New Orleans Republican. [volume], April 30, 1876, Page 6, Image 6

About New Orleans Republican. [volume] (New Orleans, La) 1867-1878

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«ffici/TjÄ states
OFFICIAL JOURNAL OF NEW ORLEANS
[For the Kew Orleans Republican. 1
MY RELIGION.
BX SEETA LA NOTICE.
• I.
A little blade of gras«, drooping. Wilted,
Dying—slowly dying, hour by hour;
God sees, has pity, and »cuds the grateful,
Befreehing, purifying shower.
As to blade of grass the rain,
To me is my religion.
ii.
A* to the wtary, pantiDg, thirsty stag,
The sparkling woodland spring, cool and cleat.
Long looked lor, vainly sought, at iiiat is found—
A cooling liquid, delightfully near—
As to stag the grateful draught,
So to me is my religion.
in.
There's a lovely tinted fragrant flowers
There a gently, softly shining star.
Beaming from their widely different spheres,
More lpvely bright, more beautiful by far,
Than star, or lovely flower,
Is to me, my religion.
it. i
The mighty mountain, magesttc in height.
The quick rushing wateifiii sublime;
The pale, sweet shining mcou. or peerless sun;
Nothing subject to the hand of time,
Can a compati son bear,
For me, to my religion.*
v.
More grand than loftiest mountain,
More pure than the purest fountain,
More sublime than the cataracts dashing; •
Mare hrght than the sunbeams hashing,
More mild than mildest star, or moon;
More lovely than lain st flow'rets bloom,
To me, is my religion.
New Orleans, April 27,1376.
BARBARA'S OUTING.
• I'd go right eff to thethe-ayter, I would."
She was sitting on the doorstep of a low
house, No. 3 Skeggs alley; a child of twelve,
according to the parish registry; but such
a child! Hardly big enough in body for
seven, and with a face of seventy; sharp,
and lined with sunken cheeks and pinched
mouth, and eyes weird and hollow as a
baby sp< ctre. Molready might bave painted
that little, shrunken figure, a mere twist of
rags hanging loosely over the bony frame;
the Email, skeleton hands supporting the
sharp chiD; the naked, chapped, and mud
encrusted feet dangling in the gutter
wherein disported themselves some of her
congeners—children ol the night side of
London—children born in the slime, nursed
in hunger, bred to sin—children to whom
jail is a lively variety, and the school board
an awful and horrible Nemesis.
Barbara in partiefilar regarded this lat
ter institution with a holy horror, witnessed
by sundry fresh and livid bruises on her at
tenuated person; ior during the past fort
night the school board had swooped down
on fakeggs alley, and had carried off my
heroine and some thirty of her playmates
to steam and smother in a big school room,
there to idle and squabble, to grow siek
with hunger, and heavy with sleep, and
finally to be turned out into the raw,
damp fog, wild for mischief and famishing I
for food, whooping, shrieking, and fighting, I
hauling at heavy babies, bumping against I
respeotable people, pursued by outraged
policemen, and finally drifting home to
their several dens and nests among the by- I
streets and alleys.
Barbara's mother, or rat her the person
who did duty for mother, her original pa
rent being deceased, had at first stoutly re
fused to allow "her gurl to go to any o'
they dratted schnles whatsumdever." This
at a laundry some two miles off, and hav
ing, within the last fourteen months, pre
sented Mr. Butts, Barbara's father, with a
son and beir, she not unreasonably required
the assistance of her step-daughter in look
ing after that infant hope. This opinion,
however, was in nowise shared by the all
■sapient heads at the school board'; and Mrs.
Butts, having been twice summoned to an
swer for her contumacy before the nearest
magistrate, and tailing to show why her
hnsband, described as "able-bodied jour
neyman carpenter," should not support his
family, was twice fined and ultimately
obliged to succumb.
Rations in consequence ran short at No.
3 , and Mrs Butts, Considering Barbara as
the guilty party, consoled herself by
mulcting that young lady of her supper,
and giving her sundry supplemental
thrashings into the bargain.
Barbara ought to have been used to
thrashings. Indeed, I think site was; lor
although she howled and shrieked plenti
fully during the'operation, and though her
wretched little body, was tatooed Tike a I o®
New Zealand chiefs with black and blue, I
few tears made their appearance; and two I nor
minutes after her shrieks were over she I
would generally he seen dandling a baby I
rather bigger than herself, and chattering I °*
glibly to Some of the neighboring fry who I trot
had been drawn by a pleasing curiosity to
the sceno ol castigation. I
io be deprived ot supper, however, was I way
something very different and far more un- I had
pleasant. It is really astonishing,consider- old
tng how shriveled those small stomachs |
must become Irom lasting, that an immense
rapacity lor hunger should etill be left in
them; or that the hotand comforting aroma
proceeding from a baker's shop should be
capable of inspiring such an intense poig
nancy of anguish in the littlq nostrils, which
yet sniff and en id' as though condemned by
«ome internal power to ilia tortures of a
new Tantalus. Barbara has often gone
, suppt rloss b.'ioje; but that was in company,
and generally because Mr. Butts had con
sumed the family supper in drink. To
know that there was some supper at home,
and given none of it, was a far worse ex
perience.
And yet "some'lnug to eat" was not with
Barbara the summum bonum of all earthly
desires.
Long ago—before Barbara's entry into
this "little heaven below"—Mrs. Butts No.
i hud filled the subordinate position of a
a "fairy" at tiie Grecian Theatre. Mr.
Butts, not having at that time wholly con
secrated himself to the arduous task of
supporting the Green Lion at the corner,
was devoting a portion of his time to car
pentry, and had got'employment behind
the scones of the same theatre as Miss
Sarah Jenks, or Elvina Desmond, as that
thin and shabby fairy figured in the roll of
dramatis y ter son œ . In the course of this
employment he inadvertently set his
loot on a trap, went tbrongh, and
broke his leg, as he said—bruised it, as
these about him declared. Unsympathiz
ing onlookers, indeed, aseerted that there
was hardly anything the matter, proffered
a glass of brandy aDd water, and suggested
that Mr. Butts only required a night's rest
tobe as right as a trivet. Sarah Jenks,
r.owever, was more compassionate. From
the depths of what appeared to be herstavs
she extracted a hoarded shilling, and with
that coin hired a cab to convey Mr. Butts to
his dwelling. Further, when the injured
was
cab
lady
with
thing
made
then,
her
ished
an
scone
her
utes;
the
gave
She
even
in
can
her
purse
ing
her
thing
Strand.
dow
with
men
leg turned out to be so bruised and swelled haste
eraUa"^g£h rnffictedTe^s. L P n/°^ hT - T £
feihÄ s W
Way dinner, in order to supplj fflf Ä |
I with
sou"
ferer With sundry comforts, whieh'hëwould |
° t Svinpath J y i°seldom^wasted* Sin thi. Ionged
worIL P Mr 5 BuShSd a" thtttIme a very
soft corner in his heart, and Sarah ΠsWbe
had found the key to It. Three weeks after The
the leg was well she exchanged her maiden I even
name lor that of .Batts. Three years later I late,
she resigned that in favor of a tombstone, I theatre
and retired into permanent seclusion under | might
the sods oi K entai Green. For more than bleTat
twelve months previous to that event she I was
had seceded from the boards of the Grecian I ing
in consequence of Mr. Butts having con- eh!
