Ill ft: -# iw^^ CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY FROM Cornell University Library PS 2593.P4Y6 You don't say so :a short storv, jn *h'J """"""1924 622 OOS 069 Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022003069 (CMid ^ium, 'oim^ C/Daina^/eg. ■mf You DoNT Say SO: A SHORT STORY, IN WHICH IS INTERWOVEN A VERY BRIEF Compendium of Popular Ideas FOUND IN SOME. DOCTRINES. PLEASE READ THE PREFACE. VslarJ PUlt HAMBURG : ERIE COUNTY INDEPENDENT. 1877. TO HENRY H. OTIS, WHO PATIENTLY TAUGHT ME THE VALUE OF BOOKS, I EESPECTFULLT DEDICATE THIS LITTLE VOLUME. PREFACE. We have written this book for a distinct purpose, namely: to do good. We send it out as a little worker; and, although it appears to be dressed in garments of unseemly gayety, it is only done that it may become the welcome guest of a large number of readers, and consequently, do the more good. An. outline of the story part has been given you by a friend of ourS; and in regard to the plot and Arrangement we claim noth- ing unusual, for the story has been used only as a con- venient dress for Eternal Truth. The vital doctrines of some of the most popular creeds of to-day we have endeavored to sift with an impartial hand ; and the remnant is then held up to your gaze, that you may better judge of their respect- ive merits. We send out this little book to assail no man's doc- trine in a pugilistic «ense ; but if he find his doctrine mentioned in our little THEOLOGICAL COMPEND, (for that is the real nature of the work), we ask him, as a friend, to cqnsider the points made ; and if, in some expressions, we are very pointed, and seemingly rough, it is only that the truth may appear the plainer. We anticipate another question still; in fact, the question has been put to us by certain individuals* 6 PREFACE. "Why weave in the story at all; why not leave that out, and present the same truths in an abstract form ? " We could have done so with far less WORK AND EXPENSE, but the truth is, the very class of readers that we de- sire to reach do not practice reading truth in abstract form. The story is simply employed as a sugar coat- ing ; but the pill is there none the legs. It was a tantalizing study with us how to reach all classes: the young, the old, the thoughtful, the care- less, the lover of facts, and the superficial reader. Our aim has been that it equally interest all. We have planned that it be like that imaginary OCTAGON CASTLE, every approach of which appeared diiferently; or, in other words, that the Theologian may see the frame- work of his life-thought, the Atheist his representative endeavoring to plow rough seas with the frail bark of reason, the Spiritualist endeavoring to substantiate his belief by Scriptures, the Universalist pleading his cause in all its main bearings. • But in handling the above doctrines we have talked as we would to our neighbor or friend, for we do not believe in abusing any man because of his religious principles. Parts of the story to many may appear to border too 'much upon the ludicrous; but there is not a line that can be pointed out as objectionable by the most fastidious. ^ PREFA GE. REMEMBER, our aim in this is to reach the superficial reader with the truth. Again, there immediately follows the pathetic close upon the ludicrous. Some have shown their short- sightedness by asking why we have shown such incon- sistency, and have even hinted that it appeared irre- ligious; but is it not apparent to every thoughtful reader, that a mind first flooded with sunlight and then immediately with shadow is brought into the best condition for receiving the truth ? Now, we have given you the reason for the story form and the form of the story, that you may under- stand that our little book has something beside a superficial aim, and is worthy of your careful attention. Yours Truly, Ward Platt. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE. I. A Philosopher of the Old School,'. . 9 II. A Philosopher of the New School, . 16 III. In the Twilight, 29 IV. In the Sunlight, 36 V. A Ghost, 47 VI. A Bombardment, . 63 VII. Antipodes, 74 VIII. The Mystery Solved, 79 IX. Who Would Have Thought it, . . . 83 X. The Giant Slain, 92 XI. Deep, Deep Sleep, 100 XII. Was it a Dream, 108 XIII. The Curtain Drops, 113 XIV. Conclusion, 120 CHAPTER I. A PHILOSOPHER OF THE OLD SCHOOL. OU don't say so!" "Yes-sir-ee; there's no mistake; Fs a comin' > right by thar last night, and right up in the north-east tower, what's all covered with ivies, I seed a light a movin' round, and somebody in white movin' on the inside. The old owls was a screechin', and a lank hound set up a howlin', and a white boss was a croppin' grass under the trees : I could see a streak of light shinin' down the big staircase, 'cause them big center-doors, what aint been open fer ten years, stood wide open ; but jest as I looked, they gave such an awful slam ; why, the echo sounded like a bell a tolin' ; it jest started the sweat right out on me ; and ef I didn't jest make time at ween thar and the village! Why, I's never so scart in my life! I haint got over it yit! " " You don't say so ! Well, what have you an idea it was?" " Why, Mr. Barnabee, you know I'm a man uv no small narve; I never run, without I'm irizistihly in- clined ; and ordinary things don't set me off on a 2:40 heat ; but I was so shuck up last night, that all I can remember 'bout comin' home, is doin' it mighty quick! " " Well, didn't you hear any talking, Sandy, or any suspicious noises ? " " No ; but I thought, 'jest afore I got thar, that the wind was mournin' dreadfully; and the trees, as they kept noddin', made a kind uv a sobbin' sound with 10 TO U DON'T SAY SO. their branches ; I can't describe it ; but I suppose ef you'd a seed it, you wouldn't a pounded any more leather this week, 'twould uv kinder paralyzed yer so, jest to think uv it; but uv course it don't affect me; I've been through the mill." "Oh! bosh, Sandy; I presume if it had been me, I should have gone right in, and found some old codger trying to make himself comfortable for the night." " Yes ; but the horse, and the dog, and the doors open!" "Any gipsy would fill the bill." "Well, now, don't I know better?" " I suppose you'd know better, Sandy, if you hadn't got so awful scart." " I tell yer I wasn't scart ; I tell yer it's a kind uv an irizistible impulse, my runnin' was ; when I git kind o' scart it comes or, and I jest have to give right up : I's taken jest so 'bout ten years ago, when they was a draftin' fur the war and the doctor tole me then that he thought I had a kind uv an irizistible impulse to keep my spinal' colyum towards the south ; so you see I know what I'm talkin' about." "He! he! he! Sail dy, if you'll tell that story when t^ere are a few persons in here, some time, I'll take up a collection for you." "Well, now, see yere, Mr. Barnabee, ye seem to carry the idee that because I don't cut round, and wear a plug, and things accordin', that what I say don't amount to shucks ; but I suppose ef you'd take time to post yersetf, ye'd find I've said things that made folks open their eyes." "He! he! No doubt, Sandy, no doubt." " Well, seein' that yer so mighty smart, I'd like to have you account fer the illushun." "Why, call it an illusion, Sandy, that's it exactly." "Well, then, why couldn't yer believe me at first?" YOU DON'T SA Y SO. 11 " Because, you didn't talk as