s para
dise
‘Mid folded petals sleep.
“Roses, my secret keep !”
Whispers a woman, pale and sorrow worn,
In crimson clusters sadly gazing down,
With eyes that fain would weep.
A thousand buried hours
Lie coiled within the fragrant crimson leaves,
A thousand dreams, each balmy breeze up
heaves
From the dew-laden flowers.
A thousand memories
Rise on the sweetness of their odorous dews,
And plant their mocking, rainbow tinted
hues
Before those haunting eyes.
With gaze of mute dispair,
And desert thirst, she drinks their fragrance
in;
Type of a bliss she never more shall win,
Bv penance, or bv prayer.
* * * * * *
“Roses, her secret keep;”
Sing the soft zephyrs of the blushing June
Round a lone grave stone, where their ryth
mic tune 1
In mellow murmurs sweep.
Unfold your crimson wings.
Sweep your white banners, fair as Alpine I
snow, -
Where round her grave the summer breezes |
blow 1
And the love mock bird sings.
Watch o’er her dreamless sleep !
Nor tell of visions vain, and sorrows past,
That, blind, and voiceless, found their rest at' t
las:—
Roses ! her secret keep.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
The “Bride of Duke Alexis.”
Singular Infatuation of a Ken.
lucky Belle for a Son of tlie
Czar.
[Louisville Courier-Journal.]
Last week a middle-aged lady created con
siderable sensation about the Galt House, by
driving up in her carriage and demanding to
see the Grand Duke Alexis of Russia, “her
affianced husband.” She was richly attired
and wore a bridal veil and jewels. When in'
formed that he was not in the hotel she be
came incensed, and informed the clerks that
they could not prevent her from seeing him,
as he had made an appointment to meet he r
there. She also went to the Louisville Hotel
and made the same inquiries and as sudden
ly disappeared. Nobody knew whence she
came or who she was. A correspondent from
New Castle, Ky., sends the Courier Journal
the following interesting account of the lady
and the cause of her insanity :
The unfortunate lady in question is now,
and has been for some years past. a resident
of this town. Perhaps an explanation of her
strange hallucination may not prove uninter
esting to the readers of the Courier-Journal.
She is about forty-two years of age, but still
retains traces of the beauty which made her
so popular in society some eighteen or twenty
years ago. She was carefully educated by
a wealthy and indulgent father, and, -having
free access to her parent’s excellent library,
her reading was most excellent and varied,
her conversational powers were remarkable,
and in every way she was eminently fitted to
adorn a high station in refined society. Her
maiden name was Kenton, and she was born
and lived the larger portion of her life in St.
Louis. At the age of 22, while visiting her
aunt in Chicago, she made the acquaintance
of a young Cap. Reilly, who was stationed
there with his regiment. The friendship soon
ripened into love; and, after a brief court
ship, they were married. The marriage was
in eveiy respect a happy one. They contin
ued to reside in Chicago, and she, by her
beauty and brilliant mental endowment's, be
came "a great favorite in the best society of
the city. Unhappily, after seven years of
wedded felicity her husband died, and at the
early age of 29 she was left a widow with
no children. Her grief was almost inconsola
ble, and she left society to mourn for the loss
of her husband whose memory was so dear
to her. Her sorrow was so intense and en
during that grave apprehensions were enter
tained by her relatives in regard to her mind,
which they thought was impaired, and at
their urgent solicitation she was induced to
leave Chicago and return to St. Louis, her
former home. Her friends, who thought the
change would benefit her, were not disap
pointed,fcand she rapidly regained her health
and beauty, but, as the sequel proved, she
never recovered the perfect use of her facul
ties. Her melancholy almost entirely disap
peared, and, to the astonishment of her
friends, she began to take a lively interest in
the gay world of society, -of which in past
years she was so brilliant a member.
About this time the Grand Duke Alexis in
his tour through the United States visited
St. Louis, and Mrs. Reilly attended the
grand ball given by the city to its royal
guest. Although not in the flush of youth
she was still an extremely handsome woman;
time and sorrow had but chastened and spir
itualized the beauty which had in her young
er days won for her such lavish admiration.
