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lENTH PAGE
ITHE SUNNY SOUTH
An Eastern Caster
Copyright
1901
By CHARLES BATTLLL LOOMIS
T uncle’s name, like my
M own. Is Robert Burns
McPherson, but, unlike
myself, he Is not a
poet. In fact, he has
no profession, but be-
1 n g in dependently
wealthy he delights in
preparing for his rela
tives little surprises
that sometimes take
odd forms. I could not
have been more than
ten when he invited me
to a birthday dinner
at which trout formed
the principal dish:
and when he had
lumped me and I proceeded to bone my
fi'h—a feat that I had already learned—I
found a gold eagle secreted in the inte
rior. -
It was some years after that p— sister
Marcella went out to the henhouse one
■Doming (we lived in the country then)
son river. I took an elevated train down the restless waves until I was in a better
to Twenty-third street.
I may as well admit that I was not at
that time so well blessed with this world's
goods that I could hazard the loss of $10.-
000 without an effort. Dane might look
at the book up on the deck and turn a
page that concealed the bills just in time
to catch a passing breeae, and then where
would my money be?
At Twenty-third street I hailed a cab,
and promised the man IS if he would get
me to the Holt pier ten minutes before
the boat sailed. I happened to have $10 in
my pocket or I would have been In a fix.
There were no incidents connected with
my getting to Hoboken, and I arrived
there in time, paid my man and rushed
up the gang plank. There I found every
thing in confusion. I did not know the
number of Dane's cabin, and no one else
seemed to know. I tried to And the pur
ser. but he was as hard to find as Dane.
Hurried and worried as I was I did notice
a Junoesque girl with great ox eyes,'and
1 said to myself: “If I could have known
some one like you I would not be a bach
elor today.” Such Inconsequent thoughts
'What is this you have done?” asked the captain
anrl found an upright piano almost com- | do make the transit of a man’s brain.
pletely filling the place. She suspected
that Uncle Bob had been at work, and
when she found a note tacked on the
back of the piano saying, “For a musical
■girl—from one who loves her,” she knew
that it was a present. If she had been
a little older she might have thought
it was a crazy place to leave a present,
but as it was she was delighted beyond
nl! measure. It seemed to have dropped
from the clouds. To be sure the hired
man and a helper found -it a herculean
task to get it Into the house without
ihe approved implements for moving
pianos; and it was pretty well scratched
it found its way to the parlor.
Hut when uncle Bob came that evening
and found Marcella playing it he was
so happy and she was so overjoyed that
my mother could not scold him for his
ireakishness.
He has always said that when he died
he did not expect to leave anything to
anybody; he preferred to give It away
while he was yet alive.
So much by way of preamble. Last
spring, toward the end of Lent, my pub
lishers brought out a book of mine
called “An Eastern Easter," being a
serious poem of some length. The first
copy came to me while I was out, and
my sister Marcella opened it and then
left it lying on the center table in the
parlor. An hour or two later I came
home and found it there, and without
stopping to look at it—for I had already
seen a copy at my publishers—I wrapped
i» up and ran round the corner tp give It
to my dear friend Enos Dane, who was
to sail next day for Europe on the Holl
and America line.
He was so awfully busy packing that
he did not open it, either, but told me
that it would be his first nleasure after
the vessel started to read the book, and
he would then write me a long, critical
letter. Dane has been one of my kindest
and yet one of mv severest critics, and
It is due to him that I ventured upon
writing so serious a poem as “An East
ern Easter,” which I may say, without
offense, is modeled after Sir Edwin Ar
nold’s “Light of Asia."
I was a little disappointed that Enos
did not open the package, as I thought
that they had bound the book very pret
tily. and I like his judgment on such
matters; and I wouldn’t have minded, to
tell the truth, if he had asked me to
read the first hundred stanzas or so.
There are seven hundred in all, eight
lines to a stanza, very easily flowigg, if
I do^say It. But that has nothing to do
with* what followed.
The next morning Uncle Bob dropped
In while we were at breakfast, and from
the twinkle In his eye I knew that he
had been up to one of his “benevolences.”
as we call them in the family.
“Rather nice book of poems that of
yours,” said he.
"Oh. have you seen It?" I said, for I
did not suppose the stores would have
exposed It for sale so soon.
"Yee, 1 saw your copy yesterday after
noon. Thought I’d give it a send off.
Didn't you find the book marks?”
"Book marks? No," I said. “I have
hardly looked at the book, for I wanted
Dane to have the first copy. Tou know
he suggested my writing the poem."
My uncle’s expression changed. “Do
you mean you have given the book away
without looking at it?" said he, hur
riedly.
"Yes, I took It round to Dane last
night. You know he sails for Europe
this morning ”
“Why, man, I put ter. bills of a thou
sand each in It just for a starter to bring
you good luck.’’
"Oh, you jewel of an uncle!’’ I cried,
glancing at the clock.
I remember that m y feeling of grati
tude was mixed up with a wish that he
had chosen a more conventional way of
making the gift. It was 9 o’clock and the
—-'Mam sailed at 10. I had noticed that In
the paper that morning.