you do now. Illusim means you think you see something when it's all in yer eye; it's when a thing's all imagination." " Well, what's imi^'-ernation, but seein' awful things ? " "Yes; yes " " But, now, look a here, Squire Barnabe^, I want you ter understand, that when you throw contempt on my iarnin', you are disonerin' the grave uv my old father, over there in the church-yard ; fur I inherit all. any edication right frum him ; and yer always, in yer meetin's, talkin' about the Judgmint tew come; and that up thar everybody'll know all that everybody has knowed ; and now, Mr. Tobias Barnabee, I solemnly caution ye to quit yer daily slingin' of careless, sneerin' lafertations on my father's Iarnin', which is in me, or as sure as you find him at the Judgmint, he'll make it hot fur ye, 'cause he never fergits nothin'." "Why, Sandy! what's lafertations?" " Why, lapin', you fool ! Don't you know nothin' ? " Tobias spent the next moment in contortive convul- sions ; but, on recovering, he said : " Now, Sandy, what do you really think you saw up there, at the old Valancthen Castle ? " " Oh ! I don't perpose to set here an' make lafin' tim- ber fer ye all day. There haint no kind uv comfort talkin' to you. Squire ; you have a way, somehow, uv makin' a man feel like he's a lyin' all the time." " Why, no, Sandy." "Yes, yer dew; and I've got so I don't feel like makin' confidential friends uv anybody ; and you'd git me so in a little while that I'd trade myself off for an onsartain mule, that I'd be glad ter sell." " No! No, Sandy, no jokin', now; you must let your old neighbor, that sits here stitching and pegging, day after day, have a little something to laugh at. I can't ■ git out to see. anything ; tied right up here. Why, 12 YOU DON'T SAY SO. Sandy, you're about the only comfort I have. Just think of yourself in my place, Sandy." " That are's so, Squire ; the preacher said, last Sun- day, that we's all double-minded critters ; which proves we can't see but one side uv a thing at a time ; I'll try to be more considerit. Why, Squire, I don't know what I should a done, sometimes, ef I couldn't unload my burdened spirit to yew. It seems that it has been the will of Providence to let me hear and see stranger things than is perceptible to the nosed or gins of other men ; quense-contly, I find nobody to-o-o — Equivocate with. You come the nearest, Squire, 'cause our natures, yer know, kinder Jiarmonize; yours is — what — yer — calls — it — kinder anti-FO-dal to mine, the nearest uv anything I've found in this aqueous sp'ere." " Just so, Sandy, just^so." "And I've been thinkin', Squire, that every thing is horned inter this 'ere world in pairs. I believe every individual is calkerlated to have some other nater specially constructed for the undistinguishable purpose uv dove-tailin' inter his. Now, we lam these things from nater : It takes tew boots or shoes ter make a pair, tew hands ter work, tew feet ter walk, ah — a — a — tew men ter talk ; tliar, Squire, I made a rhyme ; tew folks fer a bargain, a weddin' or a fight. Ez the poet says : ' Tew ter make ready, and three ter go.' In ther grand reflux idee of farmin', it wuz decided by the Creator, afore Adim, thet tew men must go snucks in hurryin' times — in hayin, harvestin' and butcherin'. It takes tew horses ter make a pair, tew oxen ter make a yoke. -AH these things open up ther hyperbolical in- signifilcens to us students of nater ; and, Squ,ire, each sech representation speaks to us in powerful hiero- glyphics ; for instance, I's a drivin' my oxen down ro U I) ON' T SA Y SO. 13 from the north woods yesterday, with, a load o' wood, and how them critters'd just wee-waw along together! and when that old wagin'd settle inter a mud-hole, , they'd lean right inter the yoke until they'd lift 'er right out. Yer see. Squire, them oxen was fore- ordained, from the foundation of the world, to pull together; and so they don't feel like doin' no other way. I sez to myself, here's a lesson fur me : in these tew beasts I see the likeness of I and Squire Barnabee; Bright, he's . me ; and Buck, he's Barnabee. Bright's heels is jest like my temper ; they go up purty freely and awful suddint, and he's always a sheerin' out o' the road ; he won't keep thar a minute unless I wallop him right to it. That disposition in him is like my great investigatin' capacity. When I yell at hjip, he shakes his head and settles right back; jest like me, he won't be driv ; and. Squire, the harmonizin' con- trast atween you and Buck is wonderful. He's got that same study-like look on his features ez you have ;. and he's sech a companionable critter; he wants me to curry his neck, and bring him a lump of salt. And then, he's so forgivin'; when I get mad an' give him a clip with the but end, he looks up so kinder piterful and injured like, as much as ter say: 'Sandy, ain't yer absent-minded ? ' Bright, he's on t'other side. He's an orful comfort to me. Why! the other day I's out in the lot, and I got ter speechifyin', as we natcheralizers dew ; and. Squire, I wish I hed some uv them sublime gushes writ down in a book, but like the idle wind, they come and go, ez the poet says : 'Like sweetness oa the desert air,' and nobody knows their whereabouts. But as I was a sayin', I got to goin' it about the sun, and the moon, and the beasts of the field, and the fishes in the brook. I don't know nothin' about how long I talked; ez 2* 14 YOU DON'T SAY SO. Moses says, in the book of Genesis, I didn't know whether I was in the body or out of the body. I forgot every thing I knowed, and kept on talkin'; but by an' by I run down, and found myself makin' the points on my hand with the key what belonged in Bright's bow. Then I thought where I wuz, and wondered where the oxen wuz. Well, old Buck stood there, kinder trans- pired like, his head right up. He seemed, somehow, ter know that he bed been hearin' somethin' awful big. I never seed sech a look uv contemplation on a crit- ter's face afore. I cried out. Buck, I have got another sympathizer in you, you and Barnabee is jest alike ; I turned to look fur that investigatin' Bright; I wanted ter see the effect on him, but he'd gone, and after^okin' awhile, I found him down in the sowed corn ; he'd eat what he could and trampled down the rest. That's just the way with a good many folks; some likes to hear good talkin', but the most'd rather fill their stumicks. I've knowed Buck, after hearin' one uv my longest speeches, to set up a bellerin' jest ez if he'd somethin' on his mind he wanted ter tell, and the only way I could stop him was ter kinder draw off his mind from the subject, by feedin' him a couple of punkins. "Whew! Squire, I've been a goin' it so that I'm sweatin' considerable ; I must go out and git a whisky sling, or I'll ketch my eternal death. I wonder ef them oxen's standin' all right ? " Hereupon, Sandy went to the door just in time to discover a posse of mischievous young rascals, con- vulsed with laughter, disappearing around the nearest corner. They had fastened the (extremities of the tails of the oxen securely to the wood-rack — a painful test of their elacticity. The indignant kine were just start- ing off, all their latent energies aroused in rebellion against such shameful proceedings, dragging behind YOU DON'T SAY so. ' 15 the wagon, in kite-tail rati,o, a number of discarded household utensils, from a burnished copper