rented to aid commercial prosperity by I tunately
joining a "strike," and becoming merely a I them
sleeping partner in the domestic firm in | glaring
Skeggs alley At that time Barbara was ly,
still a mere baby, but having been on one* »«i
. not
occasion carried to the theatre by her drive
mother, and left in charge of a neighbor's I
boy at the pit door, she remem- I fore
bered till her dying day a vision of I For
a place all dazzle and glitter, of strange, I The
shining beings floating in the air, and hun-1 making
died*— millions in baby eves— of upturned I The
states
ORLEANS
i
laces regarding the*. From that day to
this the vision never faded out. Strange,
bewildering, unintelligible, bnt wondrous
ly, incomprehensibly beautiful, it remained
in her mind from year's end to year's end;
a thing of beauty planted deep in her soul;
a thing which to see once again and die
would be as a peep of paradise to some
devout believer. Consequently, when besten
and turned out supperless into the street
on this November afternoon, she listened
with avidity to her friends' descriptions of
what viands they would indulge in, were
they ever to find themselves reveling in the
floating eapitai of a whole shilling; and yet,
whefi pressed for her decision as to the rival
merits of "aassingers and puddin'," and
"*ot kidneys and jammy things,'' she shook
^ier ragged head and answered stoically
"I would ravther go to the the-ayter.'
Her companions stared. Their minds did
not rise beyond their stomache.'Whioh were
indeed sufficiently empty to be needful of
mental replenishing, but Barbara's was
emptier still. How camo she to care for
merely external delights ? She vouchsafed
no explanation of the mystery. When you
have come to middle age unnecessary words
seem a waste both of time and trouble, and
at twelve years old Barbara was very
middle aged. *
"Barbara ! Where ia that dratted gurl
gone to T
It was Mrs. Butts' voice raised to scream
ing pitch from the doorstep of No. 3 . Bar
bara beard, but merely crouched closer to
the gutter. Perhaps she thought it merely
signified another beating, and reasoned with
a oertain small child of her own calibre.
"If I go I'll be vhipped, an' if I 6tay I'll
be vhipped: so I think I'll stay an' be
vhipped.'' For copying this philosophical
child's argument Barbara stayed and—was
whipped. Another call or two, then a
dutch on the back of her neck, and a show
er of blows, and Barbara was dragged sum
marily from the gutter and shaken first
on to her feet, and then nearly off them
again
low
such
for
a
of
the
her
of
lat
at
my
. .
You ^wicked, cwdacious. impereDtohitof I
gurl!" cried the laundress, not perhaps I
unjustly. "I know you heard me (whack). I
I sa w^ you sneak out of the way (whack, I
whack), an' p'raps that poor baby burnt or I
scalded to de&tb. with me a scatterin' arter
you (whack, whack, whack). Oh you limb
o' mischief you!
"Let mo alone, then. 1 wasn't doin' no
harm," retorted Barbara, amid manifold
writhings in the strong graep. "Why don't
you give mo suthin' to eat? I'd come quick
enough then."
"Idaresaj! Like enough, Miss Imper
enoe, an' your fine schoolin' a-lomn' me my
day's work. Get in this minnit, an' give
the baby his grule while I'm cleanin' up.
He'll 'ave pulled it all over hisself if you're
not sharp; so look alive!"
Barbara obeyed. Might was decidedly
right where Mrs. Butts was concerned; and
Might led the way to the small back room
wbiob, with the addition of a cupboard un
der the stairs, was parlor, kitchen, bed
room, and all, for the united faniilv. There
Barbara found a broken clothes basket,
from which she lilted a heavy and unwhole
some looking baby, turned the basket up
side down, and seated herself upon it, pro
ceeded to still the roars which issued from
the infant lungs by the aid of thiok, gray
porridge.
Will it be believed that she never once
put the spoon into her own mouth instead
of into that of the voracious infant ? And
yet the mess, indescribably nasty to us,
was Rppetizingly hot and savory to her.
And the baby was too young to tell !
Human nature is strange. Barbara had
I ?°^ 8bed ® d ®"°K the beating, though
I t0 , 8nre . 8 . 8 c ? u l d have avoided it by the
I 8,m P'® ®<>t of obedience. Long before the
wa8 do, ? e eb ® was in Hoods of tears,
to 80 phmg passionately with sheer hunger:
I could have avoided that by the
o'
guake, Barbara hugged him closer to her
simple act of robbing her unwholesome
littie brother. Oddly enough, the one idea
was as strange to her as the other. Nay,
when the unwholesome baby, being satis
fied, looked up to see where the tears came
trom which splashing on its nose, and said
pitifully, "Poor Bar ! Poor !" in baby lan
a
skinny little body and showered kisses on
his uninviting mouth, alternately apostro
phizing as "her own precious cbieksey,"
and informing him that his mother was "a
beast—that she was."
Soothed by this lullaby, the unwholesome
baby went to sleep; and Mrs. Butts, find
ing him in that happy condition on her re
turn from a neighborly gossip, ordered him
into the clothes basket again, and dis
patobed Barbara to get her bonnet out of
pawn for the convenience of "meeting
going" on the morrow. Mrs. Butts' bonnet
was a very sacred article of dress. It al
ways spent the week days in recrement,
emerging only on the Sabbath, and not
then if Mr. Batts had been more than usu
ally active ia his patronage of the neigh
boring public.
It was dark by this time, and the pawn
broker's where the bonnet was at present
"locating" was at some distance; yet Bar
bara felt rather glad than otherwise at the
prospect of an outing. The fog. which had'
I o® 811 dense all day, was turning into fast
I drizzling rain; yet she put on neither hat
I nor .jacket. The former had suocnmbed in
I ®.®chool fight; the latter was serving as a
I pillow for the baby. Barbara made light
I °* e ither circumstance, and departed at a
I trot -
Skeggs alley is not many miles from the
I Strand. The pawnbroker's shop was mid
I way between the two localities. Birb&ra
I had redeemed the bonnet, wrapped it ''n an
old silk handkerchief of ample 6ize*pro
| vided bv Mrs. Buns for the purpose and
was turning homeward whon'a handsome
cab stopped in front of her with a jerk:
lady came out of a shop opposite, epran
lightly into it, and was whirling away in _
moment, the wheels spattering Barbara
with mud as they flashed past her. She
never felt it. With a strange sound, some
thing between a shriek and a chuckle she
made one leap, rolled on the pavement, and
then, picking herself up, began to move off
hobbling and whimpering.
In that instant Barbara had secreted in
her rags a purse dropned by the now van
ished lady, and with the his'tronio talent of
a,boru artiste was bemoaning herself over
an imaginary fall.
To slink up the nearest by-street, en
scone berselt in a doorway, and inspect
her prize, was the work of a* oouple of min
utes; and Barbara felt almost appalled by
the loose heap of silver which, as the clasp
gave way, rattled musically into her lap.
She was in too great terror of interruption
even to count it over. The first thought
in that moment the only one—was "Now I
can get a tuck in." And as visions of de
lightful eating-shops in the Strand crossed
her mind's eye, she hastily replaced the
purse and its contents in her bosom, leav
ing oat one shilling only, and with thiB in
her mouth, trotted off in quest of some
thing to eat. There are, however, other
delights passing even eating-shops in the
Strand.