I sprang from the table, and, saying “I
must get that hook," I was gone like a
shot, stopping only to pick up my hat. I
live in Harlem, and I had a little over an
hour to get to the company’s docks at
Hoboken, on the other side of the Hud-
Just then I caught a glimpse of Dane,
and I followed him until he disappeared
in an Inside cabin. I knocked at his door,
but just then the deep-throated whistle
boomed and he did not hear me. I could
hear the people who had come to see their
friends oft leaving the boat ift shoals, hut
still I stood there and knocked. It must
have been five minutes before the door
opened, and then—it was not Dane at all,
but a man built and aressed like him.
“Oh, I beg your pandon," said I. “I
thought you were my friend Dane, who
has $10,000 of mine, and I was in a hurry
because I’m not going across, you know.
"Going back wlpi tne pilot?" said he.
“Oh, no, I’m going now. Where can
Dane be?” And I rushed up the stairs to
see the lordly Hudson fiowlng all around
me and Hoboken growing smaller every
moment. I was on my way to Europe!
For a moment I was scared, but the
words of the man whom I had disturbed
came back to me, and I determined to act
on his suggestion and go back with the
pilot. Meantime I must find Dane. From
bow to stern, upstairs and downstairs,
or whatever you call It on board ship, I
went, but no Dane appeared. Could he
have missed' the steamer? But no, he
was the soul of punctuality. Perhaps he
was indisposed and in his cabln.1 But
where was his cabin?
I had an Idea that there would be a
blare of trumpets and a roll of drums
and no end of things when the pilot left,
and I listened for the engines to slacken
the while I looked for Dane: but it seems
that the pilot does not need to stop the
boat In order to get off.
The purser had hitherto been hidden
somewhere, but now I found him and got
from him a passenger list. I eagerly
scanned the D's. ’’Dalbreger, Damen,
Dayton, Eaton ■” Dane was not on the
passenger list! That was horrible dis
covery number one. And I was so sure
that he had sailed on the Humbug-Amer-
lcan Kne. The Humpug-Amerlcan! And
this was the Holl and American line! 1
always mix those two lines. Oh, how
iditoic I had been! Well, at any rate I
would have a pleasant sail up the bay with
the pilot with a chance of getting Dane
after ail. It will be seen that I am phil
osophical. I said to the purser: "My
friend is not on board.”
He was busy finding places at table for
various passengers who were besieging
him, but he said- politely. In his Idiom:
“Ah. that Is too badly. But you will make
friends on the voyage."
“But I’m not going, you know. I'm go
ing bach with the pilot.”
The purser stared at me as if he thought
I was a lunatic, and several of the pas
sengers turned and looked at me with
amused interest.
“The pilot departed already a half hour
ago," said he.
I dropped Into a chair opposite him and
said, in a helpless sort of way: “The
pilot departed,? Then how can I get
home?”
I heard a sardonic looking man say to
his wife: “Get out and walk,” and I
blushed.
But the purser said: “You will make
the return trip rn the steamer. She shall
be back in four weeks.”
He seemed to think that It was quite an
ordinary thing for a man to get carried
off to Europe by mistake.
‘‘But I have only five dollars with me.
I didn't come to go. I mean I came to
go—I came to go back with the pilot—
that is,” said I, feeling that the eyes of
all thes.e people were upon me, “I came to
get my money from Mr. Da te, and he is
on the Humbug-American line.”
The purser said with Dutch phlegm:
“You will have to ste the captain. The
whistle blew to get off all the people al
ready.”
And then he turned to the applicants
for advantageous seats at the table, and
I sat down feeling rather queer within and
for the first time noticed the motion of the
vessel. I knew I was growing whiter and
whiter. The purser evidently noticed It
also, for he said: “Now go up and sniff
some air. It Is closely dcwn here.” He
evidently prided himself on his English.
“I will send you to the captain later.”
I half expected to be put at peeling
potatoes to work my passage. That is
what I had heard they made stowaways
do.
What would Marcelia say? And how
Uncle Bob would worry. And what would
I do with no change of linen, no vest, no
overcoat or steamer rug? Then I began
to feel so IB that I did not care what hap
pened. I rushed upstairs and made my
way to the side of the boat and watched
frame of mind—to put it euphemistically.
I had heard that 1t is good to walk as
much as possible when at sea, so I began
to pace to and fro and gradually felt bet
ter, and at last took my stand in front
of the pilot-house—if that is what they
call It—and wondered what .was going to
be the outcome of all this.
A sweet, low voice at my side said:
“Oh, look at those porpoises!” and I turn
ed and saw my Junoesque young woman.
“Are those porpoises?” said I. "I never
saw any before."
I knew that land conventions did not
hold at sea and I talked to her freely.
"Yes," said she. "Is this your first
trip?”
"Well, ye-yes. I’m really not sure if
it is my trip at all. Yon see, I didn’t mean
to come, and I don’t know what the cap
tain will do with me.”
She looked at me in wonder for a mo
ment, and then laughed the sweetest
laugh ever heard. “Do you suppose he’ll
give you a life-preserver and let you swim
back. But, tell me, didn't you really mean
to come?" Then she looked me ail over,
the way a woman will, and I could see
that she was thinking: “He is a little
too well-dressed to be a stowaway.”