boiler all the way down to a cast-iron tea-kettle. From the wagon floated a banner once white, on which was daubed, in very inebriated characters, "How's this for high?" Sandy was a trifle too late; the throttles to the energies of those animal engines were wide open ; madly they went bellowing down the street, their fright increased by the loud din of the household appendages. Sandy rushed after, flUing the air with terrible imprecations, mingled with : "Whoa! I tell yer Bright! »S'ifop 'em! Stop 'em! They'll brech m,y wdgin! They'll smash my wagin ! " The' sounds grew fainter and fainter ; as the caval- cade, followed by a score of delighted dogs, thuuj^red over a bridge, up a hill, and disappeared from sight on the other side. CHAPTER II. A PHILOSOPHER OF THE NEW SCHOOL. '' HE risibles of our shoemakei' friend are easily excited ; and not wisliing to wound San- dy's sensitive nature, he had exhausted all his forms of composure in the hearing of Sandy's natural- istic emanation. But viewing, from his door, the street procession, the great waves of laughter burst their bounds, and setting down upon his bench, he laughed, haw-hawed and giggled. You could hear the gurgles in his throat, that soon burst forth in successive volleys ; and as there came to his mind the declared symmetry between his nature and that of Sandy's ox, and of his exact counterpart whirling Sandy's wagon homeward, he leaned forward upon his knees, shak- ing with pent-up mirth, eyes streaming and mouth distended. Steven Emerson, suddenly opening the door with an unmended boot in his hand, found him thus, and made a hasty and an amused inquiry; whereupon, Tobias explained, and both then enjoyed a friendly round of uproarous glee. "Well," said Tobias, wiping his eyes with his apron, "funny things will happen in this world. (I wonder where my hammer is; I've got things scattered all round here in the fracas.) I, of course, don't want to laugh at any misfortune of Sandy's ; and those boys ought to be taken care of, but the seeing of 'em run, a man would have laughed at on the day of his funeral." YOU nON'T SAY so. 17 THE CHRISTIAN MAY LAUGH. "Why, Mr. Barnabee, isn't it a little against your creed to laugh so nauch and. so loud ? " "Not at all, sir; my creed says: 'flejoice,' and I say unto you, 'rejoice.'" "But, I thought it became the Christian to 'pray always.' " "Certainly; but the next sentence says: 'Rejoice evermore.'" " Then that is a contradiction in your Bible ; for you can't both rejoice and pray at the same time." " I know better, sir. I get to meditating here, some- times, on what a poor worthless creature I am. I won- der, sometimes, why the Lord lets me live; then I remember I live because 1 have a Savior, who liveth, and because he lives, I live also. Then I get to think- ing of what he has done for me. Why, sir ! I was a sinner whose just punishment was an everlasting hell; but he pointed me to Heaven ; and when I asked what right I had there, I seemed to see him pointing to his hands, to his feet, and to his side. Now, Mr. Emerson, who would die for any good man in this town ? But while we hated Christ, and were rebels, he died for us ; and our sins are not only forgiven, but, sir, we have a great change in our inward nature, from bad to good ; our natural tendency to do evil, becomes a tendency to do good; our hearts, once bowed down with dread apprehension of the future, are now filled with light, aiid peace, and joy inexpressible. Then, sir, we have a hope undefiled, and that fadeth not away, a hope that to us is a daily assurance that if aught shall strike off this clay, we rise into another sphere, far more enviable than the most desirable of earth. Why, I get to thinking, and say: 'Tobias Bar- 3 18 YOU DON'T SAY SO. nabee, what right have you to all these things ? Why, none, only that Christ gave them to me. For my sake he became poor, that I might become rich ; ' and I am, rich, not with Tnoney, but with that which money can not bwy. Why, sometimes I have to drop right down by the side of this old bench, and thank the Lord in prayer, and tears, and Psalm singing. Yes, Mr. Em- erson, I know what it is to pray and rejoice ; the Bible is all right there. But, sir, do you possess any of the joys of this religion?" "Well, no ; I can't say that I do, in the way that you express it." " Why, man, I don't see how you can live without it ! " THE PHILOSOPHY OF SALVATION. " Pray, sir, what is the philosophy of your religion ? " " Well, I will give it. First, the cause ; a needy peo- ple, that, by their own perverseness, were deep in iniquity and sin. There was but one of two things that could be done with these sinners in the court of Divine justice, they could either be punished or par- doned ; but pardon was preferred. Then there was a Savior reachiiig out to rescue helpless humanity. So we have for a cause, first, a needy people, second, g, ivill- ing Savior. The effect is, first, to all who accept these terms, a forgiveness of past sins, termed justifica- tion ; second, an entire change of nature from bad to good, called kegeneeation ; then, a heavenly, purify- ing, enlightening and uplifting process, termed sancti- FiCATioN ; lastly, an eternal Heaven of bliss." "But, now, are not your terms more or less figura- tive P Is there not a difference in the realization of those things of which you speak, and the ordinary things of life?" "No difference, sir, except in intensity. The spiritual YO U DON'T SA Y SO. 19 things are realized and perceived to a greater exterd than things material." " What ! Do you really present that as a doctrine to be tested?" "Most certainly, sir." "You said, I believe, that spiritual things are per- ceived in greater intensity than things material. The jive senses are a broad avenue of investigation for the physical perceptibilities ; but of the spiritual senses, I never heard." " Well, sir, then it is time that you had. We have the eye of faith — " "Beg pardon, sir, but that is a figurative expression." " Beg pardon, sir, but it is not. An eye perceives, is an organ to bring to the mind the nearness of a distant object. Now, sir, faith sees in the promises of God the presence of their promised value ; it discerns the pres- ence of the Kingdom of Heaven. There are things that the natural man can not understand, for they are spiritually discerned. Distance va&j deceive the natural eye ; but the eye of faith never fails in the detection of the presence of its Lord. The physical eye is the organ detecting the presence of things physical, and the spir- itual eye, of things spiritual; but as the latter sees farther, and with greater exactness, it brings to the mind a more intense realization of things within its scope than does the physical eye. Therefore, as I said, there is an eye of faith, which perceives with greater intensity than the physical eye." "But, I don't see those things as you do." " Ah ! may be you lack the eye of faith, Mr. Emer- son. If you would accept God's mercy, and come up on the sunny heights of 'pardoning love,' I don't think you would want to go down into the shadows again." "Well, didn't God make all of us?" 20 YO U D ON' T SA V SO. "Most certainly." THE FIRST MAN PERFECT. "Then why did he create us with capacities for sin- ning and tendencies to sin ? " "He did not create us thus." "Well, then, who did?" " We are so constituted, sir, that by the