She never appeared to better advantage than
at this ball, and the Grand Duke paid her
marked attention and seemed to evince a de
cided preference for her society; she of course,
was much flattered by this distinguished
mark of appreciation, and in return made
every effort to create a favorable impres
sion on the susceptible Duke. That she sue
ceeded in doing so no one can with any de
gree of certainty assert, but she was deeply
infatuated with him, and certainly labored
under the impression that the feeling wa-
mutual. Her relations did all in their powe
to cure her of this unfortunate attachment
but their efforts were in vain, and she persist
ed in writing to the Duke after he left the
city, although her letters were never answer
ed. She was firmly persuaded that he love. •-
her. and that the only bar to their union w i
the objections made by the royal parents of
the Prince to the match. She never for h
moment doubted the sincerity of the Duke's
affection for her. She has gradually grows
to be a monomaniac on this subjei_t, and
she is entirely “off” about this* one. Every
day she declares that Alex, is coming to this
country to claim her as his bride, and sever <1
times she has eluded the affectionate vigilance
of her relatives and left home to keep in
some neighboring city a fancied appoin
ment with her royal suitor. She never ex
pressed any disappointment at his failure t
remember the engagement, but charitably
believes that he is detained in Russia by cir
cumstances over which he has no control
Her recent appearance at the Galt Hous:
was the result of an imaginary agreemen
to meet the Crown Prince of all the Russios.
She has made this quiet, pleasant old town
her home for several years. She lives with
her married sisier in ’ease and comfort and
passes her life in waiting for the lover win
never comes. Always hoping and always
disappointed, she never ceases to love tin
man who has long since forgotten her very
existence.
THAT PICTURE.
How a Washcnvoman Discov
ered a Case.of Bigamy and tlie
Upshot.
[New York Dispatch.]
A middle-aged lady asked for a warrant
for the arrest of her son-in-law. The charge
she preferred against him was bigamy. On
ly the day before her daughter discovered
that her husband had another wife, and it so
prostrated her that she was not able to leave
her bed.
Her daughter, the mother said, was mar
ried eight years ago. About two years since
the husband deserted her. Where he had
gone to, and what he had been up to, until
the day before, they did not know.
It appears that the first wife’s washerwo
man was called in to do washing for the
second wife. During the day she had occa
sion to go in the front room, and, looking at
the pictures on the wall, she was struck with
the likeness of the gentleman and innocently
asked who that was.
“My husband, of course,” said the lady.
“Ah!” and the washerwoman turned to
go to her tubs again.
The lady followed her and asked what sur
prised her in the likeness.
Nothing—only she had seen just such an
other picture hanging in a house where she
worked.
She was asked where, and she told her
mistress.
“And, pray, what is the lady’s name?”
“Sure, the same as your own,” said the
washerwoman.
“Impossible,” exclaimed the lady. “But
I shall see for myself,” and she hurriedly
dressed and left the house.
The scene that followed was thus described
by the mother-in-law;
“Yesterday afternoon a knock came to the
door and I opened it, and a strange lady ask
ed if so-and-so lived there—my daughter.
She asked if she could see her. 1 said cer
tainly, and told her to come in. She was
agitated. As soon as she saw my daughter
she said: ‘Mrs. , you have a picture in
your front room: would you permit me to
look at it?’ ‘With pleasure,’ said my daugh
ter. The two went into the front room, and
1 followed. ‘Who is that?’ said the lady,
pointing to a likeness before her. ‘My hus
band,’ said my daughter. 'Your husband!
When were you married?’ ‘Eight years
ago.’ ‘And may I ask who married you?’
‘Father . But why do you ask these
questions?' said my daughter. ‘He, too, is
my husband.’ ‘Yopr husband!’ exclaimed
my daughter.* ‘Wben were you married? 5
j ‘About a 3 ear ago.’ ‘Who married you ?’
. Father .’ Well, it is hal'd to say which
of these two women felt the worst, and my
daughter said she would go to the house and
see for herself. After putting on her hat the
I two women left the house and I looked out
of the window, and sure enough there they
met their husband at the door. My daugh
ter gave a scream and fell in a faint on the
sidewalk, and I went down and fetched her
up, but before I got down the two had left.”
“How did your son-in-law happen to come
there?” asked the Court.
“When he came home he asked the washer
woman where his wife was, and she told him.