When I am perturbed I have a way of
getting mixed up in my speech. “Why,
you see, I came after Mr. Dane’s ten
thousand dollars that I had in his book—
that is, my uncle put ten thousand dollars
in Mr. Dane’s new book—that 1s, in my
new book that I gave to Mr. Dane, but
not the ten thousand dollars. Those my
nncle gave to me, but, you see, he put it
in my book tor Mr. Dane, and so I came
on board to get it back—”
“To get the hook back?”
“no. to get the money back; and Mr.
Dane wasn’t on board because he didn’t
go by this line, and so here I am.”
Miss Delplain—for this, as I afterwards
learned was her name. Miss Dorothy JDel-
plain, of Philadelphia—stared at me as If
she thought I was not quite right, and
just then the purser and the captain came
up.
Captain Zellikoffer was a red-cheeked.
Jolly-looking fellow. “What Is this you
have done?" said he. "Did you come to
see someone off?"
“No,’ said I, “I didn't come to see him
off, because I’d seen him off last night—
that is, I bade him goodby last night;
but, you see, I gave him a copy of
my latest book. I'm Robert Burns Mc
Pherson, the poet, and I gave my book to
Mr. Dane: but I didn’t know until this
morning that my uncle had put ten thou
sand dollars In it for me, and then I came
back to the dock to recover the money,
but I made a mistake In the line of steam
ers I thought he’d gone by—I always
make that mistake o&ctit the Humbug-
American line, you know, and that Is the
line he’s gone by—and I have only five
dollars with me and the clothes on my
back.”
I knew that the captain had never heard
of my writings, but at this point in my
somewhat long monologue, the Junoesque
being said:
“Oh, are you Mr. McPherson, the poet?
I’ve been dying to meet you. Didn’t you
read at an authors’ leading in Phila
delphia?” . . .
I assured her that I had, and had nearly
fainted from fright also.
The captain suddenly burst out laugh
ing. Something had just struck him.
"Oh, and your friend has your money,
and follows us on the Humbug line?”
I told him that that was it exactly,
unless he had allowed the mcney to blow
away. ,
"Such an uncle! continued the cap-
Dom he ofttimes give you bills
tain.
In your books like thatT
“He has never done Jt before; but he
put a piano in my little sister’s lien-
ltise once.”
The captain suddenly looked d.gnlfled,
after the manner of the bishop of Rum-
lifoo. He plainly thought that I was
making fun of him. "Have you anything
to identify you?” said he.
I put my hand In my pocket and pulled
out a rejection from The Book-Borrower.
It was a verse of mine with a tenderly-
worded, printed slip; to the effect that
the editors felicitated themselves on the
fact of having had a chance to read my
poem, and it would be one of their life
long regrets that they could not use It
in the columns of their magazine.
Captain Zollikoffer took the envelope
end opened It and put the manuscript In
his pocket. Ther he put on his eye
glasses and read the rejection. I don’t
Imagine he understood what it was all
about, for after he had read It through
he took the manuscript out of his pocket
and read the first line of that. It began:
"Oft Hid I thought when chilling night
was gone ’’
"Ooh, poetry!” said he, and put it back
In the envelope with editorial prompti
tude. "Well,” he said, "you will pay the
passage both ways when you return-;—”
"I’ll pay it when we gefc to Holland, it
Mr. Dane has It, for he will send It to
me, I’m sure.”
"The Hitnbug liner will pass us tonight
or tomorrow, and your friend will arrive
a day before we reach Rotterdam. Make
yc-urself at home. Such an uncle!’’ and
he departed with the purser.
An elderly lady, who resembled Miss
Delplain, now joined that young woman,
and I was presented to Mrs. Delplain, the
mother of Juno.
Luckily tor me, the voyage was a
smooth one. and after the first day I
was not sick. When it became-known
who I was and how I came aboard, the
passengers vied with each other in at
tentions to me. They lent me linen, and
the purser gave me a steamer cap. and
I felt that the best way to go to Europe
was to do It on the spur of the moment.
But I did wish that nature had not
endowed me with such a thin neck. Af
ter I put away my own collar I found
none that were not miles too big for me.
As for Miss Delplain, I wondered how
I had been able to live without her so
ciety for the twenty-seven years thac
have gone to make up my life. I did
not sit at her table, unfortunately, as all
the desirable seats had been snapped up
tefere my status was settled, and then I
had to be content with what I got. The
captain had suggested that-1 travel sec
ond-class; but as that would have cut
me entirely off from the fair Philadel
phian’s society, I told him that I would
rather pay the difference when I got it.
As soon as breakfast was over each day
I sought her out, and we promenaded the
boat dock or played shuffle-board until
it was time for bouillon. Then I always
left her and talked to various passen
gers, so that she would not tire of my
society, but as soon as luncheon was
ever I sat and chatted with her and her
mother until It was time for them to
dress for dinner. Alas! I could make no
display of finer raiment, as I was limited
to a sack-coat, no vest, and e.taer my
Alpine hat or the steamer cap. But In
the evenings I forgot that I was not well
dressed, and we sat together, just abaft
of the place where the smell of cooking
comes up. and talked until her-Another
said It was time to turn in.