repetition of a wrong thought we actually create within ourselves a capacity and a tendency for doing wrong." "Yes; but, Mr. Barnabee, if a mind is created perfect?" " What do you mean by the word perfect ?" "Why, sir, without fault, or blemish, or weakness, well balanced, an exact counterpart of the mind of God." "You would hardly suggest such a perfection as that, Mr. Emerson, after a little thought, for if God created human beings as his exact counterpart in per- fection, they would also be Gods. The Pantheon of Greece would present a very small collection in comparison." "Then, Mr. Barnabee, God must have created im- perfect beings, and is himself accountable for the ' sins ' which you say we must give an account of I think there are some rather strange inconsistencies in your doctrine." " Ah ! Stephen, I see where your fault lies. It is in relation to the degree of perfection. Now, you notice the little stream that runs back of the shop. It waters the cattle in yonder pasture. It gives verdure to either bank, and life to the little fishes that live in it. Now, is not its mission perfectly fulfilled ? How could it do its work more perfectly, or be more perfectly fitted for its sphere? But, of course it is only a part of the GREAT OCEAN, which part has been raised by the sun's YOU DON'T SAY so. 21 rays, and transported by the winds to yonder hills, where, descending from the clouds, it forms the stream, that in turn wanders through many channels^ until it again reaches the great sea. Now, the mission of the great sea is to give a home to the monsters of the deep, to bear on its bosom the ships of all the world, to modify the climates of many coun- tries by its currents. But does the sea perform more perfectly its work than the little stream ? , Thus, you see both are perfect ; the only difference is in degree ; and thus we suppose the contrast to have been between man and God only in relation to degree. THE PERFECTION LOST. "But what's your doctrine about the fall of man?" " That man, sir, rebelled against God, and drove God from his nature by a single act of disobedience, and .was, consequently, left in 'spiritual darkness.'" " Yes ; but you introduce another figurative term." "No, sir; I mean just what I say, 'spiritual dark- ness.' If the ^un were to be put out, we could none of us find the way without a light ; and as humanity has all gone the wrong way, it proves them to be in darkness." "Why, Squire, you make such unqualified assertions! Now, that last assertion can be proved to be absolutely false!" "Well, sir?" " You stated that humanity had all gone the wrong way, did you not ? " "I did, sir." "You mean by that, as I understand it, that none without your religion have lived right ? " "I do, sir." . "What are you going to do with all the acts of charity that we 'bad' men do?" 3» 22 YOU DON'T SAY SO. " You do not perform any, sir." "What!" " I said you do not perform any." "Now, look here, Squire, I like to talk with you, for I think you are a sensible man in a great many things ; but I am sorry to see you so positive about matters of which you are entirely ignorant." "Please state your case, Mr. Emerson." " I went yesterday and called on Mrs. E-ankin, that poor lady, whose fatherless children are suffering from such a siege of illness. She said she didn't know what she should do for her next supply of any thing. I gave her ten dollars. She told me her God would bless me. Now, Squire, she and you must have differ- ent Gods, or the woman didn't tell the truth." " The woman said the right thing, Stephen ; but if God does bless you, he'll do it out of whole cloth, for it was not a deed of charity." "Why, Tobias Barnabee ! What ails you? Bilious?" WHAT IS CHAEITY? "Not a bit, Stephen; but listen: Charity is disin- terested love, uninfluenced motive, giving, not expect- ing to receive again, simply as a cheerful, Christian duty." " Well, I don't expect to receive any thing in return from the woman." "But, Mr. Emerson, there is an instinctive solicitude planted within the whole animal kingdom for each other. It is seen in the mutual defense of one class of animals against another, in the kindness and care of elephants for one another, in the noble exploits of the Newfoundland dog, etc. There is, also, a natural in- stinct implanted within the breast of man, which can not behold distress, but pity is felt. Some one relates a story, abounding in touching incident, and the tears YOU D ON' T SAY SO. 23 fall unbidden. Thus, you see, this instinctive regard for each other is only a display in man of what is seen in the rest of the animal kingdom.. It would hardly do to call th&t,charity, would it, Mi'. Emerson?" "Well, what is charity?" "Charity, sir, can be possessed only by immortal souls, entirely renovated. I .mean by that, such an attachment to mankind as will create within us an interest in the welfare of our enemies ; that bestows the kind word for the curse ; whose revenge is love ; which feeds your enemy, with a glad heart, binds up his wounds, and causes him to seem a brotJier. When he hurls his maledictions at you, you are not angry, but grieved for him. When charity goes forth to give, her heart is yearning to bestow a blessing somewhere ; it is the only way that she can get relief; and she gives for her own benefit, glad, also, if it shall help any one ; but nothing is more painful to genuine charity than to have her beneficence trumpeted abroad. Now, Mr. Emerson, under which of these two heads would you place your gift ? " " Oh ! well, Squire, you are a strange fellow ! " "Ah! you don't say so! But if I seem strange to you, how must you seem , to God, . Stephen, who has done so much for the salvation of your soul, and you so little for him ? " "Why, what kind of a man do you take me for?" " I take you for a lost sinner, Stephen ; and if you don't repent, you will be damned." "Don't swear, Barnabee." " Far from that, Stephen ; but I can't see how a man surrounded by the Bible privileges that you have been, from your youth up, could have been so careless about things spiritual." "Why, Squire, I thought you concluded I was get- ting too spiriiual." 24 YOU n ON' T SA Y SO. WHAT IS SPIRITUALISM f "Too much of a Spiritualist, Mr. Emerso;i, which is any thing but a spiritual man." • " Why, Mr. Barnabee, what makes you talk so rough?" " I do not, Stephen ; but the fruits of your doctrine prove it to be one of the most withering blots on this iniquity-scorched earth." "I'd like to have you prove that." " It needs no demonstration but the facts ; you that endeavor to keep to your faith, in the first place never have the same doctrine for two consecutive days, but are always fitting or bringing it down, and adjusting it to your daily practices." "What practices?" "Disregarding God's Word, the Sabbath, common- sense, and making a general pandemonium of society; and never praying, except to the devil." "Why, Squire, " " Now, hold on, Stephen ; you have attacked my creed, and my attack is against your creed, not your personality." "But, what do you mean by praying to the devil?" "I can produce certain copies of your 'Banner of Light,' and you may read prayers quoted verbatim, as given by some of your leading mediums, to the devil ; and in one invocation it is declared that you, as a sect, are hand in hand with him ; and as I never heard of a prayer offered to God by any of