I suppose he came to catch her coming out of
the house and tell her some lies, perhaps that
he had a divorce, to induce her to return
home with him.”
“I can’t issue a warrant for bigamy with
out the evidence, and that you have not got;
bur,” continued the Court, “let your daugh
ter come as soon as possible and make her
affidavit, and I will issue a warrant for his
priest for abandonment. After his arrest
the other woman may come forward and
make her affidavit, and then he can be held
for bigamy.”
“But I am afraid that he may run away,
now that he has been discovered,” said the
mother in-law.
“He needn't know that there is a warrant
out for him; I’ll have it executed as soon as
possible.”
Yury likely the second wife will be as
anxious to prosecute as the first, as her
grievance is as great as the other.
SOMNAMBULISM.
Strange Doing's of People Who
Walk in Their Sleep.
We have in these columns, on more than
one occasion, given remarkable instances of
persons who, while under the influence of
somnambulism, have done strange things.
The following cases will be found equally
curious:
In the Summer of 1877 the writer took a
young friend to a seaside town in order to
enjoy a month’s bathing. The boy—for he
was only a boy of sixteen—had been travel
ing by steamer, railway, or coach from six
o’clock on Sunday evening to four p. m. on
Monday without cessation, and had slept
scarcely or not at all during the night’s jour
ney. We retired to rest at 10 p. m., my own
room being next to his, both being on the
drawing-room floor. I had just lain down
and was dozing off to sleep, when I heard a
loud crash of glass, followed by hysterical
cries, which seemed to come from some per
son at the foot of the stair-case leading to
the corridor, which opened on our respective
bed rooms. Rushing to the head of the stairs
I demanded what was the matter; and with
difficulty understood that some person jump
ed through the window. Knowing that my
friend was a somnambulist, I at once flew to
his room, to find the window open, the bed
empty and the boy gone. Dressing myself
hurriedly', I descended the staircase, and is
sued forth with the landlord to look for my
friend. For some time no trace could we
find of him; but at last on turning a corner
of the road leading to the cliffs, we beheld a
white figure, to all appearance utterly inani
mate, supported by two sailors, who fortun
ately happened to be there at the time. I
soon recognized my friend, and happily
I had more reason to be frightened than
alarmed.
He had been wounded, but on getting him
back his wounds were dressed, and he was at
last able to tell the cause of his well-nigh
fatal accident. On going to bed, fatigue
caused him to fall into a state of semi-sleep
only, in which he had imagined himself in a
large field. Suddenly he thought he saw an
infuriated bull rush wildly at him; and catch
ing hold of a tree, as he believed, which grew
beside the hedge, he swung himself over and
ran for his fife. In reality, what he conceiv
ed to be a hedge was the window, which
opened from the top,and which was at the time
let down iow as it could go; while the seem
ing tree was the long white hanging which
stretched down the length of tue window.
Hiving thus swung himself down to the
lower window s:fi, lie then jumped off—a
height of only two feet—and ran along bare
footed on the cut stones, which caused his
wounds, but which confined him to his bed
for nearly a month afterwards. It was in
jumping from the lower window that he
struck the glass with his heel, thus causing
the crash which awoke me. Here was a
case in which so strong an impression had
been made on the individual as to enable
him to relate his thoughts and imaginations
while under the influence of somnambulism.
But cases of an opposite character have
also arisen, where the impressions were of
so transient a nature as not to leave upon
memory the slightest recollection of any
thing that occurred. A female servant in
Scarborough surprised the family at four
o’clock one morning by walking down a flight
of stairs in her sleep and rapp.ng at her mis
tress’s bedroom door. When asked what she
wanted, she replied in her usual tone of voice,
that she had torn her dress, and hoped her
mistress would forgive her, and let her have
some cotton to mend it; at the same time
bursting into tears. She then returned to her
room; and a fight having been procured, she
was found groping for her workbox, from
which she was offered an empty reel; but she
refused it: and taking up her gown, she point
ed to two holes, which she said she wanted to
mend. To quiet her, her fellow-servant
threaded a needle, but with black cotton;
which she indignantly refused, saying she
wanted brown. Another person then spoke,
when she immediately said: “That is my
mistress;” which was not the case—thus
clearly showing that in this instance she did
not discern the voice, while she could see the
object before her, her eyes being wide open.
