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A Vision’of Death.
u
A I'rnplK'llr lllrc-aiu that <*• •• •
Atlivm i’ndmt |
—•—: o
Mr. John T. Graves, of the elites of
’75 yf t)nj State University, writes as
below tin tbs. Angufefan Bveiiing Mews
tahitA’liable klreafcx4tc hall
during his college course. The lament
able accident to which he refers and of
which his dream appears indeed a hor
rible prophecy, was one of the saddest
occurences we have ever known, and
the solemn gloom of the fatal day on
which the deadly bullet sped on jts
mission, still liahg*likc fc pMI PVer thi
halo of luippy memories that linger
about tTic historic College:
In the spring of 1£74l was a-rather
rollicking junior at the University of
Georgia.
© • . A.
I was quartered at the ohl Rock Col
lege building with the jolliest, brightest
and most altogether irresistible set of
fellows in the University. Gur homM
life was quite* charming—the four la
dies of the house were sprightly, agree
able, and all musicians, and as a num
ber of our set also atfected music, the
parlors were ever day and joyous and'
the lonely text books pined above.
About the time of which I write I
had formed an admiring friendship fyr
one of these ladies, a handsome girl of
thirteen, whose artlessness, parity and
vivacious innocence made her a most
delightful companion.
In this narrative, she shall be knoVrh
ns Mabel. My friend M. liked ber as
well as 1 did and many a happy time
we've had together.
It was early in Jtlne that I had a
most remarkable dream. I had retired
rather early one night with my room
mate Frank C., of Columbus, a high
strung, impetuous fellow, warm-hearted,
and excitable to thp last degree. We
were quite tired with a very trying day’s
work, and left the gay parlors lull when
we went up-stairs. I soon dropped into
a heavy sleep, and Frank was nearly
asleep when we got in bed. And thus
I dreamed.
******
Mabel was about to start on a long
journey; she was to leave at midnight
and I Was to be her sole escort to the
depot. At the appointed time she was
jAidy, and wc started out. When we
the little side gate leading to
the old common, over which we usually
walked, we found no carriages waiting
but instead, under the two oaks just
across the road, our horrified gaze took
in the outlines of two gigantic and ter
rible figures.
They were twice as tall as mortal
men. They were clothed in robes like
the old togas of Rome.
As they stood there, they lifted their
loug white fingers in earnest gesticula
tion, carrying on a conversation we
could not hear, but their blazing eyes,
passionate gestures, supernatural size
and appearance, literally rooted us to
the spot with terror. At last they dis
covered us standing there, and, with a
quick look of haughty impatience in
their fiery eyes they gazed at us one
withering moment, cla'sped hands and
glided—not walked—away from us
across the moor. As they moved olf,
the air around them seemed in motion
as if by the fluttering of innumerable
invisible wings. They grew longer as
they vanished into distance; the path
way behind them was illumined with a
light that I have never seen before or
since, and it was not until their swell
ing forms were lost in the clouds of the
summer sky, that we were able to stag
ger back to the house. As we reached
the door I awoke with the big drops of
cold perspiration on my body.
The voices still sounded in the parlor
and the lights burned in the hall.
I had slept about thirty minutes.
My utter weariness overcame the ner
vousness occasioned by my dream, and
I slept again.
Mabel hail recovered from her fright
and the importance of her journey
nerved her to start again.
We reached the gate a second time,
and our straining eyes beheld the same
terrible figures. This time they were
clothed hi black.
The gestures were more passionate
than before. Their eyes gleamed. Their
"Teat white hands rose and fell. At
J 5
length they stooped to the ground and
as plainly as I see the page on which I
write, I saw them draw the outlines of
a grave, over the exact location they
seemed to dispute, and that seemed
the difference between them, where it
shoifid lie.
In this position they discovered us
again. With a dignity and a wrath
that was simply appalling they arose,
turned their great burning eyes on us,
and then, with one impulse, lifted their
The Hartwell Bun.
By BBNBQN til McGILL.
VOL. fv—NO. 29.