your mediums, and there are several printed by your own press offered to the devil, therefore, by the words of your colleagues, I declare your faith to be of Beelzebub." "But, Squire, we don't all do that." "Then why do you attend those large annual meet- YOU DON'T SA Y SO. 25 ings, where the most abominable of doctrines is taught, and take upon yourself their name, if you do not wish to be one of them ? " " Oh ! well. Squire, we all have our private opin- ions; and I presume if you had got as far along as some of us, you would see things differently." "As far along as some of your leading mediums, Stephen?" " I presume, Squire, if you were, your mind would be so filled with new ideas, and wider circles of opinions, that your new eyesight would pierce the circle of other stages of being farther on, and you go hand in hand with departed ones." "Yes, Emerson, I presume I should have my eyes opened, as the medium did in her prayer, and find myself hand in hand with the devil." " Oh, well. Squire, there is no use in being so antago- nistic on this point ; we get our faith from the saTne book" " Will you admit, Stephen, that you get your faith from the Bible?" "Why, of course. We don't pretend any thing else." Hereupon, the Squire took down his old leather- bound Bible, that he always kept near at hand, as a magazine of defense in points of argument, and quickly turning its leaves, read : "A man also or woman that hath a familiar spirit, or that is a wizard, shall surely be put to death: they shall stone them with stones ; their blood shall be upon them." — Leviticus xx. 27. * * * "also he observed times, and used enchant- ments, and used witchcraft, and dealt with a familiar spirit, and with wizards : he wrought much evil in the sight of the Lord, to provoke hijn to anger." — Second Chronicles xxxiii. 6. " Regard not them that have familiar spirits, neither 4 26 YOU DON'T SAY SO. seek after wizards, to be defiled by them : I am the Lord your God." — Leviticus xiz. 31. " And the soul that turneth after such as have famil- iar spirits, and after wizards, to go a whoring after them, I will even set my face against that soul, and will cut him off from among his people." — Lev. xx. 6. "And when they shall say unto you. Seek unto them that have familiar spirits, and unto wizards that peep, and that mutter : should not a people seek unto their God? for the living to the dead?"^ — Isaiah v-iii. 19. "Well, you must remember. Squire, there are a great many parts of the book that we reject." " Ah ! you don't say so 1 On what authoritj^ ? " "That of common sense." "Indeed! How is it, Stephen, that you, who. prob- ably have never read the Bible through in your life — and I presume nine-tenths of your brethren and sisters never read it systematically — have more common sense than many of the ablest men of the whole world, who have spent a life-time studying it, and left it as their clear conviction that these passages are genuine ? " "Ah ! probably they had some object in view," "I guess, Mr. Emerson, not as much of an object as you have in casting them out ; and if you are sure one part is not true, are you sure it is not all untrue ? and if so, what of your faith founded upon it ? " WHAT IS PHILOSOPHY? " But, Mr. Barnabee, we have the advantage of you in one thing, our faith is founded partly on philosophy and science." "Ah ! you don't say so ! What is philosophy?" "The reason of things, sir." "Well, sir, it must be a comfort for you to remember that philosophy has never yet given the primary rea- YOU D ON' T SA Y SO. 27 son for any thing." "Oh! yes, yes, yes, Squire; for instance, I elevate this piece of leather, and it falls to the floor. Now, Mr. Barnabee, what is the reason of that ? " "Well, you tell." "Why, my friend, the force of gravity," "Well, what's the force of gravity?" "Why, sir, the attraction of bodies toward the center of the earth." " Well, what is this attraction ? What is it Tnade of, and what causes its action?" "Why, Squire, it is a force impelling all bodies downward, composed of a great amount of power." "Well, what is this power?" "The force of gravity." "Well, whcd is gravity?" "Why, Squire, I just said, a power attracting all bodies earthward." "But the ELEMENTS, the ELEMENTS of this ^ower/" " Oh ! well, Squire, of course any one can ask ques- tions that another can't answer." " Well, so much for your philosophy. But you must be greatly comforted in the thought, Stephen, that sci- ence is still in her alphabet There have been more than one hundred once-established theories annihilated within a hundred years ; and if science is one of your corner-stones, where will that shortly leave you?" "Why, Squire, it's dinner time ; I must be going." "You don't say so!" " But have you heard of the strange doings up at the Valancthen Castle?" ".Why, Sandy was saying something about it to-day, but I thought it only one of his freaks. What are they?" "Well, Squire, if you would pay the place a visit some night, it would be one of the most powerful argu- 28 YOU DON' T SAY SO. ments for my faith that I can suggest." "Why, it must be a poor faith that offers its sug- gestions in the night time, in a deserted house." " Well, now, see here, Mr. Barnabee, will you go up there with me some night this week ? If you are not satisfied there is something in what I tell you, and also in my faith, I urge the thing no farther." "Well, say when." "Thursday night." " Tha,t's prayer-meeting night." "Well, Friday night." "All right. Call around at nine." CHAPTER III. IN THE TWILIGHT. " OU have probably asked, ere this, the name of our little town. We would rather not give it one ; but we desire you to locate it somewhere within fifty miles of H- — •. As you pass along its streets, you might make inquiry of some of the many venders of goods, who are doing so lively a business that the walks are lined with people, chatting, walk- ing and sight-seeing. About a mile awaj, crowning yonder hill, you see, towering in the distance, the old Valancthen Castle. It is a huge structure, of medieval architecture. The first impression one receives, is that of a wilderness of angles, with great, ivy-bearded towers, like grave sentinels, looking solemnly down on the little aristocratic town beneath. The present gen- eration has known of no one living there ; but old men tell of its grandeur, and life, and bustle, in the days of American chivalry; of the coaches that rolled up the drive, the blooded horses, and packs of keen- scented hounds ; of the time when General Scott and the Minister of Affairs from England visited the place; and of the sumptuous state dinners, at which there were generals, congressmen and book-writers. But now, the drive, so deeply rutted by carriages passing and repassing in those years that are gone, and gravel walks that wound among a profusion of foreign shrub- bery, are grass-grown. No hand of care has molested the weeds, or given shrub or tree encouragement to 30 YOU n ON' T SAY SO. flourish, for more than twenty years ; on every side is. the desolation of an entangled wilderness, so forbid- ding that children never enter to play there, and peo- ple in passing involuntarily shudder. In the night time one may behold surroundings so variable, so weird, so ghost-like, that the imagination could easily suppose it the dwelling place of all the traditionary spectres in the realm of memory; and