If the reader has guessed that I fell in
love with her it does no credit to his
perspicacity. Of course I fell- in love
with her. and so quickly does a friend
ship on board ship rijen that we felt as
If we had always known each other.
The Humbug liner—I forgot her name-
should have parsed us the second day
out, and I suppose she did so. However,
on the fifth day we saw her standing
slilV-if that's what they call :t. The
captain said that something most be the
matter, t stood with Miss Delplain watch
ing her as she rose and fell on the
waves. It gave me a queer feeling to
reflect that here I was practically penni
less and there was ter thousand dollars
of mine not five miles away—If the wind
had respected the bank bills.
It seemed an opportune moment to
propose, and yet, as soon as I
thought of It, my tongue became
almost helpless. I made several false,
starts, and at last I said:
“Miss Delplain, are you good at sup
posing?"
8he said: “Why. yes, I can do any
thing on an ocean voyage. What do you
want me to suppose?”
"Well,” said I, “suppose I had those
$10,000 in my pocket, that are, I hope,
on that steamer: suppose my book were
to go like wildfire, do you suppose that—
do you—would you be willing to let
me place my steamer chair next to yours
for the rest of our lives?"
I had no idea how she would take It,
I had never proposed before. In fact,
as soon as I had said it, I wished I
hadn’t. But she smiled a sweeter smile
than I supposed the human face ca
pable of. and said—
But no—now that I come to the point
of writing what she said, I cannot do it.
There are some things too sacred. If this
were a made-up story I might, but—
I cannot express how elated and at the
same time how depressed her words made
me. I pressed her hand silently, and
went down stairs to borrow a collar from
a man who wore a No. 16.
On my way back a fellow passenger
said: "Hello, that steamer’s signalling
to'us. What’s the trouble?”
It did not take long for the news to
become common property that the Hum
bug liner had broken some part of her
machinery and wanted us to tow her Into
port. This would, of course, make us
several days late; but as for me, I felt
that anything that made the time of my
sojourn in Miss Delplain’s neighborhood
possible was to be welcomed. It was so
interesting watching them hitch the other
steamer on behind that I entirely for
got what steamer she was until I saw
a man standing on her boat deck who
looked surprisingly like Enos Dane. He
was too far away for me to shout to
him, and too far for me to recognize him
absolutely with the naked eye, so I
sought the captain.
“Captain." said I, “I think that the
man who has my money is standing on
the boat deck of that steamer. Is there
any way of asking him?”
I want to put it on record that the cap
tain was one of the most obliging men I
ever saw. He immediately called his
first officer, and told him to get the meg
aphone and ask the first officer of the
other steamer whether Mr. Dane was on
board.
Before the first officer could get the
megaphone, the man began looking at
me earnestly through a pair of field-
glasses. I ran to Miss Delplain, who was
sitting with her mother. “Come,” said
I, excitedly, “I think that Mr. Dane Is
following us—that is, he’s in the other
steamer. The first officer is going to
megaphone to him to find out.”
As we reached the first officer, he called
out: “Is Mr. Dane, of New York, on
board your boat?” *
The man who looked like Dane nod
ded his head, and the first officer of the
steamer who heard the hoarse blast of
the megaphone nodded also, and picked
up an old-fashioned speaking trumpet,
such as fire chiefs use. “Yes,” said me.
“Who wants likn?”
The first officer turned to me, and I
said: “Let me take the megaphone."
Then I put it to tag, lips and shouted:
“My uncle put some money in my new
book of verse, and I gave the book to
Mr. Dane without opening it. If you're
Mr. Dane, have you fh? money?”
At these words, Mr,' Dane, all excite
ment, started for the ladder that leads
to the pilot house, hut.Mte first officer, of
course, prevented mmitttng the sol
ecism of asggnding, isptiy coming down
himself and handinjto^ speaking trum
pet to my friend^'"iS^dJelplain Stood by
my side, and I fancied I could hear her
heart beating. I said to her quickly:
“If he has, will you?”
And she answered: ”1 will, if he has.”
The next minute the somewhat muffled
tones of Mr. Dane came through the
trumpet to us—and by us. I jpean all the
passengers who ceuld crowd around. He
said:-“I opened the book in a pretty stiff
breeze—do you hear?”
“Yes, yes,” I shouted, in an agony of
expectancy, "go on.”
“I opened the book hi a gale of wind,”
he repeated. Dane always was a great
hand to reneat unnecessarily. “And a
bill flew away to sea.”
Miss Delplain’s hand sought mine and
squeezed it sympathetically. Just then
Dane was seized with 8 fit of sneezing, and
he had to interrupt his narrative. It
seemed an age before he ceased his vo
cal spasms. At last he went on:
“I shut the book up, then went into my
cabin, and found nine other bills of a
thousand each. Are they ypurs?"
“Yes,” I shouted.
“Have you much of a library?” said he.
"That was the only book of the kind.”
Then he wanted to know how I came
to be on board the Milldam, and how the
money came to be in the book. I ex
plained everything to him, and asked the
captain whether I could -o after my for
tune or whether he could send a sailor.