Barbara was not aware of them.
She was gluing her nose against a win
dow full of eatables, filled heart and soul
with the one pronoun "which," when two
men jostled against each other and her.
"Why, Tom!"
"Simpson! Where are you off to?"
"The theatre."
"The deuce! So ami. Lvceum!"
"Lyceum."
The deuce you are! We'd better make
haste then, or the tarée will be over "
- T £ e * mad ? ha8te ' B «baraturned _____
s W ou"anrhis1't^nio t f t?10 d de,ICei8h ,'' V T
^Äol® Th£ ÄÄS
They made baste. Barbara turned round
with eager haste; bu '
sou" and his laconic
tChK-thVÄ
Ionged to her »«1® life. Now.Tn one
^ T* »*®r the wherewithal,
sWbe ML?* * he g ° t00? But would
The thongs „ n
even of hunger d Th« vTkJi \ ra ? ce
late, and ifarhi«»» 8po - ken of b®"»«
theatre rales famuwftbi.t B fül lng of
might be shut if thî^naa» the m *K} e door8
bleTat a certain a J 8e "T
was agony to her and
ing in quick echo to her if«il eai u ^*5
eh! sp£dIhe^aSySS "fo^
tunately they did not go far
them stop and disappear within
glaring doorway, and waa fnii»»L a 8
ly, when a new id^ s?^5k hlr g Wm,M
»«i Um« «mns - "• " outa
not those grand medaled nw«nn. __.
drive her away if she presented 0
bareheaded, barearmed and unkemnt kI'
fore their aerntiny? De '
For a moment ahe paused deenairi»»
The next ehe wae seated on a dooratJfé
making her toilet. p
The redeemed bonnet, a large one of
a
for
a
ive
lots
you
it
the
was
out
real
had
that
than
lady,
the
A
sleep;
her
fore
found
and
the
ing.
the
by
eral
good
and
Sinoe
might
purse.
were."
a toss
for
were
lady
lady
kind,
the
words
Mrs.
ehe
little
ing
farewell
kissed
sion
into
house
score
dresses
writing
day to ,
Strange, I her maty little head, two well licked palms
I having first smoothed down the ell looks on
remained 1 the temples. The big eilk handkerchief,
end; / folded shawl wise, was pinned across her
soul; I shrunken little body, the wet hastily wrong
die I out ol the tail of her draggled frock, the
some I ragged stockings pulled as high as they
besten I would go over the skeleton legs, and—Bar
street I bara was dres fed.
listened Why not! Dress : s a matter of taste,
of varying with difierent countries and cli
were | mates. Barbara's toilet might have seemed
faded purple satan^was tied carefully over
...... " "
in the
yet,
rival
and
shook
did
were
of
was
for
you
words
and
very
gurl
scream
Bar
to
merely
with
I'll
be
a
show
sum
first
them
rather extensive to a Kaffir's squaw
The ticket porter at the Lyceum wae just
lighting a fresh cigar within his den when
a small and squeaky voioe inquired from
without:
"Please, sir, which is the cheapest seats?"
"Gallery," he answered, without looking
ronnd, till he beard a chink on the board,
and the rejoinder:
"One, please, sir.'
Then he did look; and saw nothing—
nothing, that is, but a little red claw in
close proximity to a shilling. Following
the olaw and peering over the ledge, his
eye fell on a very large bonnet attached to
a very small child, who was standing on
tiptoe to look at him.
"Is this money yours? he asked, staring.
'•Yes, sir, please, eir." So it was in Bar
bara's eyes.
"And who's the ticket for?"
"Me, please, sir."
"You! What, you alone! Ain't no one
with you!"
"No, sir—me alone, sir, please, sir," gab
bled Barbara, in a great harry to get in.
"You be oft," said the man curtly. "Wo
don't want no babbies here. Catch!" and
he whipped the shilling off the ledge with
the wet end of his cigar.
"Move ont of the way," said a bustling
man of the lower orders, and Barbara
was swept aside. For a moment it seemed
to her as if the world had been swept away
as well. Her heart swelled up, and for the
. second time that day the tears bubbled
I over fast. Was she to be foiled in her life's
I desire with the money for it actually in her
I hands?
I "Now, then, what's the matter?" some
or I one said, and looking up she eaw towering
arter ' .....
limb
no
don't
quick
my
give
up.
and
room
un
bed
up
pro
from
gray
us,
her.
the
the
the
on
"a
above her a big blue form and a black
helmet. In an instant Barbara was on the
defensive.
"Please, sir. I ain't done nutbin'. I
wanted to go to the gallery; and I guv the
gentleman a shilling—there it are> sir—an'
he said as I were a baby. "
And so you are," quoth XQ89. "Get eff
home to y oar mother straight. She never
gave you that shilling for theatre-going, I
warrant, if she gave it you at all."
' Yes. sir. she did, please, sir; bnt I'll go
home, sir; I'm just a-going now, I am," an
swered Barbara, glibly; aud then she wrig
gled away, and wriggled herself into the
entiance to the upper boxes. Bobby had
his eye od her, aud followed. There was
nothing of superior interest going on at the
moment, and Barbara's appearance was pe
culiar.
She hurried up to the man in charge and
asked the price of a seat in almost gasping
tones. He stared at her in surprise, and
asked like the first—
"For you?"
Yes, sir; but I ain't alone, please, sir.
My brother's up there, he is; and be said as
I were to follow him, please, sir."
"Two shillings," said the eolleetor laconi
cally; and in another moment Barbara was
out of sight. As she turned for one fright
ened glanoe backward before gaining her
haven of bliss, she saw the face of the po
liceman below.
He had paused to exchange a word or
two with the eolleetor. and then followed
in her wake.
"That girl aint up to no good," said the
finger of the law,
She was up in heaven just then. Dazzled
with a flood of radiant light, bewildered by
a crash of noise, a barst of many instru
ments all mingled together, her bonnet
fallen on to her baok, her senses all on the
reel, Barbara fonght her way to a vacant
seat beside a gentleman's servant, at the
very moment that X08fl> face appeared at
the entrance. John Thomas was, just
laughing at some quip from the stage, jwhen
he felt his arm Beized in two dirty, little,
trembling hands, and a small voice'panted:
"Oh! please say your my brother. Oh!
please do. Please!"
Your brothei! What the deuce do jspn
mean?" cried the young man, shaking her
off indignantlv. "What are you up to
here ?"
"Pickpocketing most like," observed
X089. "Here, come out o' that," and with
the vision of a fairy palace opening before
her, with that one blaze of beamy in her
eyes, that crash of music in her ears, Bar
bara in
a
a
dutch.
Probably it was not a ve ry gentle one;
for in the process something fell with u
great chink and clatter, and Barbara made
a futile clutch at it. It was her purse
The lady's pur6e. rather. X089 lifted it
with a gleam of satisfaction on his impass
ive countenance.
"I thought so," he said sententiously.
"Now, where did you steal that from ?"
"I didn't steal it," sobbed Barbara.
"Mother give it me. she did, to pay the gro
ceries. There was candles, and tea. and—
lots o' things."