With some difficulty she was at last persuad
ed to fie down until the usual hour of rising,
those around her thinking that she might then
awake in her accustomed manner. This
failing in effect, her mistress went up to her
room, and rather angrily ordered her to get
up and go to work, as it was now six o’clock.
This she refused to do, saying that she would
not rise at two o’clock, and pointed to the
window as she spoke. She was then shaken
violently, and awoke. She now rose, and
seeing the cotton box disturbed, asked why
it had been meddled with. In the course of
the day, several questions were put to her,
in order to try her recollection; but she had
no remembrance whatever of her sleep-walk
ing, or of anything that had occurred during
the previous night.
The next case exhibits a dorm int state of
the sense of hearing, while sight appears to
have been .in active operation throughour.
In the Sumner of IS70, a young man named
Jo ins, who worked at Cadrew, near Redruth,
being asleep in the sump-house of that mine,
was observed by two boys to rise ami go to
the door, against which ue leaned Shortly
quitting this position, he walked to the en
gine shaft, aui safely descended to the depth
of twenty fathoms, where he was found by
his comrades soon after, sound asleep, with
his back resting on the ladder. They called
to him to warn him of the perilous situation
in which he was; but he did not hear them;
and they were obliged to shake him roughly
to awake him, when he appeirei totally at a
loss to account for his being so situated.
There were great doings at R.io Janeiro on
the occasion of the tercentenary of Camoen?.
The Emperor of Brazil (who is really a very
fine fellow) laid the foundation of a public
library. Three centuries seemed a long time
to wait for fame: but it is better to deserve
fame than to achieve popularity. Camoens
chose the better part and thereby showed
his greatness.
PURITAN NAMES.
Some of* tlie Curiosities of Eng
lish Nomenclature.
In the new book, by Bardsley, on the “Curi
osities of Puritan Nomenclature,” occurs a
number of readable passages. It is in truth
a study of the rise, history and decline of
several customs in the matter of nomencla
ture, and is both historical and critical in its
character. It consists of a prologue, two
chapters and an epilogue. We make some
extracts from it. In reference to tee Puri
tanical names of the Praise-God-Barebones
and Zsal-of-the-Land Busy, there is a very
entertaining chapter. It is to the Presbyte
rian clergy that the author assigns the origin
of this odd fashion in nomenclature. Among
the names given in the early daj'sof the fash
ion there are found in parish register*, Sted-
fast, Renewed, Safe-on-High, Rejoyce,
Muche-Merct'e, Sin-Denye, Fear-Not, Sorrj'-
for-Sin, No-Merit, Accepted, and Content.
With respect to the last name, given by the
Rev. Hugh Walker, to his daughter, the au
thor says :
“I think the father ought to be whippe 1
most incontinently in the open market who
would inflict such a name on an infant daugh
ter. Thej- did not think so then.”
The Puritans were not alone in their fane}'
for strange names, and in another part of
this chapter Mr. Bardsley makes an interest
ing collection of “curious names not Puri
tan.”
The epilogue treats of “Doable Chr stian
Names—their Rise and Progress,” and a good
deal that is amusing is gathered together in
this part of the work, as also in that part of
it which relates to American eccentricities.
Concerning the latter subject we read :
“English Puritanism must stand the guilty
cause of much modern humor, no, to say ex
travagance, in American name-giving. Pluns
compounded of baptismal name aiid surname
are more popular there than with us. Rob
ert New has his sons christened Nothing and
Something. Price becomes Sterling Price;
Carrol, Christmas Carrol; Mixer, Pepper
Mixer; Hopper, Opportunity Hopper; Ware,
Cbina Ware; Peel, Lemon Peel; Codd, Salt
Codd, and Gentle, Always Gentle. It used
to be said of the Engli-h House of Commons
that there were in it two Lemons, with only
one Peel, and the Register General not long
since called attention in one of his reports to
the existence of Christmas Day. We have,
too, Cannon Ball, Dunn Brown, Friend Bot
tle (London Directory), and River Jordan,
not to mention two brothers named Jolly
Death and Sudden Death, the former of
whom figured in a trial lately as witness.