I was rather relieved when he detailed
a sailor to straddle one of the hawsers
and go after the money; and I was so
afraid that he would fall overboard on
the way back. They never could have
recovered him; and he was so valuable.
But he made the return trip in saffety,
and handed me a neat package. My eyes
met those of Miss Delplain, and I knew
that my ocean trip was going to be good
for me.
I opened the package while my friends
crowded around me and there were the
nine bills. I could not blame Dane for the
loss of the tenth; but I’ve often wondered
since whether It was washed ashore at
any of the beaches. What a beautiful lit
tle romance a man could make out of it!
But my own romance was good enough
for me for the present. I asked Mrs.
Delplain’s consent that evening, and in
the course of conversation it turned out
that she had been a schoolmate of my
mother, so, of course, she had not the
slightest objection to my marrying Doro
thy.
While I was talking to her a brilliant
thought came into my head, induced by
what struck me as a curious coincidence.
We had been at sea just a week, and it
was the day before Easter.
“Would 1 it not be a happy augury for the
success of my book, Mrs. Delplain?”—
somehow I could not talk to the mother
without getting all tied up—“would It
not be a happy augury for the success of
my ‘Eastern Easter’ If we were married
on Easter day?”
Mrs. Delplain, who is a Baptist and not
up in the Episcopal time table, said she
thought it would; and then the bugle
sounded for dinner, and as she had her
sea appetite on, she went.down without
saying anything further.
As for me, having obtained her consent, j
I went at once to the Rev. Charles W.
Opdyke, of Philadelphia, who, as luck |
would have it. was one of the passengers,
and I toid him of the good fortune that
was to be mine, and asked him if he
would unite us in the bonds on Easter
day. He said that, with the captain's
consent, nothing would give him greater
pleasure. He also said that it was a lit
tle unusual to be married on Sunday, but
that he did not see any objection to it.
” ‘The better the day, the better the deed,’
when a deed is so good as this." said he.
Then I went to nail the captain.
“Why. most surely.” said he. “I will
have the cook make a Wilhelmina cake in
honor of the occasion. 8uch an uncle!”
It seemed hard for him to get over my
uncle.
Then it suddenly occurred to me that
I had not told Dorothy about the date.
It would be awkward if she learnt it from
another passenger. —-
She was sitting with her mother In the
ladles’ saloon. ’’Dorothy,” said 1,.1’let me
congratulate you. You are to be mar
ried next Sunday.”
Several passengers looked up in aston
ishment and Dorothy blushed a delightful
sltede of red. EVt. before she could
speak, her mother said: “Next Sunday?
■Why, you told me you wanted to marry
her on Blaster Sunday.”
Dear Baptist woman, she bad supposed
dimly that Easter came some time In
the fall. But she was true-blue. I told
her that I did not believe in long engage
ments, and that If we waited for Easter
to fall in the autumn, we'd both pass
away unwedded, and then she said: “It’s
all the same. If you are to be my son
in law, the sooner the better.”
Do you know that then for the first time
I realized that she would be my mother
in law, ana it gave me a bit of a shiver,
but only because the professional jokers
have said so much on the” subject. I
really had no cause for worry, and I leant
over, and was Just going to’kiss her
when I remembered the other passengers,
and I didn't ao it.
I tried to got Dane to be my best man,
.but he is light-headed, and said that he
wouldn’t come over the hawser for a
whole book full of bank bills; but he wish
ed me every sort of Joy. 1 had sent him
a note explaining what Kras going to hap
pen.
But, as it turned out, he was best man
at a distance—after all. Easter morning
dawned, beautiful and springlike We
were married In the stern of the vessel—
really on the steerage deck, under an
awning, for ho reason in the world but
that Dane could be near us and act as
beat man from the bow of the Humbug
liner.
I hadn’t seen Dorothy look so beauti
ful since we left Hoboken—never. In fact.
She was dressed In some kind of gray
cloth frock, and I had borrowed a coat,
also a frock, from a man not much bigger
than I, and I wore a collar that M** 4 ®*
Eddie Hoch. of Cincinnati, lent me. it
was decidedly the beat lit of any I had
tried on since my own became undesira-
**1 gave Dorothy one of the bills as a
wedding present, and I think Urn* tha-
added to her happiness. I feel'that I can
say this without detracting from my own
merits She felt more comfortable com
ing to me not entirely dowerless.
It was the event of the voyage as far
as the rest of the passengers were con
cerned—and, In fact, as far as we our
selves were concerned.
When we debarked at Boulogne, Dane
and Mrs. Delplain accompanied ua on a
short wedding trip to Paris.
Uncle Bob had evidently surmised that
I had been carried off, for when *>ane
went to his bankers there was a cable
for me that caused Mrs. McPherson and,
her husband unalloyed Joy. It ran sta fol-
*°”Book going like hot cakes. Hope yoi*
found the book-marks.”
An Indian Romance of Bartow
By LULA TUMLIN LYON
Written for ,
6Ke SUNNY SOUTH
ry 1
grief can call its own.”