"Fifteen and three—four pence," said
X089, counting. "Where does your mother
live? Of course you're lying, but I'll take
you to her afore locking yon up, if you are."
It was doubttul whether the threat of
"looking up" or the fear of seeing her prize
absorbed by Mrs. Butts had most effect on
Barbara. She shifted her tack on the in
stant, sobbing dispairingiy:
"Oh! don't take me to mother—please
don't, sir. I ain't done no harm. I found
it in the street. I didn't steal it—indeed I
didn't, sir."
X089 shrugged his shoulders. "Have
done with lying, and tell me where your
mother lives, will you?" he said, pocketing
the purse with obstinate decision. But
Barbara could be obstinate too. Her prize
was lost beyond recall; bnt to be taken
home in charge of a "bubby" meant in ail
dition a beating worse than ordinary, and I
Barbara's Bruises were still smarting. With- |
out a moment's hesitation she gave an ad
dress about half a mile distant from the
real one; and her guardian, having first as
certained that no one in the upper boxes
had lost a purse, walked her off in that di
rection.
Naturally the walk was vain. No one in
that street knew aught ot Barbara, and still
dreading the sacred name of home more
than the vague one of prison, this young
lady, brought up under the secular rule of
the school board, was walked off, howling
dismally, to the station.
A night in a dark cell shnt up with two
drunken women—a night unsoothed by
sleep; and with hunger gnawing away at
her young vitals all the time, broke down
Barbara's obstinacy at last. Brought be
fore the magistrate in the morning, she etill
indeed persisted in her stoiy of having
found the pnrse, but gave her right name
and address; and no one appearing to olaim
the jproperty, was sent home with a stern
caution and reprimand.
Skeggs alley was all in a bustle that morn
ing. On the previous night Mr. Butts had
erowned his devotion to the "public" by
the eaorifice of his life; having been found
by the police face downward in a swollen
gutter, where he had probably passed sev
eral hours, and Mrs. Butts, in the first
freshness of her widowhood, thought the
opportunity of getting rid of Barbara too
good to be lost.
''Thegirl belonged to 'er 'usband, not 'er,
and she'd 'ave to go to the 'house as it was.
Sinoe the perlieeman had got Barb'ra he
might keen her. Most like she stole the
purse. Sb#were always thipvin' round, she
were."
Poor little untaught Barbara! It seemed
a toss np between "honBe" and reformatory
for her; and vet why "poor?" Sm$]y either
were better than Mrs. Butts.
Fate, however, had willed differently. A
lady who was passing along the court, a
lady in semi-sisterhood dress, and with a
kind, qniet face, drew near to inquire into
the cause of the disturbance. Borne few
words took place between her and the po
liceman, some few more between her and
Mrs. Batts. Then Barbara was asked if
ehe would like to live with some other nioe
little girls at the lady's house; and reply
ing promptly in the affirmative, took a cool
farewell ot her stepmother, hugged and
kissed the unwholesome baby with a pas
sion of tears, and was pat, still howling,
into • cab, and driven away to a quiet
house near the Regefit'a canal, where a
score of other little orphans, in warm staff
dresses and neat white cape, were reading,
writing and sewing under the care of two
to
palms
on
her
the
they
taste,
cli
over or three quiet, kind looking women utt her
new friend.
Six months later, visiting at that tab ass, I
saw Barbara, a delicate looking girl still,
just
from
in
his
to
on
Bar
one
bat the picture of neatness and intelligence,
and beloved by everybody for her honesty,
good temper and patient docility.
Six months later and I got aletter from
the superior; Barbara had ran away!
Some visitors, pleased with the girl's ten
derness toward a sickly baby orphan, had
broken throngb the rules. That evening
Barbara disappeared.
She was brought back the next morning.
Jammed in a crowd outside a theatre, some
one bad knocked her under the wheels of a
cab, and the whole vehicle passed com
pletely over her body, crushing it like a
nut. Life was trickling away fast when we
laid her ou her bed, but she still held the
shilling tight, and said:
"Please give it Baby Nell." Then, after
a pause, "I'd ha' come straight 'ome arter
I'd seen it." Another pause, very leng this
time. Death stooped lower, and lifted the
veil from the child's fa#e. With a faint orv
she opened her eyes, staring out and up
ward.
"Oh, look, look!" she gasped. "It's all
bright. Look! An' shinin' things, ,ust the
very same. * * * I shall see it now."
And so, with a smile of ecstasy on the poor,
white face, Barbara's head fell bask.
The ruling passion satisfied in death.
Oalaxy.
Mr. Sidney Lanier's f'aatnra.
The announcement of the centennial
commission that the hymn for the opening,
ceremonies of the exhibit» n on May ID, has
been furnished by John O. Whittier, and
the text of Mr. Dudley Buck's cantata by
Sidney Lanier, of Georgia, has been re
ceived by the press aud people of the United
States with entire satisfaction. Thefollow
ing is the text of Mr. Lanier's cantata,
which he entitles
THE CENTENNIAL
MEDITATION OF COLUM
BIA:
I
I
From this huudred-terraced heigtt
,-ijlht more large with nobler light
Rang«« down yon towering years,
Humilier smiles and lordlier"tears
Nniue and tall, si ine and rail
tv bile old voices riee and call
Vender where the to-and Iro
Welteiiog of my long-ago
Moves about the n oveless base
Far below lev resting place.
Mayflower, may flower, aiowly hither flying
Trembling westward o er yon balking sea
Hearts within farewell dear Knglano sighi-ig
Winds without but dear in vain replying,
Gr8> -lipp'd wave« about thee shouted, cryii g
No' ft shall not be'
in.
Jamestown out of thee—
Plymouth, thee—thee, AJoaay—
Winter cries, Ye fceese; away!
Fever cries, ye burn; away'
Hanger cries, Ye starve; away!
Vengeance cries, Your graves shall ala;!
«
a
Tlien old Shapes and Masks of '
I Faiths or clothed like Kirsî
rhiugs.
FTamed like I
Ghosts of Goods once fleshbd and fair,
Grown foul Bads in ulien air—
War, and his moat noi«y lords,
Tongued with lithe and poisoned swords—
Flrror, Terror, Rage, aud Crime,
All in a windy night of t:m%
Cried to me fioiu land and sea
So! Thou shalt not be'
Hark'
Huguenots whispf r ug yea ia the dark.
Puritans answering vtu in the daik'
Yea, like an arrow thot true to his mark.
Darts through the tyrrauoua heart of denial.
Patience ana labor and solemu-souled trial.
Foiled, still beginnirg,
Soiled, but noi sioLiug,
Toil through the atertorous death of the night,
Toil, when wild brother-wars new-dark the light.
Toil, aud forgive, and kisa o'er, aul rep'.igb!.
Now praise to God's oft granted grace.
Now praise to man's ui daunted luce,
Despite the land, despite the sea
I was: I am: aud I ata'l be—
How long, good angel, Oh! how long'
Bing me from heaven a man » own song'
Lor g as thine art shall love true love.
Long ac, thy scier ce truth shafi know,
Loog as thine eagle harms no dove.
Long aB thy law by law shall grow.
Long as tby God is Ood above,
Tby brother every man below
So long, dear '.and of all my love,
Thy name shafi shine, tby tame shall g
Music, from this height of time m 7 word nnfold;
In thy large signals all meu s hearts man s heart
behold;
Mid-heaven unroll thy chords as friendly dags un
furled.