The Times of December 7, 1878, announced
the death of Mr. Emperor Adrian, a local
government board member. Nevertheless,
the practice prevails much more extensively
across the water, and the reason is not far
We all remember the story of the lisping
woman who, when asked by the clergyman
the name of her babe, tried to say “Lucy,
sir,” but made it “Luthy, thir.” The clergy
man, believing that she said “Lucifer, ’
straightway took matters into his own hands,
saving “George Washington, I baptise thee.”
ect., so tnat the p mr little girl babv was ac
tually named for the Father of his Country.
Mr. Bardsley tefis a story not unlike it as
follows :
“Not very long ago a child was brougut to
the font for baptism. ‘What mme?’ asked
the parson. ‘John,’ was the reply. 'Any
thing else ? ‘John /tonly,’ said the godparent,
putting in an ‘h’ where it was not needed.
‘John Honly,’ I baptise thee, etc., continued
the clergyman, thus thrown off his guard.
The child was entered with the double
name.”
With one more quotation we leave the
reader to his own examination of the learned
and interesting volume :
“In the registers of marriage at Halifax
parish church (December 1, 1878,) is the name
of a witness. Charity H.—He—it was he—is
the third child of his parents, two sisters,
Faih and Hope,•'having preceded him. His
full baptismal name is ‘And Charity,’ and in
his own marriage certificate his name is so
written. In ordinary affairs he is content
with Charity alone (Notes and Queries, Au
gust 16, 1879). This could not have happen
ed previous to Queen Anne’s reign. Aets-
Apostles Pegden’s will was administered up
on in 1865 His four elder brothers bore the
four Evangelists’ names. This, again, could
not well have occurred before the eighteenth
century was in.”-
Fools and Their Folly.
[Philadelphia Times.]
•Of all the folly of the whole army of fool
ish fellows who combine the fool with the
knave, set down at the head of the list that
of the married man who runs away with
a girl. It matters not whether she be a sin
gle girl or a married girl or a widow, there is
trouble in store for both her and the fellow
for whese sake she became a fugitive. This
kind of elopement is a sin which inevitably
brings with it its own punishnent. There
may be a certain amount of a queer sort of
love mixed up in the transaction, but it is a
troublesome sort not easily managed and
based on a shaky foundation. Whatever
there is of a passionate attraction in the illicit
partnership generally holds out no longer
than during the continuance of the runaway
trip. The man nas vowed eternal constancy,
or something of that kind, to the woman.
The woman has in turn made a similar vow
to the man. Those vows are made in a
spoony sort of a way, with more of a regard
for the present than for the future. Could
the parties who make these vows have an
opportunitv of looking only a little way into
the future and see the contemptuous loathing
with which tney will soon regard each other,
they would not vow. When a pie baking
treasurer elopes with a coffee roasting
maiden, leaving behind him a numerous and
previously respected family, he does a dis
graceful thing, for which society should
soundly punish him. As they run away, both
he and she know exactly what a mean thing
they are doing. It may be said he lures the
innocent victim to her doom, or words to
that effect. Perhaps there is a little of this
element in the transaction, but generally the
innocent victim who is thus carried off is
about as wicked as the man who carries her
She must be desperately bad to be the vol
untary means of making a wreck of what is
left of the sinful man's family. When the
eloping parties have money to comfort them
selves with it is bad enough, for wha ever
there is of love soon runs out. Sometimes
the money which serves as a capital is stolen,
as is said to be the case of the fugitive pie-
baker. But where there is only a little
money, or none at all, and the elopers have
trusted to luck for the means of getting
along, or have laughed luck in the face and
said thej- would five on love, their case be
comes as pitiful as disgraceful. With present
facilities for catching fugitives no eloping
couples can hope to be -afe in any part of
this wide country. The only hope for a
peaceful residence on this continent is in Mex
ico or Nicaragua, or some of the South
American states, or northward in the direc
tion of the lands beyond the British posses
sions. Whether bitten by tropical tarantulas
or pinched by Arc ic frosts, the pair who
have sworn eternal fealty to each other soon
begin to despise each other with everlasting
scorn. If they five together without being
married their social standing is such that the
neighbors soon despise them as heartily as
the}* despise themselves and each other. If
they think themselves so far out of reach of
their old friends that thej' slyly slip into the
office of some justice of the peaoe and are
joined in matrimony it is with the ghost of a
pos-ibility of arrest for bigamy continually
peering over their shoulders. It is bad bus
iness at best, and never anything but bad
business. The proper course of action for a
girl to whom a married man makes a prop
osition for elopement is to get her most mus
cular male relative to kick the fellow vio
lently into the street.