Urhg finger* and'pointerr wit 4 terriMo
earnestness to the litnp figure which
had fainted in my arms ; then moved
as beforq. with the safje atfpAiHmtr
light beltfmVtht'inv ftmlth!*SalTll r,
hjg Wir.abyyff tliic'ni. jfift.fliis timb
the fluttering above them seemed to
voion itself in words, and the
seemed to tremble with the tofies of an
invisible voice tliht said or rrither
breathed solemnly and slowly the
waala-a. . .......
'"Ttlffse are thy fates T*" Thest* aiT
thy fates! These tire ttiy trite* !” It
was repeated three times, when the
voidfe and the figures faded into the
, x 3 r ■ a '' r 'n
(distance. 1 aVye. f
The house was .stilL-A— *
I roused Frank and mailt? him talk
to me for an hour; Ha cruel,
but 1 would have sacrificed his friend
ship rather than have stayed awake by
myself that night. I did not tell him
my dream however. •,
At last wc talked otfrst'h'fs to sleep.
**** . * *
I was in my room now ; in bed, and
half fsdeap. Iteard wAv down? the
Stairi, p stealthy but very fycav$ r hot-'
step slowly up. It stiobk the
house, althougli it made no sound. Too
I i
frightened to move I lay perfectly still.
The step approached my door. *
THe lock turned Without a sound!
The great head and burning eyes of one
of the awful figures peered into the
room. The eyes gave a long searching
“look of inquiry to my iialf paralyzed
form on the bed. (1 remember the look
to this day.) 4 They seemed satisfied
that I was asleep, and the figure stoop
ed and entered. The fiery eyes lighted
the room. The gigantic form dwarfed
everything in it. In firsi -arras he car
ried a something wrapped in a robe.
With this he moved straight to a large
trunk in the corner of the room.
lie raised the lid, then stopped,
turned and looked at me again, with a
look of intense inquiry. As he turn
ed, a fold of the robe fell away and the
long auburn hair of my friend M. drop
ped over his arm.
The figure turned quickly, laid the
burden in the trunk, closed the lid and
then stood erect. Such a change ! If
the hand of Christ had touched him he
could hardly have looked more changed.
Ills aspect softened, his features illum
ined with a soft almost heavenly light.
His eyes, those awful eyes, glowing
witli a radiant, benificent joy, his tall
form lofty, with a great yet gentle dig
nity, he stood there for one moment the
most divine, handsome, glorious being
that my eye ever beheld, or my brain
ever dreamed, and then passed out of
the room and out of my sight forever.
When I could go to the trunk I did
so, and found there the rigid body of
my friend M , stark and cold in
death. I touched it, and awoke ! As
I did so, tha string of a violin lying in
the room snapped with a loud noise.
It was M’s. violin and the string was
the last one on it!
I lit my lamp and tossed restlessly
in bed till morning.
******
Two days afterward all Georgia
thrilled witli sympathy a3 the electric
wires flashed the news of poor M’s.
death, and the accidental bullet that
clipped the cord of life was sped by
the innocent hand of poor unfortunate
Mabel.
The dream and the tragic event which
fulfilled it actually occurred in ’74, at
Athens. Of course I have made un
important substitutions, where the mi
nor incidents had passed from my
memory, but the body of. the dream is
substantially correct, and has been fre
quently told the boys of my set at col
lege, who will readily recall it when
they read it in your columns, it crea
ted quite an excitement the next night
at the Rock College when I told it. My
room-mate, Frank C., could not be
hired afterwards to stay in the room by
himself. It was his custom to sleep
with a small arsenal under his pillow.
The next night lie dreamed he saw one
of the figures at the foot of the bed,
and fired at it to the consternation of
the house.
The dream is the most remarkable I
have ever had. It was dreamed in
three stages. I awoke three times, and
HAUTMeII. fcITWEMESDAY. MARCH 17, 1880.
each UineSesirinod thf thread Kf Utie
1 dream connectedly. When M. was
shot, two days afterward, he fell with
*'ifU Ifykis JRanil, iiSf itnftio 'U'O-'
tkm and sp*t l had occupied ainnuiout
fvnwa. It. was (fhe old. old flto*? n
piatnl behoved to be unlomkd j a bid
den cartridge, a death wound.