the sights, and sounds, that have been seen, and heard, during the past few weeks, have fired the town with a fever of ex- citement. Orthodoxy shakes its head incredulously; but Spiritualism blossoms anew. You remember we started to walk through the streets of the town. As we pass along, there seems to be but one theme of conversation— the strange doings at the Castle. "There must be something in it," says one, "no one has lived there for twenty years ; and who would go there and make such demonstrations nightly ? " " Yes," replies another, " and how could they, if they had a mind ; for the spirit that comes out every night is taller than any three men, and his voice is like a thousand groans in one." But come, your curiosity is too much excited ; let us turn down this broad avenue to the left ; this is the aristocratic part of the town. You observe a few elegant residences, that would ornament any city ; this one, standing, so far back from the street, with such an imposing front but dilapidated surroundings, has a little history you would like to hear. You must, how- ever, let us take you back to 1870 for a commence- ment. It seems that about that time the proprietor of this establishment died, leaving a child-like wife and two daughters to endure the cold courtesy of the world. The mother had known this only as a summer resi- dence ; but being naturally of a retiring disposition, YOU DON'T SAY SO. 31 she disposed of the fashionable winter quarters in a neighboring city, and settled down to a life of melan- choly seclusion. But as soon as Belle, the older of the girls, had reached the age of sixteen, her mother thought it best that she acquire the accomplishments of society. The spring time was reveling in its first beauties as a carriage stood before the door one morn- ing. Belle, with tears she could not keep back, kissed mother and Aggie, and told them not to be lonesome ; it wouldn't be long until the holidays, and she'd come home then, and bring a gay little company, and scatter such a fragrance of life and jollity that it would cheer them for weeks. Had you seen her coming down the walk that morning, a glance would have told you that she possessed a peculiar superiority. Her manner of earnest solicitude, and command of self, seemed to fit her for the mother's place in that family; and that mother of forty years asked her advice in every thing and received enlightenment, which was never given with authority, but cheerfully, gladly, and always with competency. How they will miss her w]|ien she is gone ! When she tells them to be cheerful, it is as if a supporting elm, on taking its departure, should tell the ivies to keep on climbing. She enters the carriage, casts a bright, cheery look at the sorrowing ones ; the carriage door slams, the driver mounts to his box, and Belle is gone. But when she is alone, where it will give no one else pain, she relieves the ache of her own heavy heart by sobbing for an hour. * * * * Belle did come home during the holidays ; but the horses did not come dashing up the drive, nor was there a cry of welcome at meeting. The polished door opened, but some one opened it for heir. She entered the house, slowly, arrayed in a robe, snowy white reclining on an elegant couch, mahogany and satin, 82 YOU D ON' T SA Y SO. strewn with flowers- — anchor, cross, crown. Those flowers were heliotrope ; that robe was a shroud ; that couch was a cofiin. Belle Leland had not come home. The cage returns ; the bird has flown. Did you inquire in regard to the particulars ? Well, three months ago she was a favorite with teacher, class- mate, and every circle of society in which she mingled. One evening, the gay throng with which she min- gled was searching for the superlative of life, in suites of drawing-rooms for which fairy tribes might deign to exchange carpets of roses and lilied walls. The chandeliers flashed a wilderness of crystalline light above, but one person seemed to light every face beneath with his spirited conversation and elegant manner. Like Tamar's description of Hadad : "He can speak Of hundred-gated Thebes, towered Babylon, And mightier Nineveh, vast Palibothra, Serendib anchored by the gates of morning, Renowned Benares, where the Sages teach The mystery of the soul, and that famed Ilium Where fleets and warriors from Elishah's Isles Besieged the Beauty, where Memnon fell : Of pyramids, temples, and superstitious caves Filled with strange symbols of the Deity; Of wondrous mountains, desert-circled seas, Isles of the ocean, lovely Paradises, Set like unfading emeralds in the deep." His footsteps mark every foreign clime. Egypt has opened her wonderful pyramids to his curiosity, and yielded treasure; Babylon has spoken to him in a mysterious voice, and translated the mystical writings on her ancient cornices ; China has instructed him in the faith of Confucius, India in that of Brahma, and the little Bible that he sometimes opened, when a lonely Sabbath found him in the wilderness, has taught him of the faith of Jesus Christ. But now he YOU DON'T SA Y SO. 33 has returned, laden with the treasures and fruits of research, saying to himself: " There is no God." That night, at the soiree of Mme. Chevois, was his first appearance in society since his return. He pos- sessed much ease of manner, tinged with a dignity of reserve ; and was quite prepossessing. His features were striking, not handsome ; intuitively the beholder is attracted by their outline of mysterious symmetry. He whisp.ered a desire for an introduction. The next afterndon Belle passed him on the street ; he lifted his h^t ; there was something about the man that thrilled her as he passed. Next day the bell rang. He sent up his card. Her aunt said : " Proper, by all means ; " and so she chatted with him an hour in the parlor. Subject matter was not wanting ; he so philosophical, she so intensely womanly. They said, at the next door, that he called every week for several. But by and by a carriage came two or three times a day, bringing a man who carried drugs — a doctor. As he came out one morn- ing, he met Hugh on the stairway, and slowly shook his head at his earnest inquiry. Hugh tapped at the sick-room door; a weary watcher motioned him to enter ; he did, as one who caine anxiously and often, and, with voice tremulous in tone, asked : "How's Belle to-day?" " I haven't felt so well for weeks. I'm getting well. They looked so anxious, yesterday, and the doctor came so many times— I don't know — why, I thought — really thought, once, I was to die. I could not think of it — why, I'm so different this morning; there isn't any more pain — but there is a strange — Won't you ring for aunty to come up ? I guess. Aunty, you had better bolster me up with the pillows. Don't write to mother ; I'm so much better ; mother weuld worry so. What makes you look so frightene^. Aunty? — Hugh, 5 34 YO U DON'T SA Y SO. why don't you smile, and tell me you're glad I'm get- ting well? — Isn't the room too dark, Aunty! — Raise me a little higher. Why don't you, Aunty ! — Where are you, Hugh ! — Oh ! — what is this ! — Is it — is it — Oh! God, I'm dying! — Why I — I can't die now! — Hugh, what makes you let me die ! — Oh ! God, how dark it is! — I can not — oh! I can not — I am not ready!