And w ave the wcild s best lovei's welcome to the
world.
.
to
of
It
up
dy
he
but
yers
or
and
stove
her
Bar
u
it
of
on
in
I
world.
SIDNEY LANIgR.
A Romance ot the Kitchen.
Heiress» s leund among servant girls are
so plentitui that no well regulated citv
should be without one. In a majority of
cases, however, the pedigree is hinted at so
remotely and the incidents bandied e
gr illy as to leave doubts of the genuir
ness of the arricle. Chicago has been har
boring an heiress among her domestics
whose claims are not mere conjecture, but a
proven reality, and who is now on her way
to olaim her inheritance. About twentv
ono years ago a young Creole, resident of
New Orleans, named George Martinez,
wooed, won aud wedded the daughter of a
well known minister oi one of the evangel
ical churches. The.young couple, unless
portraits taken at the time deceive, were
possessed of much more than an average
amount of natural beauty, besides being
liberally endowed mentally, and thej'
were welcome members of the elite ot
New Orleans society. Possessed
liberal share of wealth and a goodly
stock of contentment, they lived hap
pily and prospered in many ways, and
the breaking out of the rebellion found
them the parents of two children, Louisa, a
girl of five, and George a boy of three, both
the children being named after their pa
rents. Mr. Martinez was one of those fiery
Spanish Louisianians who do first and re
flect afterward, and when the war was de
clared, scarcely- waiting to bid his loved
I ones good-by, he joined the Confederate
| army. Like a large majority of the Con
in
federates, he confiflently believed he was
going out simply to participate in one bril
liant series ot victories, aad in few weeks
or months at farthest would return a vic
torious warrior, and again clasp his wile
and babies in his loving arms. The weeks
speedily grew into months, and the months
had become long and weary, and the end—
the victorious end for which nearly all
Southerners still hoped—seemed as as far
off as ever. In faet, to the young wife and
mother it was receding, and dangers im
mediately threatening New Orleans, from
theadvanoe of the federal troops, admonish
ed her to seek a safer retreat for herself and
babies. In a short time an opportunity was
presented of reaching St. Louis, where her
fathpr then resided. She had not heard
from her husband sinoe his departure, as
he was in a branch ol the army from which
it was very difficult to get communications,
and she had doubts that he yet lived, but
did not give up all hope nntil death released
her from the trials and tribulations of this
world. Owing to the unsettled condition
of affairs in New Orleans, she was barely
able to obtain a sufficient snm of money to
carry herself and children to her father's
house in St. Louis. There for a time she
resided, but her father, never having ap
proved of her choice of a husband, soon
made it anything but a pleasant borne for
her, and she was comps lied to seek shelter
elsewhere, and left, making neither effort
to conceal from him nor apprise him of her
whereabouts. She went to Wisconsin, and
by domestic labor, for which she was illy
S repared by training and nature, as her
ealth was very delicate, she managed to
support herself and children nntil just after
the close of the war, when the angel of
death claimed her, and the ohildren were
left orphans among strangers. They had
been given to understand that tbeir
father was dead, and knew of no rela
tive to whom they oonld reasonably ap
ply for a home, consequently they were
placed in an orphan asylnm, whence they
were, however, 6oon removed, Lonisa being
taken charge of by a family in Delavan,
and George by a kind gentleman in a town
near by. When the war closed Mr. Mar
tinez sought his loved ones, bnt without
avail. Their neighbors in New Orleans
only knew that tbev had gone to St. Louis,
and Mrs. Martinez's father knew, or pre
tended to know, nothing of them. Later
the father informed Mr. Martinez that his
wife was dead, but professed ignorance as
to the fate or whereabouts of the ohildren,
At intervals since the war, whenever his
business—that of an extensive tobacco
denier ia Mobile—would the
her
ass, I
still,
from
ten
had
some
of a
com
a
we
the
after
arter
this
the
orv
up
all
the
now."
poor,
has
and
by
re
has sought his offspring, and in his tr%r«ls
has been all over the United States, from
Boston to New Orleans and from New York
to Omaha, attending many thousand dol
lars endeavoring to find them. About two
months ago he again started out, with but
a faint hope, however, as he had been
too often disappointed to feel much
encouraged. Alter searching some
time, he made another appeal to
his clerical father-in-law in St. Louis, and
the old gentleman relented and informed
him that the children had been placed in
an orphan asylum in Wisconsin. Thence
be proceeded, and by examining the regis
ter of the various asylums, finally obtained
a trace that led him to Delavan, where he
learned that Lonisa had moved to Chicago
and was employed as a domestic bv a lady
who rents furnished rooms on Clark street,
within a short distanoe of the Grand Pacific
Hotel. Hastening here, he found the place
early yesterday morning, and rapping at
the sittingroom door, was confronted by his
daughter. The parent's instinct led him to
recognize his child at once, and he clasped
her in his arms, greatly to her astonish
ment, as she had no idea who the hand
some, elegantly dressed, dark gentleman
with the unfamiliar accent conld be. He
explained that he was her father, bat was
compelled to make other explanations be
fore he could convince her of the faot, but
onoe assured, the poor girl's heart, which had
so long been deprived of the living sym
pathy of a parent, overflowed, and she
wept with joy. Louisa had often remarked
■ acquaintances that "some day she wonld
get a pile of money, or some person would
come and take her away," but as she could
give no reason for ber belief, except that
she "felt it," no one paid any attention to
her remarks, and she passed in the house
for a good-natured girl with a secret history,
no one pretending to surmise what that his
tory might be. During all the years she
has had to toil for a living she has lived a
pure and honorable life, ot whioh fact her
father took pains to inform himself. Then
he told her to make hasty preparations to
depart for Mobile, where he is possessed of
a beautiful Southern home, a prosperous
business, and enough wealth to live in ele
gance without being troubled with the cares
of business should he choose to relinquish
it. The father snd daughter left for Wis
consin to get George last evening, and to
■ , , „ ... .. , .,=■ ■
clt J ® u !
oute fo. Mobile. Chicago Journal.
~ : \ — ■ I
-h« "fini W f*° 1 "- pned ^
« b was hardly enterprising enough I
A Lively Heston Boy.
One day not long ago a Detroit lawyer
had his attention called to a bright boy
wandering up and down Griswold street.
He learned that the boy was an orphan and
a straDger, having been shipped from Bos
. . - . enough
for such an enterprising boy. The lawyer
wanted a lad in bis office, and he took
Thomas on trial, agreeing to pay jjis board
and give a little something besides, if he
was a good boy. The boy said he jnst
ached to become a lawyer, and he was eo
enthusiastic to get ahead and become known
to fame that he broke a chair and a pane
of glass the first afternoon. When the
lawyer gently suggested to him to restrain
his ardor, Thomas promptly replied:
" There's nothing like maxing a law office
get up and howl!"
To
I
It was amazing how quickly that boy I
picked up a knowledge of legal business
It was his duty to statin the office when
the lawyer went out, and be felt alUhe im
portance of his position. When big boys I
came around to ask for a job ot èarrving I îu
up coal, Thomas went for them heavy.* I
hö would answer in a havafa I
voice. "I don't want to see you com! to
grief, but if you don't hurry right down I D °
stairs I'il get out a capias, switch you be
- you L.
hind the bars and have you hung before
grass starts."