A GREAT OUTRAGE.
Nashville, Tenn., Sept, lo.—Your cor
respondent had an interview to-day with
Messrs. John E. Craig, Jr., of Lawrenceville,
G1 and Sam W. Shelton, of Calhoun, East
Tennessee, two of the victims of the high-
wav robbery near the Mammoth Cave in
Kentucky, last evening, Craig being the heav
iest looser. From them the following par
ticulars of the affair are learned: The party
were ei<>-nt in number, seven men aud one
lady namely: Miss Lizzie Roundtree and
Col R H Roundtree, of Lebanon, Ky.;
George M Paisley, Twenty-fifth street, and
W G. Welch, Twenty-sixth street, Pitts
burg Pa.; S. H. Frohlicbstein, of Mobile,
Ala.; Phil Roundtree, from Wisconsin, a
newspaperman; John E. Craig, Jr., of Law
renceville, Ga., aud S.m W. Shelton. Cal
houn, East Tennessee. The party had been
doing the cave, and had taken the stage for
.Cave City, where they were to disperser for
their homes. . ..
About three aud a half miles from Mam
moth Cave, toward Cave City, the road is
particularly dangerous, there being dark
and deep ravines on each side. It was at
this place that the bandits made their attack.
Previous to reaching this place the party
passed the stage, bound to the cave, with but
one passenger. Iu a little while one of the
gentleman looking out of the coach window
siw two men riding after the coach, and
while he was watching they each took a large
drink of whisky. As soon as the gentleman
drew in his head the bandits made a dash,
both approaching on the same side of the
coach, and ordered the driver, a negro, to
stop threatening him at the same time with
a revolver. Before the passengers in the
stage could learn what was going on, they
saw the barrels of four revolvers thrust in
their faces, and a heavy voice demanded,
“Your money or your life.”
Not a person iu the coach was armed even
with a pocket-knife, so that there was noth
ing for it but to submit. The passengers
were then ordered to get out of the srage and
form a fine, and then disgorge, John E. Craig,
Jr., the principal loser, contributing $6So in
cash and about *7 00 in notes; M.ss Lizzie
Rauudtree lost a diamond (solitaire) ring
and a plain gold ring; Geo. M. Paisley, 823
and a gold watch; W. G. Welch, 851 and a
gold wath; Col. R. H. Roundtree, 875 ni
cash, a gold watch worth 82oo, and a key
worth 85o; S. H. Frohlickstein, $35; Phil
Roundtree, 75 cents, and Sam. W. Shelton,
"perhaps it will be thought ^singular that
the newspaper reporter didn’t lose but sev
enty five cents, which is explained by the
fact that he was the last to leave the stage.
As soon as he realized the state of iiffairs, he
hastily removed his money (about 84O) from
his pocket-book and his gold watch, which
he put under the cushion in the stage. The
robber would not believe the seventy-five
cents in the pocket-book he gave was all he
had until his pockets were turned. Then he
said: . .
“What’s your occupation, sir ?’’
“A newspaper reporter.”
“Well, give us a good report.”
The bandits were two in number, and are
described as being about thirty years old,
ab >ut five feet six inches in height. One had
red hair and red whiskers—a full beard and
quite thin—aud blue eyes. He rode a black
horse fifteen hands high and a pacer. His
companion had dark hair and beard, full
and thin, and rode a sorrel horse, blaze face
and white hind feet. These descriptions are
accurate, as the robbers made no attempt at
disguise, not even wearing masks. The men
were each armed with two latest improved
revolvers, 42 calibre.
They kept talking most of the time, and
stated that thy were moonshiners and
were compelled to do something to get money
to leave the country with. They also stated
that they had robbed the stage they had
passed, getting 8500 in cash from the one
passenger. ......