- — Hugh, take my hand in yours; stay close beside me — there! Oh! Aunty — Hugh — you've told me so many things, but you never told me how to die ! Oh ! if you — only had — if you only had " The minister of the Church of the Messiah, Univers- alist, stood at her bedside. He spoke in melodious, measured tones : "Jesus is merciful; he will take care of you. Do not be troubled." "But, oh! I don't feel so!" "Never mind the fear ; trust all in Him." " But, oh ! my sins ! " "He will not speak of them." "But why don't He come and help me now! My sins I " "But, little one, your sins are not many." '■' Oh ! I always thought so, but I count them by the thousand now. Quick ! quick ! what shall I do ? " " Trust in Jesus." " But, there's something else ; there's something else ! Won't somebody pray ? Hugh, why don't you pray ? Too late ! — too late ! — If you had only told me ! Oh ! Jesus, have mercy on me, for they never told me. My sins — Jesus take them " and on her face there fell a radiance of peace, and from her lips a faint whisper, "Oh! God, I thank thee." Two years have rolled on, and time has given relief YOU DON'T SA Y 80. 35 to lacerated hearts, and grasses to lonely graves ; but now there Is another solemn assemblage at the man- sion. The minister reads from his ritual. The car- riages wend their way slowly down the street, and Belle Leland is to be lonely no longer, for her mother lies down to sleep beside her. But Agnes, the orphaned one, of stony grief, the only one left ! How lonely for her ! Two years more have swept by. The mansion is lonely. How could one live there alone ! How could she ! And so her uncle, farther up the avenue, asked her to be his little Agnes. She went, and then to the school where Belle was to have been educated ; for she must needs become accomplished. CHAPTER IV. IN THE SUNLIGHT. jGNES has finished school. She comes home ^ to-day. The carriage starts at an early hour for the cars. An errand is to be done by the way. Her uncle alights, ascends a stairway, at the foot of which you may read, on a sign, with a finger pointing upward : "Hard & Getchel, Law Office." "Good morning, Leland, good morning. Out for your health? What can I do for you, to-day, old boy?" " Hard, have you that mil on file ? " "Certainly. You never knew the firm of Hard & Getchel not to have every thing on file, and not able to file their way through seeming impossibilities." "Well, I've got some more filing for you to do." " You don't say ! " "Yes. Show me that will." Upon this, Hard threw his half consumed cigar out of the window, shouted for the boy, and pointed lazily to a row of packages, on a high shelf, saying : "Hand down that bundle, Johnny, marked fifteen." "Hurry, Hard, I must reach the next train." "Oh ! going out of town?" "No ; oh ! no. That girl is coming home to-day." " Humph ! You don't say so ! How old is she ? " "Eighteen, last Wednesday." "I thought she was but sixteen." "No, sir ; eighteen is her age." YOU DON'T SAY so. 37 "Here, Johnny, put these papers right up again. There isn't any use of. looking at the will." "Well, now, may be there is." "Why, Lel,and, I , understand the case perfectly. If she had died before she was eighteen years of age, the property was to be settled upon you and your heirs forever; but, after she reaches that age, which she has, you say, she comes into possession of the prop- erty,, and can dispose of it as she sees fit. By the phraseology of the will, she can select her guardian, and do it to-morrow, too, in spite of all the lawyers in Christendom." "Well, Hard, what can I do?" "Why, do nothing. You can't touch her property, any more than you can mine. But, see here ; there's Guy, that wild boy of yours, he needs a common-sense wife, don't he? Do you see? Do you see? That's your last card." Agnes wondered why her uncle kissed her so coldly, and why he jested so much about the fellow she had in the city. She never had heard him talk so before. The next day, Guy asked her to take a drive. She never before had known her cousin so attentive, and she was much surprised at the change in him. As they were riding by the old Castle, Guy asked her how she would like to live there. She remarked that it was too large and too lonesome. "They say, Aggie, there are ghosts here every night." "Then I guess I must come up some night. I would like to see a ghost." "You're a strange chicken! You'd better buy out the whole thing, and stay here, and you'll see ghosts enough. Say, Aggie, what are you going to do with all of your money, now you're eighteen?" " Oh ! I don't know. I must get a guardian^ I sup- 38 YOU DON'T SA Y SO. pose," and the girl sighed as though, had the money been left to some one else, it wouldn't have been her duty to take care of it. "Just like you to marry some poor fellow, and give him the whole pile." . "Oh! Guy, I'm never going to marry." "Youaint!" " No ; I never can." "Why?" "Because, I couldn't do as I've a mind to. You ought to see what a time aunty has with her husband." "Well, get a good one. How would I suit you?" " Oh ! you're my cousin." "Now, be honest, Aggie. How would I suit you? Would you say yes, if I should ask you in earnest f" " Oh ! you wouldn't ask me" "Well, but suppose I did?" "Oh ! I'd be so sorry to have you make sport of me like that!" " Now, Aggie, really ! I am in earnest ; I want you to be my wife." " Oh ! Guy, don't talk so any more ; I don't like to have you — Say! have I ever told you about Belle? I never knew until aunty told me one afternoon. Belle was to have been married ; she had it all arranged to come home and tell us ; and aunty said he was such a splendid fellow. How strange that Belle didn't write to us about him ! After she died, he went away to Europe, and aunty thought it very strange that the death of a girl like her should blight his life so. But, oh I there was nobody, except mother, and I, and he, that ever knew Belle. I wonder if I'll ever meet him, and have a talk with him about her. I really believe, Guy, she was too good to live ; but aunty said, she died so strangely. Guy, do you believfe religion makes people die better ? "- YOU DON'T 8A Y 80. 39 "Oh! I don't know. You going to be religious?" "Yes ; I would, if I knew there was any thing in it." " Why, you go to church every Sunday, don't you ? " "Yes; but it don't seem as though it makes any difference, or we do any thing but hear Dr. Gilmore talk about history and angels. What is the name of our Church, Guy?" " Messiah Universalist " " Why I Because it is universal ? " " No ; but because it teaches that every body'U go to Heaven when they die," " Do you believe that, Guy ? " "Why not?" " But, if God does right with all the murderers and wicked people, will he let them into Heaven, just as they are?" " Why, you know God is merciful ; he will forgive them." " But, how will that make them any better ? " " Oh ! I don't know ; Gilmore says its all right, and I don't bother my head about it. We pay him one hundred dollars towards his salary; and if he gets enough to get us to Heaven, that's his business how it's done." "I hope Belle hasn't gone to such a mixed Heaven. I believe God would do well by her, she was so nice ! Wouldn't she make a splendid angel, Guy? I'm going to pay Dr, Gilmore a hundred dollars a year, too ; I want to do what's right." "You'd better not scatter your money too freely. Sis." " It's Tnine to scatter." The next day being Sabbath, Agnes wondered', at breakfast, what she €ould devise to relieve the terrible dullness. She