Taken in connection with this trsg
-■ .r a / i . ? i
edy, preceding it so closely, the inci
dents of .this dream have a shade of
prophecy that is interesting.
**— s . John Tuwii^r:
“ KILL THAT HOG.”
lion l>ncket-l<k Win l.(wt mnl
I'llllUll.
' Rarij rt rf|> /
This ntory is toliL uf one of the
wealthy residents of Wethersfield, and
it is vouched foti as trurln every par
ticular. Perhaps it might be a little
too personal to give his real name, so
for the purpose of our sketch, wc will
call him Doctor.
The. Doctor is is sblld man in more
senses than one—he is solid iu money
and means, and his avoirdupois cannot
be surpasfcA by £tny on 4 man in to#n,
lifcs weight being close three hun
dred poQrflsx * i ■ - k -
lie Invariably carrier ft well-stulfed
pocket-book around with him, and he
Ii blessed with the happy faculty of
hbldTnsfbn to what he has got.' ITtf
never heads a subscription list, tliough
what he might do in this direction will
never be known until some man with
the requisite pluck can be found to iislt
him. Almost any cautions man would
prefer to let chit that job to some stran
ger by the month, lie would not,
when,at church, consider it an unpar
donable sin if the deacon should go
right by him-with the contribution box
and lie would not be mean enough tq
call it back attain. Hut this talk is
superfluous, as the good deacon never
forgets him. Hut when the contribu
tion box is shoved into the Doctor’s
face, he gives a sleepy yawn and don’t
give anything else. In fact, the Doc
tor may be called a little close.
Hut on one occasion he astonished an
old resident of the town by an unex
pected streak of liberality, which we
will now relate.
One day his plethoric calf-skin was
missing and with it $1,300 in bank
notes. If an electric battery had
poured a broadside down the doctor’s
spinal column he could scarcely have
felt a greater shock, llis hands flew
from pocket to pocket and his face
lengthened and took on a lugubrious
and sorrowful air. If he had been a
“ poor lone widow ” and the little all
taken wings, the consternation could
not have been greater. He lost his
mental equilibrium and was dancing
round on the ragged edge of despair.
Finally he bethought himself of a
visit he made that morning to Hill
Well’s, on Walcott Hill, where he went
to look at a sow of large size in that
interesting condition where a litter of
pigs was liable to gladden the old sow’s
eyes at almost any hour.
The Doctor reasoned that his lost
pocket book was in the pen against
which he leaned. He assumed that it
would be an easy matter for it to drop
out of bis pocket with his body thrown
forward in the manner he remembered
it had been.
It was think and go with him. He
clambered into his old lumber box
wagon and headed his untamed Bucep
halus towards Bill Wells’. He only
thought of that well stuffed pocket
book at the bottom of the hog pen, and
in his mind's eye he saw that big old
sow grunting with satisfaction as she
poked and rooted his bank notes about.
Ho lashed his Horse into a run, and the
good people of Wethersfield wondered
what the matter as was the old farmer
thundered along at a John Gilpin gait.
The Doctor lost his hat when opposite
the post office, but he did not stop to
pick it up. From this point he went
bareheaded, and the old horse did
credit to the breed, lie must have
been a descendendant of Eclipse; at
all events, the record he made in that
old lumber box, with a 300 pound dri
ver, eclipsed by far anything he ever
attempted before.
On reaching his destination he rush
ed to the pen expecting to see the
Deyoted tio Hafrt County.
wreck ©f his pooketliook scattered
around the pen. But he was disap
pointed. Not a sign was there.
•J “ |}fHlodj>c)r, r ’ the Doctor cxoluim
•cFfthnold sow lias swalkiwed it whole.”
TlieSf Mr. Weds appeared on the
scene, *1 in u moment the excited
Doctor cried out, “ What’ll you take for
tlict sow ?**
“Oh, 1 don’t know,” moderately re
sponded the other.