Craig thinks he saw the horses hitched in
front of the hotel at the cave, and is certain
the two men were in the room whan he set
tled with the landlord for himself and com
panion, and remembers hearing a laugh
when he pulled out his roll of bills. It would
seem, therefore, that the party had been
spotted previous to the robbery, and of Craig
the men were particularly afraid. The red
headed one was the leader, and was quite
cool and collected, while his companion was
greatly excited. Every time Craig made a
movement the leader would call out to ‘ ‘keep
a revolver on that fat cuss,” as though they
were afraid he might do them some injury.
Craig tried a num 1 er of times to get near
enough to the leader to make a spring for
him, but was unsuccessful. Seeing a valu
able gold watch in Craig’s vest he was or
dered to take it off, which he did, but turn
ing suddenly around, dropped it into his
pants pocket. The watch had been in the
family for five generations, and greatly
prized. He resolved not to part with it,
come what would. The robber was evident
ly satisfied with the looks of the man and de
clined to take it from him- In order to gain
as much time as possible, in the hope of help
coming from the cave, Craig asked for a
drink of whiskey. The bottle was set on the
ground and the passengers allowed to ap
proach it. He passed it all around, each pre
tending to drink, and then returned the bot
tle in the same manner as they had received
it. This was repeated two or three times,
but no help arrived and the villains were al
lowed to take their departure.
When asked what state they were from,
the first w.as a Pittsburg man, and he an
swered, “Pennsylvania.” “D—d if l wouldn’t
have shot you if I had known it,” was the re
ply. Craig was next, and he said, “I am a
Georgian.” The bandit was really sorry to
have to take his money, but he made no re
turns. The rest of the party discreetly came
from the South. Two hundred and fifty dol
lars has been offered for the capture of the
villains, and it is stated on good authority
that, if caught they will never come to trial.
Brother Gardner Opposes Tan-
nerism. Walking JIatehes
and Basse Bali Clubs.
“A nite or two ago,” began the old man as
the meeting opened in due form, “a sartin
member of dis club cum softly inter my
house an’ axed me if I Uad any objeekshuns
to his enterin’ into a walkin’ match. Yester
day ahodder member hinted aronn’ about
organizin’ a cull’d base ball club to sweep the
kentry. To-day a third member serusly pro
posed de ideah of fastin’ fur fo’ty days on de
Tanner principle. Fur two long hours dis
afternoon I sot on de back stoop an’ pon
dered ober dese fings, an’ bime-by I got what
I believe am de k’rect ideah. At sartin
sezuns of de y’ar de atmosphere am ’preg-
nated wid some sort o’ vapor dat creates a
desiah on de part of about six men out of
ten to make fools of demselves. Dis vapor
am now prevailin’ aroun’ dis nayburhood at
hullsale rates, an if it effects the white folks,
why shouldn’t it have mo’ or less influence on
the cull’d people? In order to diskiver what
effect it has had on dis club, I now inwite all
you who am in favor of base ball, fastin’ an’
walking-matches to riz up.”
Not a foot moved. The hall was as quiet
as a cow in a garden after cabbages
“Waal, den, all who am ’posed will please
stretch up,” continued the president.
Every person in the hall got his feet in
under him as soon as possible and stood erect
for a full minute.
“Werry well, gem’len—you kin sot down,”
remarked the old man as a smile crept into
the corner of each eye. “I guess I am all
right about de vapor, but I guess de vapor
sorter slides awa> from de cull’d race. Now
let me say to all as toilers: Two weeks wid
a spefiin,-book will do any of us mo’ good
dan two y’ars wid a ba-e ball club. If you
want to walk go out an’ look for work. * As
to the queshun of fistin’, dar’s a full dozen
of you m iieah who’ll git all you want of it
afore nex’ spring unless you make vour
brushes fly faster dan you have fur a month
past. De man who bu lds up his frame on
an empty st am icti will drap out o’ sight all of
a sudden. I.’s pleasant to be a hero, but de
man what airns his dollar a day, pays his
debts, speaks de truf, brings up hi3 chill’en
in de right way and wins de respect of his
nayburs, am sailin’ his sand-scow ’bout as
nigh de true light as he kin go. We will
now attack de usual order of bizuess.”