HEN why not tread often
the flower-fringed vis
tas of the oast? Especi
ally when they lead one
to a joyous and bauov
childhood, such as
blessed the children
who were sheltered and
loved at dear old Glen-
cove, the splendid ante
bellum home of my
father. If I should fol
low my own sweet will,
it Is at this sunny soot
that I would linger al
ways, holding Ijy the
hand a brave, manly
little brpther and a
gentle, sweet-eyed baby sister as In the
days of yore, when we wandered along
the river banks and over the wide fields
to rest at last in the shade of the huge
Indian mound and gather our richest
trophiea in the bits of pottery and beads
which we found at its base and to fill
our baskets with honeysuckle and wild
violets. These offerings to our father al
ways suggested an Indian story, a sub
ject dear to the heart of every child.
Many of those stories I still remember,
for these Dleasures. which belong only to
childhood, have defied time and its forget
fulness. The one which I recall most
freauent is that of the beautiful daughter
of a missionary, which is thrilling and ex
citing In the extreme.
“At Gillam’s Spring, in the seventeenth
district of Bartow county, there was a
missionary station, and with the mis
sionaries a party of pioneers, who were
engaged in the manufacture of saltpeter,
which they produced from dirt hauled
from the cave near by and used in the
preparation of gunpowder. The young
lady inauestion was the. daughter of a
missionary sent out from the Church of
England to introduce the gospel to the
natives. She was a blonde of faultless
form and features, beautiful beyond de
scription: and with the glow of health
suffusing her cheeks, she was indeed a
creature of loveliness. She soon adapted
herself to her surroundings and found her
pleasures in her morning and afternoon
rides and in hunting, but with the caution
acquired by her resident*.- among these
crafty and treacherous people, she never
ventured far until this one day of which
I shall tell you.
“There was a surveying party camped
just one mile away on the Etowah river,
near an Indian village, where my own
Aylmer stands today. I feel that it is al
most a desecration to thrust even a mem
ory of this savage neglect and rudeness
upon a spot so saored.
“ ‘Where the magnolia and jessamine
shed their sweetest perfume.
And the rose with Its fragrance is ever
In bloom.'
“Having learned of this surveying
petty, she ventured here on this beauti
ful morning, feeling more secure in the
presence of these white strangers. Among
them was a young North Carolinan, John
Seabcrn, with a wild and roving disposi
tion. He was in the prime of vigorous
young manhood, and in all the sports
which are usually indulged in as a test
of strength in thsee expeditions, he had
never found an equal. Priding himself in
the glory of his prowess, he felt he could
successfully combat any foe, and knew no
such word as fear. Whether it was to
convince his comrades of this feeling of
daring, or whether he yielded to a sweeter
and tenderer impulse—for who knows but
his heart was touched at that fair vision
of lovefii-tss—he felt it bis duty to guard
this young girl at a. distance until she
had reached- her father's camp in safety.
There was also another who was watch
ing closely her movements that morning,
for he had seen her often at the camp,
and was deeply enamored by her charms,
and had more than once been laying in
wait for an opportunity to bear her away
as a captive to his distant tribe; on this
occasion / he would probably have suc
ceeded but for a very timely Interference.
"Gaily and with no thought of danger
she traveled the dim trail through tho
forest, stopping now end then to gather
the long sprays of wild jessamine that
hung like so many tiny golden bells above
her head Ah! how often does the fatal
drop of poison lurk in the sweetest flow
ers. Her band had scarcely grasped
them when with terror it fell to her side,
for an Indian of gigantic stature sprang
from behind a bush and grasped her
bridle, holding his tomahawk in the other
hand. Only a moment, and John Seaborn
was near enough to hear the sound of
human voices. He bad scarcely time to
form an opinion of the situatlonbeforo all
doubt was removed by a sudden scream.
An effort on the part of the fair young
rider to extricate herself from the grasp
of the Indian was sufficient to show that
she was not a voluntary companion in the
journey, as. still clinging to her bridle, he
trieci to pull her from the path, exclaim
ing:
“ ’Hold! white fawn. Me son of great
chief. Must have pretty white squaw!’
“Here the motion of his weapon fright
ened the pony, throwing her to the
ground. She was no sooner grasped by
the fierce savage than young Seaborn,
with that impulse which lies slumbering
in the heart of every true and brave man
him os a prisoner to the camp. Think
here what must have been young Sea
born’s welcome—kind words, hearty
greetings, adulation; but that which he
treasured most was the sweet smile of
gratitude from tear-stained cheeks.
“After this, young Seaborn was a fre
quent visitor to the camp and the little
colony of pioneers soon knew *hat a deep
er feeling than friendship existed between
these young-people, and yielding to his
tender importunities in a few months she
became his bride, and lived to bless for
many years with her love the man to
whom. In all probability, she owed her
life, and when In after years Major John
Seaborn bad-been honored in hls North
Carolina home he never ceaaed to feel
that the greatest honor had been con
ferred upon him at Gillam's Sprirg, in
Bartow county, the privilege of protecting
through life this fair young girl.
"George Took, the Indian, afterwards
committed murder, killing a whole fami-
a little child attempted to escape he p ek
ed It up and threw it back into the
flames. He was tried and convicted dur
ing the judgeship of the Hon. John W.