“I don’t want any ‘don’t knows’
about it,’* roared the Doctor. “\Y hat’ll
you taW for that sow, I say ?”
t‘ I ilon't know as I want to sell it,”
replied Mr. Wells, who etWeafly didn't
understand the situation.
“To n must sell it. Sot your own
price but I must have that old , eow, w
pleadingly urged the old farmer.
At th|s Mr. Wells thought the Doc
tor had gone crazy and tried to soothe
him. But this only made the old fel
low giore angry and excited, and he
almost danced over the quiet manner
of thfrodier.
“ Set the price,” he shouted, “ sot the
price, I say.”
“ But I don’t want to sell it—.”
“And I say you must. I’ll give you
any prico for it/*
Well, then say $75,” and Wells’
eyes twinkned merrily as he named
it, Hiipjiosing tins price would cool the
Doctor’s ardor. And he was astonish
ed at the reply:
“ I’ll take it. Now kill that hog,"
was the prompt reply.
Mr. Wells now knew he was crazy,
mid again tried to curb his excitement.
Hut this only added fuel to the flames.
The Doctor now fairly foamed with ex
citement and it seemed like the froth
of a lunatic.
“ Kill that hog, I say !” again thun
dered the Doctor. “She’ll digest it if
you don’t.”
“ Oh, come, get into your wagon and
ride home* with me,” soothingly sug
gested Wells.
“ Great God, Hill Wells, do you
think I ttm crazy? I tell you that sow
has swallowed my pocketbook, with
$1,300 in it, and if you don’t hur
ry up and have her killed she’ll digest
it, and I'll lose every dollar.”
Mr. Wells still looked on in silent
astonishment.
“My Christian friend, will you kill
that hog?” and lie rammed his hands
down in Iris overcoat pockets with such
force that he discovered a hole in one
of the pockets, and as he drove deeper
down his excitement gave place to a
feeling of satisfaction, between the
lining and the cloth of his coat lie found
the lost pocketbook, witli its contents
undisturbed. Not a dollar had been
digested by the innocent old sow. lie
oirered his neighbor Wells a $lO bill
not to say anything about it, but the of
fer was declined with thanks. It was
too good to keep, and the whole town
knew the story before sundown.
Celestial Sorrow.
Han Francisco Chronicle.
Commercial street was the scene of
strange ceremonials recently, the occa
sion being the funeral rites of Wong 11 ip
On, the senior member of the firm
of Low Bing & Cos., doing business in
Sacramento street. Owing to the wealth
of the deceased, the full ceremonies at
tending the Chinese mode of burial was
indulged in by the sorrowing relatives
and friends. Early in the morning an
awning about twenty feet long was
erected on the open street, and under it
was placed a rude table covered with a
gay red cloth. Upon it stood an ele
gant brazier filled with incense. Around
the edge of the table half a dozen fancy ;
candles were burning. Occasionally an
attendant threw incense into the flames
of the candles, thus making the air
around fragrant with the burning leaves.
Near the table were the remains, en
closed in a metal coffin, which was cov
ered by a scarlet pall richly embroider
ed. Yellow streamers fluttered in the ;
wind, on them being written in Chinese
figures various lines from Confucius’
writings. Yellow being one of the 1
mourning colors the Chinese, the j
body was clothed in a rich yellow silk
robe. On the head was placed a gilt
crown. The queue was wound round
the neck, and the face was well painted.
Twelve attendants, with white robes.
$1.50 Per Annum.
aud whife stre*iM wound around their
lints, kept tlMtowd from upsetting the
table and ami.
On the sidewalk, bent double and
hound in sucks and white cloth, were the
wife, sister and daughter of the dccoupii
moaning and crying. Around them
stood a number of old women, stolctflty
eating sweetmeats handed around in a
box by a young girl, and taking no heed
of the women at their feet, but instead
talking to themselves and allowing no
male to come within their circle. The
reason for performing the ceremony in
the open air was to allow all Chinamen
who desired to gaze for the last time u|>on
the features of the departed, and, since
the relentless Joss hovers over the de
ceased, the open air is chosen to give the
god more room. Chinamen do not be
lieve their souls enter the Celestial
Kingdom until their bones are buried in
the land of their birth. The soul re
mains around the body until it lias been
buried in native soil. Then, if Joss is
willing, and proper atonement has been
made by the deceased's friends in the
shape of bogus money, presents, food,
<{t., to Conciliate the irate god, the soul
is allowed to enter the celestial gates.