The attorney had to go to Chicago one
dy , and he told Thomas he might wash the
wftdqws and slick up a little. Thomas
went in. He had new matting put on the
floor, put a painter at work and hired an old
woman to wash everything which could be
washed. It was a neat job all arouDd, and
he felt as if he ought to be praised for his
enterprise. The attorney began to soold,
but Thomas remarked:
"Aint we as good as those one-horse law
yers across the road' Is a lawoffioe a barn,
or is it a law office?"
Two weeks ago he was told to go down
and order half a ton of coai to keep the
stove going till warm weather. Some one
ble
case
call?
the
she
weak
lent
for
to
had
pay
"itaîÂ? »ä, I
economy, he ordered five tons sent up, and
moat of it had been dumped on thewalk I
before the attorueydiscovered the situation. ,i iîo
Thomas would probably have lasted a week
or so longer than he did but for his rscen-I W °a
tion of a lady client who came to see the I
lawyer about applying for a divorce. The «h«
lawyer was trying a case in court, and the
boy had sole charge of the office. He re
ceived the lady in L-is usual urbane manner,
and when ale inquired lor the attorney, he • ff? a
replied:
"He is out, but my legal services are at
your disposal."
She didn't 6eem inclined to consult him
and he went on:
'Tsitacaseot wife-beating or divorce!
She-intimated that he was an impudent
boy. and he replied.
'•Very well, madam; we can't take vour
case at all!"
She said she'd cal! and see the lawyer,
but Thomas answered.
"It won't do you any good. We can't
take your case at all—not lor love or
money."
She returned two hour6 later, when the
lawyer was in and Thomas was out, and it
was decided that the boy would have to
seek some other profession. That evening,
when so informed, La replied:
. "All right. If I m going to be a lawyer I
want things to git right up and git around.
You don't want a lively boy around bore,
and I saw that a week ago."
It was intimated that he hadn't better
sass" any one. and he blandly replied:
"No one is sassing you. If you want this
partnership dissolved, we'll part friendly.
If you don't want to rush things, this is no
place for me."
He is peddling peanuts now. and the way
he dusts around is the cause of his haring
half a dozen fights per da j.—Detroit Free
Press.
The statue on Bedloe-s Island.
Yesterday afternoon an informal meetin„
was held at the offioe of Compagne Generale
Transatlantique, by Mr. Auguste D'Ouville,
of the said company, and Mr. Adolt Salmon,
of No. 14 Wall street, both members of the
Union Franco- Américaine, at Paris, whioh
is about placing on Bedloe's Island, in the
harbor of New York, the colossal statue of
"Liberty Enlightening the World," the cost
of which is 1,800,000 francs, and the height
from the base of the pedestal 105 feet.
'HJ»« gentlemen in question gave the
Herald reporter the following information:
"It is understood in Paris that the United
States, to make the affair truly interna
tional, shall place the foundation of the
monument. The cost will be about $30,000.
In France the workmen all over the coun
try have given their ten and twenty cents
toward the cost of the edifice. We want
the Herald to help us in giving publicity to
the matter, so that Americans can snb
scribe for the cost of the foundation.
We hope that the subscription will be
in small sums. We will receive them,
or they can be sent to Mr. Menniuf
editor of the Courrier des Etat Unis. The
statue is a fraternal work, and will be a
monument of the sympathy existing be
tween the great republican nations in the
centennial year of American independence.
The -foundation stone is to be laid on
the fourth of July, 1876. The following
members of the committee are expected
here by the tenth of June: Ed. Laboulaye,
president director: Henri . Marlin, Dietz
Monin, vice presidents; Oscar de Lafayette,
Jules de Lasteyrie, Paul de Rem usât, Count
de Tocqueville, Waddington, Cornelia de
Wirt, Jean Mace, Count Serurier, Wolow
ski, L. Simonin, V. Borie, Aug. Bartholdi,
A. Caubert and De Lagorese.
The artist of the monument is Mr. Bar
tholdy, of Paris, cousin of the French
Minister at Washington. Several prominent
citizens of New York are aoont forming a
committee to receive con tri butions, and we
of the committee intend to help them all
we can. The monument will be sent over
sections on a French vessel of war with
a few months. Prominent vessels of the
French navy will be here for the celebra
tion of laying of the corner stone on the
fourth of July.— Kew Fork Herald,
did
of
borne
a
Heart,
every
Xavier
which,
heard
evpry
black
order,
The
bed
tbe
liny©
istcr
The
mumble
throat;
turus
to be
them
have
had
sual
he
brain
death
in
can
his
body
scenes,
other
they
earth,
precions
angel
who
every
is he
voice
•re
sinner.
'I
sonl:
now
Though
(for
the
alone;
him
husband,
agony,
might
ceived
degrading
me
the
and
Ilia
say.
has
cruelty
TnnL
Judge,
evidence
guardmn
what
messenger
row
f" d *®'
mto
to watch
the
seasons
ery
fluence
tr%r«ls
from
York
dol
two
but
been
much
some
to
and
in
regis
he
lady
place
at
his
to
He
was
be
but
had
sym
she
T HE 311X8 OF TAB LOAD«
BT R*r. WILLIAM C. OANNSTT.
God plowed, one day, with an earthquake,
- And drove Hie iiUT6w«a*«p.
The huddling piainaupstai tsd,
The hilla were allaleap;
But that la the mountain's secret,
Aye hidden in his breast ;
"God's peace is everlsstini: !"
are the dream words of their rest.
He hath made them the haunts of beauty
The home elect of His grace ;
He rpreadeth His mornings upon them,
His sunsets lighten tbeir face ;
His thunders tread in music
Of footfalls echoing long,
And carry majestic greeting
Around the silent throng.
His winds bring mesrag's to them,
Wild storm news from the msiu;
They sing it down to the valleys
In the love song of the rain.
Gre*n faites from far come trooping,
Aud over the uplands flock;
He hath woven the heur» ti getter
As a robe for His risan rock.
They are nuxseiies for youngrivers
Nests fer ihe flying cloud,
H< mi-steads for new-born racts,
Uastei ful, tree and proud.
The people of tired cities «
Come up to their ehrru s and pray;
God freshens again witl in them,
As He passes by all day.
And lo ! I have caught their secret
The beauty deeper than all !
This failli— that file's hard mini ata,
When tbe j urrinz sorrows beffi!.
Are but God piowiug His mom tains,
An those mounta.n 3 yet shall be
1 be source of His g:ace and freshness
And His peace eTei lusting to me.
could
that
to
house
history,
his
she
lived a
her
Then
to
of
ele
cares
Wis
to
A Change of Fortune.
Eleven years ago Henrietta Irving made
her first appearance as an actress at the
Olympic Theatre, which was then under
the management ot Mrs. John Wood. Miss
Irving was yonDg, beautiful and talented.
She worked at once into public faver, and
daring two seasons was a prominent mem
ber of that well remembered company.