Hooper, and was hanged by my father,
Colonel Lewis Tumlln, who, during his
young manhood, was for several years
sheriff of Bartow county.”
“All traces and almost all memories of
the Cherokee Indians have passed away.
The only landmarks that would lead them
back to the place of their rude habita
tions are these storm-beaten mounds,
which have yielded many of their hidden
treasures in the subsequent years in the
shape of vases, urns and idols. The Ihtgest
idol ever found was the one from the
Tumlln mounds some thirty years ago,
and still held as an heirloom in the fam
ily,
"Softly the moonbeams guard this mys
terious spot, while the quiet, peaceful flow
of the Etowah, like a huge silver cord in
the distance, winds its way through these
and burning the residence, and when 1 onoe happy hunting ground.”
How the Pope Aided a Southern ^
Presbyterian Church
Writtsa for
me SUNNY SOUTH
kW:
£Vrr
E romances of the old
south are awakening a
more Vtvely interest than
ever before, for the reason
that the types of manhood
and womanhood of the
ante-helium period are fast
passing away. ThcV was
scarcely a locality In anv
part of the southern seo
tion of the union that did
not furnish some original
w character or hero whose
Individuality or eccentricity made them a
center of attraction or a subject of quaint
interest. .
In a spacious grove, now almost de
stroyed by the encroachments of the farm,
stands the dilapidated remains of a home
near Montlcello. Fla, which was graced
in years axone by an accomplished wo
man whose name was familiar in the
court and social circles <St Washington
and Paris. She was the widow of Min
ister White, who was over a half century
ago the accredited representative of the
United States at the capital of France. A
very brilliant conversationalist and withal
I_a strikingly handsome woman, she com
pelled recognition and respect wherever
she went.
Many romantic Incidents are recounted
of her. but perhaps the most unique Is
one told of her visit to Rome. As Is
known, there is always an annual pil
grimage to this center of Catholic shrines,
and thousands seek the privilege of
a sight of the venerable pontiff, and an
admission to one of hls receptions on
these occasions is sought afler by ole-
blan and prince. On the day of Madame
White’s visit to the Vatican it happened
that it was in the midst of a great Catho
lic celebration and the day was set aside
by hls holiness exclusively for the recep
tion of the royalty. Nothing abashed by
the exclusiveness of the occasion, this
brave and ambitious woman placed her
self In a position to claim the nrivllege of
the, titled dignitaries of reyal blood. Her
aggressiveness carried her to the point
where her time for presentation arrived.
When it was discovered that she was an
American lady she was delicately in
formed that the pope was only receiving
the princes and princesses of royal blood.
She nromptiy Informed them with charac
teristic self-assurance: “I am a princess
in my country.” „ _ .. .,
To relieve the embarrassment of the sit
uation. as they knew there were no
“princesses” in America, the matter was
Immediately seubmitted to the holy fath
er. With prompt decision he instructed
that “that plucky little American woman
be presented.”
The Incident itself and the charming
individuality oft his “American princess’*
so impressed the pope that she was ac
corded a prolonged audience. As evidence
of his appreciation of the singularity of
the incident he presented her with an
elegant diamond cross. This token she
preserved for years after her return to
America.
The civil war came on and the heroine
of the Vatican was a most ardent support
er of the confederate cause. She was
liberal with her means during the war,
and when her slaves were set free and
her properties were "depreciated and re
verses so reduced her circumstance that
her landed estates became valueless and
went to decay, she still remembered the
lost cause.
She was a devout Presbyterian. She
noted with regret that in the separation
of the church denominations north and
south there was not a single South*
era Presbyterian church in the capltal pf
the republic. Her resources were goTie,
and her church organisation In the south
was at a great financial disadvantage.
In her desperate determination to see that
the southern branch of Presbyterianism
should be represented at Washington, she
thought of her diamond cross, the gift of
the pope. She immediately disposed of
this and erected the first Southern Pres
byterian church in Washington city after
the war.
Her distinguished husband. Minister
White, preceded her to the grave many
years, and she married a gentleman of
culture by the name of Beatty. He also
died long before she did.
The old home has gone to decay. Relic
hunters from time to time bought up the
old-time furniture, much of which was
Invested with historic interest connected
with European life. The old homestead is
Isolated and its ancient memories at
tract now only occasional visitors.
JUDSON CARLISLE.
^ Nine New Ways to Cook Eggs
to protect the pure and innocent women care they wIn Ioo k to be entirely wh
of any land, sprang forward with a yell q>he f rot jj inside Is always a source of
which frightened the Indian so that he
loosened his hold upon the young girl and
dashed into the woods. Piteously she ex
claimed: ‘Save me! Save me!’
“ ‘Mount quickly End fly” he said as
he lifted her into the saddle.