The Chiueae worship Joss, who is really
the evil god, which they account for by
saying that the fame God is too merciful
to hurt his children,<but he hns placed
j over them the wiektirt Joss, who cannot
harm them unless thttif have done evil.
The priest officiating*was dressed in a
black stole and cap somewhat resem
bling the garments worn by Catholic
priests on funernl occasions.
A hoarse with four horses, followed
by twenty carriages, with the usual ac
companiment of tom-toms and fiddles,
conveyed the remains to the Chinese
cemetery, where they will be kept un
til the bones are bleached and ready to
he shipped to Chinn. The last cere
mony was that of placing eggs and bis
cuit in the vault, where ffio <TeUn nr?
kept. The friends then returned to the
house of the deceased, feasted on rice
; and confections aud returned to their va
rious homes.
“ Do Land’s Voln’a.**
Detroit t'rse J’rett.
This wns the picture in front of “Old
Daddy Turner’s” cabin in the “Kain
tuek” quarter the other afternoon :
Two colored men sitting on a wash
bench, silent and sorrowful ; an old dog
sleeping in the sun at their feet, and a
i colored woman calling to a hoy who was
on the fence: “Now, Jeems Henry,
you git right down from dat! Doan yer
know dat Daddy Turner am jist on do
pint oh dyin’ and gwiue up to hebben 1"
Hero was the picture inside: The
poor old white-headed man lying on his
dying bed, flesh wasted away and his
strength departed. Near him sat his
faithful old wife, rocking to and fro and
moaning and grieving. Further away
was a colored man and woman, solemn
faced and sad hearted, and shaking
their heads ns they cast glances towards
the bed. For a long time the old man
lay quiet and speechless, but at length
he signed to be propped up. A sun as
warm as spritigtimo poured into the
room. He took notice of*it, and a
change came to the face as his eyes rest
ed upon ins grieving wife.
“ Ize been gtvino back in my mind!”
he whispered, as lie reached out his thin
hand for her to clasp ; “ for ober forty
years we’s trabbled ’long de same path.
We sarved de same master as slaves
’way back in de dim past. We sang de
same songs—we prayed de same prayers
—we had hold of ban's when we listed
de gospel ranks an’ sot our faces to’rds
de golden gates ob hebben. Ole woman,
I’zc gwiue to part wid you ! Yes, I’ze
gwine ter leave you all alone!”
“Oh, Daddy! Daddy!" she wailed
as she leaned over him.
“ Doan take on so, chile! It’s de
Lawd's doin’s, not mine. To-morrow de
sun may be as bright an’ warm, but de
010 man won’t be heah. All de arter
uoon Ize had glimpses of a shady path
leadin’down to de shor’ of a big ribber.
Ize seen people gwiue down to cross
ober, an’ in a leetle time I’ll be wid ’em.”
Bheput her wrinkled face on the pil
low beside his and sobbed, and ho placed
his hand on her head and said :
“It’s de Lawd, chile—de blessed
Lawd ! Chile, Ize tried to be good to
WHOLE NO. 185.
(yer. Ymi has been good to moo We
I am nnffln but- ole efiil’n folks, po? iu eb
i erything, lut try in’ to do right by ©b
cry body. When mo I’d got to
die, I wasn’t certain if de Lawd want
ed u po’ ole black man like me np> dar
in bis golden liebben 'inong de angels,
but He’ll take mo—yoa, chile, He will!
Dis mawnln* I heard de harps playin’,
de rustle ob wings an’ a clrnid sorter
lifted up an’ I got a cl'nr view right
frew dc pearly gates. I saw old slaves
an’ naybors dar, an’ dey was
white aa Anybody, an' a hundred ban's
bockunud me to come right up dar
•nmnfc 'em."