She was then tendered Mrs. Hoey's place
at Wallace's Theatre, but had already ac
cepted an engagement in Philadelphia. In
18b7 she married Edward Eddy, the trage
dian, who was much her senior in age, but
6he did not abandon the stage. As Henri
etta Irving she continued to act, in oonjnnc
■ tion with her husband, and separately as
J ® u ! a "star," appearing with success in Shake
Ispeareanand other characters, and making
herselt known to patrons of theatres in
nearly aveYy city in the country. Early in
the present dramatic season they went to
the West Indies with r company, and in
Kingston, Jamaica. Mr. Eddy died. An ac-
count ot his funeral in this city on January
16, the ceremonies being conducted by
— ■ I Free Masons, was the last that the public
^ 8a " relating to the popular actress. Y'es
enough I terdav the lollowinsr letter was rer-ei
lawyer
boy
street.
and
Bos
enough
lawyer
took
board
he
jnst
eo
known
pane
the
office
terday the tollowing letter was received:
To the Editor of the Sun:
Sib—T he widow of a once prominent
man, and a Free Mason of the Thirty-third
Degree, appeals to you for life. My late
husband, Edward Eddy (actor), died four
months ago at Kingston, Jamaica. I was
was left financially helpless. I borrowed
tbe means to convey bis dear remains home,
thinking his lodge would liquidate the debt.
I was mistaken. Through some quibble,
called the "forty-second section." tney de
clined to assist me in any way. For weeks
boy I been confined to my bed by illness,
®a *>y grief and want. I am with
when 6 co , m " on necessaries of life-fire,
im ^ "f, lf thIs
boys I ' l! n t 89 ,8 .* a S
I îu « £f 'T 'j > alnai ® a—
I v,uni a8 ^oi°hniiari S ^ r r 0U ^n 1 v. wbl< ? h bus
I was buried« I am heart-broken. I
to SnTHTÄTwJ h i L. d ^ b, 5 ^
down I D ° * nel jd8 who
be- riiS^wife knew my déplora
L.
one
the
the
old
be
and
his
law
the
one
ble condition. Will you please 'make my
case known to the public, retaining my ad
dress at your office for those who choose to
call? Most respectfullv.
MRS. EDWARD EDDY.
Mrs. Eddy was found, as she had said ia
the letter, sick and destitute. A large New
foundland dog sat by the bed upon which
she lay. looking as though he knew that his
mistress was in trouble. She was thin and
white from long illness, and seemed very
weak ana nervous. Her surroundings were
comfortless. She showed bills and dnnning
letters from persons in Kingston, who had
lent money or otherwise assisted in caring
for Eddy's body, and said that her inability
to settle had helped to keep her sick. She
had supposed that th» Free Masons would
pay the burial exposes of a member of
I
forfeited his claim by
I ,l°», pa i y i h - a d M P ?- He had been
,i iîo ; P u° pert - r : an ,^
K D !i tb i! ng ' wblcb 1# lt8elf
W °a i no * J* e eo bad, because she could
the I ^agements, but her
«h« e8 waT*lrt.f «*■«! , 'L dlSal,1 À ,,g j™ lsfortune '
the an 4 d J 8C< ? nr8 £ed
re- mL * ria , vf * 1 8a ' d ' f ' ,r he r tace
not , I ? ade ac '
he • ff? a ' IKa ? ce8 la tblB CiC J> aad ber "'<1 friends
a
did not know where she was. The account
of her condition given in her letters seems
in
him
vour
can't
or
the
it
to
I
bore,
better
this
no
way
Free
the
the
of
cost
the
the
to
snb
be
a
be
on
de
a
borne out by the tacts.—.Vw York Sun.
An Awfnt Scene.
While the Redemptorist Fâthers were on
a mission to the Church of the Sacred
Heart, East Boston, the attendanoe was full
every service. One evening Father Francis
Xavier gave a description of the death and
judgment of an old impenitent sinner,
which, for awful solemnity, we have never'
heard equaled. The church was filled in
evpry part. Standing by the side of a large
black cross inside of the sanctuary, the
reverend father, iu the dark habit of his
order, without note or relerence, spoke in
substance as follows:
The impenitent sinner is now laid on a
bed of sickness never mere to rise. He feels
tbe fangs of death at his heart. Ilia friends
liny© brought the priest ot Ood to admio*
istcr comtort to his dying soul; but too late.
The poor wretch is in a maze; he tries to
mumble a prayer; the words stick in his
throat; he has forgotten how to pray; he
turus and looks in the faces near him only
to be remembered that he is about to leave
them forever. The holy father's words
have no meaning to him; how can it be
otherwise? hrorn boyhood through life he
had been only intent on gratifying his sen
sual desires, which he still loves, although
he haa lost the power to relieh them. His
brain reels in agony, the damp dew of
death is on his brow, the departing rattle
in his throat, his eyos become dim and he
can barely recognize the outlines of those by
his bedside. All is dark, the soul has left the
body and gradually opens its eyes on other
scenes, xet it is the same room, with
other parties present. He looks to see who
they are. Radiant in the majesty of im
mortality he beholds the J udge ot all the
earth, the Lord of Glory, who shed his
precions blood for him, and by nis side an
angel in vestments of purest white. But
who is this, black as night, on whose brow
every evil passion has set its seal ? What
is he doing here ? He speaks, listen, his
voice is harsh and hellieh, and his hands
•re stretched forth toward the wretched
sinner. "O, righteous Judge," he croaks,
'I claim this wretch as mine, body and
sonl: he has served me throughout life and
now I claim him at the hour of death !"
Though we all know that the devil is a liar
(for it is he who speaks), for once he speaks
the truth. But he comes not into court
alone; he has brought from hell with
him the sinner's wife and children. "O!
husband, husband," the wife screams in
agony, "but for your cruel treatment I
might have been an angel of light; you re
ceived me pure into your arms, but after
degrading me to your own brutal level, left
me and our children to the cold charity of
the world, we tell into sin and were lost,
and will be your tormentors forever." Hear
Ilia children; they, too, Lave something to
say. O. father, father, wbat our mother
has said is true; your drunkenness and
cruelty drove ns to despair and sin, and we
TnnL " J ? UT tormentors." "Righteous
Judge, continues the devil, "I have other
evidence to make good my claim; his
guardmn angel by your side can confirm
what I charge against him." The benign
messenger of heaven bows his head in sor
row and faintly says: "Most righteous
f" d *®' when this poor soul was received
mto the church by baptism I was appointed
to watch over him, and from that time to
the present have never deserted him. In
seasons of sickness, in dreams, and by ev
ery othsr means, I tried inoessantly to in
fluence him to tun trom the evil of his
made
the
under
Miss
and
mem
place
ac
In
but
as
in
in
to
in
ac-
by
waya, bnt all ia vain. Ia the exeimae
his free will he" preferred evfl to good, aad
and wbat the tempter charges is, alas, too
trne!" And taking irom beneath his robe
he returns to tbe Saviour the orown that
was intended for the sinner when he was
consecrated to God. The evidence is all i n
the guilty wretch feels its tl-ntb; he dares
not raise his eyes to meet his Judge, but in
wild despair cries: "O, most merciful Lord
save me!" Bnt it is too late. Tbe awfalsen
tence is pronounced, "Depart from me into
everlasting fire prepared tor the devils and
angels!" The sinner immediately feels the
infernal fires glow aronod him; he loves his
sins still, and if restored to life and health
would continue in the coarse; bat his doom
is fixed forever. Bat what is the devil n 01r
doing with his dead body? He is washing
from it the mark of the cross which it' re
ceived at baptism, and is putting his own
mark, the mark of the bell on it by which
he will claim it at tbe general resurrection
One yell of dispair closes the scenes; the
victims of hell sink ont of sight to endo«
eternal torments. Such is the fate of every
impenitent sinner at tbe boar of death, ins
moment, in the twinkling of an eye!