“As she obeyed Seaborn it enraged the
Indian.* and he turned fercely upon her
rescuer. As he looked him in the face
he recognized the blood-th'rsty George
Took, known among the Indians as the
‘white man killer.’ Then they i-raypled
and fought, while “he went In pursuit of
help, until his faithful dog. who had fol
lowed him without hls knowledge, ap
peared upon the scene. With a sudden
bound he fastened hls i*eth in the shoul
der of the savage, which was soon bleed
ing profusely. . The victory was now
Seaborn’s, and the struggle which a mo
ment before was so desperate and doubt
ful was won: but with that pity which Is
always characteristic of a brave men. he
bound up the wounds of the savage and
exacted only that he should uccompany
C OVER the bottom of a broad baking
dish an inch deep with mashed pota
toes, seasoning well with salt, pepper and
butter. Smooth the top, then with the
back of a spoon make hollows all over It.
Set In a hot oven for ten minutes, take
out and break a fresh egg in each of the
hollows. Sprinkle the egg surfaces lightly
with salt and pepper, put a bit of butter
on each and return to the oven. Cook
fifteen minutes, longer if the eggs are
wanted hand. Five minutes cooks the white
and settles the yolk. Serve piping hot
A variant Is to mix bits of cold meats,
especially cold boiled ham, through the
potatoes and season the mixture with
lemon juice or pepper vinegar. Cold slaw
goes well as a relish for this.
Mstfic edge
These make much fun at a children's
party. Choose a dozen smooth, sightly po
tatoes, longish and bigger than the fist.
Wash them well, cut a hole on the side
opposite that which lies levelest and hol
low out inside a space just big enough
to hold an egg. Salt and pepper the cavi
ties, then break an egg in each, put on
the potato lid, tie it in place and bake
until done. If any egg runs out, remove
it before serving. Pass the potatoes sim
ply as potatoes—the fun comes in the
little people’s amazement at finding the
egg inside. Another way to make sur
prise eggs is to break the shells of a half
dozen very carefully, leaving them to
gether at one edge, and not splintering
them, then to whip three whites as light
as possible, adding a pinch of salt and
a very little powdered sugar, fill the egg
shells, fit them together, tie them and
bake them in a very slow oven. With
whole,
de
licious surprise.'
£**• OSS tout
Cut the crust from a stale loaf, sliea
evenly, toast the slices, butter them light
ly, and arrange on a baking sheet. Break
a fresh egg on each slice, sprinkle thickly
with grated cheese, add a little salt and
red pepper and bake In a very quick oven
to whatever hardness is preferred. Make
a sauce by frying a Spanish onion sliced
thin in two ounces of butter, and when
tender stirring Into it a pint can of to
matoes. Season to taste with salt and
pepper, add a little sugar, and Just before
serving the strained Juice of a lemon.
Baited otft
Cut the crust from a stale loaf and slice
the crumb rather less than an inch thick.
Butter the slices well on both sides and
line the bottom of a baking dish with
them. Break three fresh eggs over them,
sprinkle in salt and pepper, put In an
other layer of buttered bread, break more
eggs and finish with bread over the top.
Take care not to break the egg yolks!
and to lay the upper slices so lightly as
not to mash them. The bread ought to
be an Inch below the dish rim. Now pour
over the bread a can of tomatoes that
have been mashed through a sieve and
seasoned with salt, pepper, a little sugar,
and a suspicion of onion Juice. Cook for
half an hour in a hot oven. Serve with
cress and cut lemon.
Ass mgg border
Boll half a dozen eggs twenty minutes,
drop in cold water, peel, and keep warm.
Make a thick border of good, well-sea
soned mashed potatoes around the edge
of a patter, press the eggs Into the bor
der, points up, and set in a hot oven for
three minutes. Fill the center with
string beans boiled and buttered, or young
carrots stewed in mutton broth, or Brus
sels sprouts, boiled very tender. Or tho
filling may be of cold meat, cut In dice
and heated with a can of button mush
rooms. Whatever it is, add it quickly,
garnish the border outside with sprigs
of cress, and serve very hot. This is a
handsome, as well as substantial dish
for luncheon or supper, and not unwor
thy consideration for a Sunday tea.
Nggm with oI|www
Boil the eggs hard, peel them, flatten
the big end so they will stand, and in
the small one cut a deep narrow hols
just big enough to hold a baby olive. Put
in the olives, stand the eggs in a bed
of .crisp lettuce leaves, and pour over
them a French dressing made with three
tablespoonfuls of oil to one of vinegar or
lemon Juice, a little dry mustard, stfgar,
salt and white pepper.
Frit tars
Beat three eggs very light with a pinch
of salt, add butter the size of an egg, a
pint of sifted flour, and a pint of rich
milk. Mix smooth, then drop by spoon
fuls Into deep boiling-hot lard, fry a light
brown, skim out, lay In a hot dish, and
sprinkle with fine, sugar. Xeep the <ii«h
hot until the frying is done. Serve at
once with more sugar, and good claret,
the eaters making sirup thin or thick
to please themselves.
Psncakei
Make, batter as for fritters, only using
a double amount of milk. It must bn
thin enough to run freely. Have a hot
griddle, well-greased and barely cover it.
Sprinkle each pan cake with sugar as It
is taken off. roll It up, and lay it on a
hot dish. Serve with a sauce of creamed
batter and sugar beaten smooth in
warm wine, either sherry or claret.