, “ db; daddy ! I’M be nil alone—all
alone !’* wailed.
j “lluah, chile! I/.e gwiws to be
looking down on ye! I/.o gwine to
put my ban’on yer head an’kiss ye
wired yer heart am big wid sorrow, an*
whrti night shets down, an’ j-on prey
to de T.awd, I’ll bo kneelin’ ’long side
of ye. Ye wou’t see mo, but I’ll bo
wid ye. You’s old an gray. It won’t
be long befo' ye’ll git de summons. In
a little time de cloud will lif fur ye. an’
I’ll be right dar by de pearly gates to
take yo in my anna.”
“ But I can’t let von go- -I will hold
you down heali wid mo.”
“Chile! Ize sorry foryc, but Izo
drawin nigh dat shady path ! Hark!
I kin h'ar de footsteps of dc mighty
parade of speerits marehin' down to do
broad ribberl Dey will digs grave
an* lay my ole bones dar. an' in a week
all de world bnt yon will forgit me.
But doftn grieve, chile. De Lawd isn’t
gwine to shut de gates on mo cause I’m
old an’ po’ an’ black. I kin see dem
shinin' way up dar—sec our boy at de
gate—fl’car de sweetest music dat de
angels can play !—Light de lamp, chile
’cause <lc night has come J”
“ Oh ! lie’s gwine—he's gwino!” she
wailed, as her tears fell upon his face.
“ Chile ! hold iny ban' 1 Ober heali
am dc path ! I kin see men an’ women
an’ chil’cn marehin* ’long! Fudder
i down am cle sunlight. It, shines on de
groat ribber ! Obor dc ribber am—tie
-r-gates—of——."
Of Heaven ! On earth old and poor
and low—beyond the gates an tino&
with the rejt. ,
, fi I , j JrmM BNI
*
‘‘ \yiirp that theenemy
has given in?’’ nikeefa lad, a tailor’s ap
prentice, who had run away from his
master and entered the British navy as
a common boy about the year 1(580.
“ When that flag is hauled down,” nn
swcrcJ the sailor addressed, ‘‘the ship
will hi ours.”
“Oh, if that’s nil, I’ll seo what f can
do.”
Now this tailor’s boy, when lie ran
away from his master, joined a ship
which hud the good fortune, a few hours
after lie eutered the service, to fall in
with a French squadron, and a warm
action, bravely fought on both sides, was
maintained. After fighting for a short
time, the boy was impatient for the re
sult, and addressed the above question
to a sailor. No sooner had he been
told that the withdrawal of the flag from
the enemy’s masthead would be (he sig
nal that the action had been decided,
than he determined to “see what he
could do.”
At that moment the vessels were en.
gaged yard-arm to yard-arm, and were
obscured in the smoko of the guns. In
an instant the hoy mounted the shrouds,
passed from the yard of his own ship to
that of the enemy, ascended with agility
to the inaiutopguilunt masthead, struck
and carried off the French Hag unper
ceived, and got hack to the yard-arin of
his own ship in safety. Before he could
get down to the deck, the British saw
that the flag had disappeared, and shout
ed, “ Victory, Victory !” The French
crew, seeing also that the flag had gone,
and thinking it lmd been struck by or
order of the Admiral, fled from their
guns; and although the officers attempt
ed to rully them, the confusion was
hopeless. Then the British, availing
themselves of the opportunity, boarded
the French vessel and captured it.
In the midst of the excitement the
new boy came down from the shrouds
with the French flag wrapped round his
body, and displayed it with no little gleo
to the astonished tars. The news spread
quickly to the quarter deck, and the
blushing boy was led into the presence of
the Admiral, who praised him for his
gallantry and rated him there and then
as midshipman ; and it was uot long be
fore promotion followed ; and the tailor’s
apprentice was known as one of Eng
land's most gallant sailors.
Strikes at the North have made cap
italists timid, and put a check on build
ing enterprises.