No words can describe the awful manner
of the reverend father while be calmly
and deliberately drew tbe foregoing pfe.
ture. He was pale and passionless as death,
yet his every word seemed to burn itself
into the very hearts of his hearers. The
vast audience, spell-bonnd, hardly appeared
to breathe, for be looked and spoke as if he
were a being of the other world, who had
witnessed the scene he had described.—
Boston Traveller.
A Frontier Town.
I
The following letter, from General Viel*
to the New York Times, will furnish an ac
curate idea of the locality on the frontier
where the recent difficulties have anses.
About thirty years ago, then a young offi
cer, he was stationed there, and for two
rears or more acted as a sort of military
tovernor, having few or no instructions.
Until he went there, under orders from
General Worth, the citizens had regarded
themselves as Mexican subjects:
It may interest the readers of the Tiwis
to know something of the locality on our
Mexican frontier which was the scene of
the recent events that may lead to soms
international complications. Laredo—pro
nounced Lar-a-do—is an old Spanish mis
sion town at least two centuries old, situa
ted on the east bask of the Rio Grande. It
is regularly laid out. Many of the houses
are built of stone, and it has a quaint old
Spanish Catholic Church, whose hells were
sent from Spain. In the year 1848 the Uni
ted States troops under my command con
struoted a military road connecting this
town with the Lower Rio Grande, and I
was ordered by General Worth to es
tablish a military post at that point.
Up to that time tlie only communi
cation with the rest of tbe world had
been by Indian trails. The troops I com
manded were the first United States sol
piers the people had ever seen, and nntil
Itben they had regarded themselves aS Mex
ican citizens. The town was governed by
Mexican laws, which were administered by
an alcade, and the inhabitants, numbering
8» me 1'200, led a primitive life, coanted
their beads and contented themselves with
a very small allotment of worldly goods.
The arrival of the government troops, and
the entire change that followed in tbe con
duct of affairs, induced a number of the
people to cross the river with their families
and build a new town, called Neuva Lare
do. in order that they might retain tbeir
Mexican citizenship, as those who remained
necessarily became American citizens. The
two towns lie directly opposite to each
other, and a constant intercourse is main
tained between them, the families on
both sides being nearly all connected and
retaining the nee of the Spanish language.
It was a very difficult matter for these
people to comprehend at first that by the
treaty of Gnadaloupe Hidalgo they had be
come a portion of tbe United States, and on
several occasions I was compelled to re
press the forcible enlistment of reeroits for
the Mexican army, which was several
times attempted at midnight. In the year
1848 the town was visited by a terrible
cholera epidemic that decimated the in
habitants and destroyed more than half of
my command. The whole region ot country
at this place is desolate in the extreme, and
it sometimes remains nnvisited by rain for
a whole year. There ia very little vegeta
tion except in the low bottom land along
the river. A stunted growth of mesquits
covers the low hills, and a coarse grass the
valleys. On the whole, it is the most worth
less part of the United States, and alwavg
will be.
an ,^
lt8elf
could
her
'
£ed
tace
ac '
friends
account
seems
on
Sacred
full
Francis
and
sinner,
never'
in
large
the
his
in
on a
feels
friends
late.
to
his
he
only
leave
words
be
he
sen
His
of
rattle
he
by
the
other
with
who
im
the
his
an
But
brow
his
and
and
!"
liar
with
"O!
in
I
re
left
of
to
we
his
to
In
in
Damaging Reputations.
Mr. Morton made a strong point in a re
cent speech on the Mississippi resolutions
in reply to Mr. Bayard. The latter opposed
an investigation by the Senate alone, as if
would have the appearance of being made
for party effect. Mr. Morton pointed di
rectly to the Democratic House, which h:<d
some twenty or thirty committees makiae
investigations at an expense of thousands
of dollars per day, and all for political
effect. It is seldom that a table is turned
so completely over upon the head of the
man wno lifts it np. There is no question
that most of the House investigations are
prosecuted for the express purpose of
damaging the Republicans. Thus far thev
have proposed no measure of reform, no
system of public relief, no radical poliev
tor othcial publication. The civil service
reform sleeps in its coffin, and there are not
Democrats enough who desire its resurrec
tion to cover its corpse with decent clothes,
to say nothing of breathing the bleath of
life mt# its inanimate clav. They propose
nothing to put in the place of the evils they
discover, or to prevent the recurrence ot
similar lrauds hereafter. They seein bent
upon damaging reputations, in the
hope that tlie country will turn in
disgust from the Republicans and em
brace them as the least of two evils.
But they are dealing with a two-edge i
sword. In smiting down Belknap thev ad
m.nistered a fatal back stroke to 1'endletoa
in spite of themselves. It is manitestlv
part of their design to damage everv prom
inent Republk sn to the utmost. But this
la a game the Republicans can play at, and
alreadv we hear insinuations against a halt
dozen Démocratie candidates for the Presi
dency. The coming presidential contest
bids fair to excel all others in bitter per
sonal vituperation and abuse and scurrility.
This damaging of reputations is a thing to
be deprecated. It does no good. There
are black sheep in both parties. If one
party throws pitch the other will resort to
tar and vitriol. Neither will gain anythin
by adopting these taotics. But mnd throw"
rng dirtiea the fingers and soils the
character of whoever deeoends to the bus:
ness. It demoralizes public sentiment. It
lowers the standard or public morals The
character of its public men is after all tbe
best property and the surest safeguard o'
a nation. We all have an intereet in pre
serving public confidence in tbe leading
men of both parties, and the least said
against their honor the better for the na
tion. It sometimes seems that if a score or
two of prominent politicians were smirched
beyond recovery and driven into retire
ment the country would gam by their loss
But with all their faults, which^are partir
the faults of the period and the people a 't
large, they have a knowledge of affaire and
an experience of publio business and an
acquaintance with public men which
fat them for the publio service »,
no new men are .fitted. We have
a " umb ? r of second rate men in
publio life, who are able, active, experi
enoed and serviceable in their way; and it
is useless to condemn them for not bein '
something else, while to try to break them
down for petty mistakes and upon con
temptible surmises is to bring iJl public
Me into disgrace and weaken the supports
C0Clldence V Let 08 have done
with this damaging of reputations, except
m easee where the publio eafetv and hono:
fh P »°? 3 re ' And impossible
to believe that the great majorityof our
public men are not honest and fairly faith
tul. They are partisans, bnt if they we-*
not partisans they would not be in public
life. Parties are a public necessity, and to
nf D * d fadhln11 * work for the g®« 11
of the country through the party one be
and belongBto by conviction is a
of%wV l ?^°\ rathe F thaa ashamed
ot. fltw I ork Graphic.
The New York eanals will open oa the
fourth of May, fourteen days earlier than
neual. There is nothing like having a ra
form and