told Guy, she thought she'd go to church all day. He dryly observed : 40 YOU DON'T SAY SO. " You'd better put in a Sunday school besides." She was glad he suggested it, and asked him if he would go, too. Not he ; he'd got other business ; going to drive and to sleep. If she'd ask the minister to pray for him, it would be just as well. " Faith ! an' ye may sind fur him to do that self- same thing yit ! " "Heigho ! Biddy, what Church do you belong to?" "The Protestant Church, yer honor." "I thought you were a Catholic, Biddy." "I was, but the good Lord, he showed me a bother way." "Where is your Protestant Church, Biddy?" asked Agnes. "Around on Summer Street; and ef ye'll go there to-day, Miss, it'll do yer soul good." The Sabbath bells soon began their morning call : "Come from things of earth, and glance devoutly heavenward." As Agnes walked slowly along, she thought their music never had sounded so sweetly before. She had heard them toll twice, and they sounded so solemn that she never wished to hear them toll again. The sun shone down in earnest, this first Sunday in April, and the swelling buds gave a fra- grance to the air of spring. The bees hummed dreamily, and that holy silence, which sometimes broods over the earth, was brooding then, all throb- bing with the deep-toned : " Come, come, come," of the bells. The sounds, and the silence, crept into her heart as she strolled on? and created a strange medley of thought. What did it inean, that so many bells should ring, so many people go to church, so many men preach, and there be so many Sunday schools, if there was nothing in this religion ? Why had no one told her about .it ? She would inquire, and see what there was in it. YOU DON'T SA Y SO. 41 She went into the church, slowly walked part way down the aisle, when some one politely offered her a seat. It was Squire Barnabee. Sunday school had just commenced. She had been there but a few mo- ments, when the same gentleman came and asked her if she would be so kind as to hear the lesson of a class of little boys, only the third seat front. She looked up a little startled, and replied that she would be glad to do so, but she did not know how. "What I you have been in Sunday school before?" "No, sir; I never attended Sunday school." "Why, my child!" "I'm not a child, sir." " I know ; but you see that is a way Uncle Barnabee has of talking. Now, you have come to a good place ; I'm so glad to see you here. Will you come into my Bible class?" "Certainly, sir." "I suppose you have not found out the great joy there is in believing?" "No, sir ; I came to-day to find out about it." " You did ! Dear child, come right along." But a few moments had passed before Agnes was all aglow with interest in the lesson: "Christ healing blind Bartimeus." "You notice," said Mr. Barnabee to the class, "the first lesson for you is, that he called to Christ, and, because he was not answered at first, he called again, and kept on calling until Christ answered. Will the young lady tell us what happened then?" " They tried to keep him from calling, sir," answered Agnes. "Do you think," asked the teacher, "that if he had listened to their advice, he would have been healed ? " "No, sir ; not unless Christ had come because of the first call." 6 42 YOU D ON' T SA Y SO. "But remember, little one- " I'm not a little one." "No, no ; but all the class know their Uncle Barna- bee's way of talking. May I talk to you as I do to my class?" "Yes, sir; for I'm coming every Sunday until I find out about religion." " That is right ! Thank the Lord ! Now, we learn from the man's calling to Christ many times, that the deterrmnation to be healed was in his heart. Christ looks upon the heart. If you should call but once on Jesus for salvation, and stop right there, it would not show much determination on your part. He only wishes to see that you are determined to be healed, and he will heal you. Now, thirdly, he threw away his gar- ments, that there might be nothing to impede his com- ing. So must we cast away every thing that may hinder our footsteps." Thus the lesson went on, full of interest and spiritual direction. When the class had finished, Agnes was asked to come again. She replied that she would be willing to pay the tuition of a course of lessons, if she could have the privilege of coming. "Why, child, what do you mean?" exclaimed her teacher. "Why, sir, I can pay for my lessons. I would not ask to come without doing that." The old man's eyes filled with tears ; he exclaimed : "Ah! little one, hasn't anybody told you how free the Gospel is?" "Never, sir." "Well, now, you stay at church and hear about it." "May I sit with you, sir?" "Why, yes, yes, yes," said the Squire, as he led the way up the aisle, wiping his eyes, and saying to him- self: "Poor thing, she's almost into the Kingdom. YOU DON'T SA Y SO. 43 Dear Lord, help the child." There was a flutter of excitement in the congrega- tion, when it was known that the heiress of half a million was at church; and could it be possible? sitting with Tobias Barnabee, the shoemaker ! Agnes wondered what the people were looking at, and what they saw in her to admire ; but she soon overcame the unpleasant feeling, for her guardian seemed as attentive as a kind old father. They both sang from the same hymn book, and Squire Barnabee thought he never before had heard such a beautiful voice. Sandy, who pumped the organ, nearly ruined the instrumental part of the first hj'^mn, because he was so "transpired" by somebody's singing below. Agnes thought the preacher would tell them they were all to be saved, and speak of the mercy of God, and the whole story would be told. The text for the morning was : " Why stand ye here all the day idle ? " Agnes became wholly absorbed in the subject. She heard her Master's voice, saying : " Come home, weary one, come home ; " but he also pointed her to vast fields of work she had left undone. Someho^v, there was a great load upon her heart. She must get relief in some way. She bowed her head, and asked God how she could find him. She silently told him that, like blind Bartimeus, she could not see the way, and prayed that he would come to her, or send some one to lead her. When the service closed, she lifted her eyes, full of earnest inquiry, and looked pleadingly into the old Squire's face. He Spoke tenderly to her ; there were tears in his eyes, as he said : "Little one, I know just how you feel." "Oh! do you, sir?" "Yes; I felt just so once myself." "You are a stranger to me, sir; would it be wrong to ask ho^w you got relief ? " 44 YOU DON'T SA Y SO. The old man was entirely overcome. As most of the people had passed out, and Agnes was still standing in . the slip, he sat down, sobbing and crying like a little child. The minister, in passing out, stopped and gave an inquiring look. "Why, bless your soul. Elder Gray, here's a poor little stray lamb that's hunting for the good Shepherd, out on the bleak hills, all alone, and has come to the service, to-day, on purpose to find the way," said Squire Barnabee. The minister inquired her name, gave a start of sur- prise on hearing it, and, on further inquiry, found her earnestly desiring salvation. He asked her and Squire Barnabee into the little inquiry-room, and knelt in prayer. Agnes tried to follow him, and tried to pray, herself, thinking she might then become a Christian. After being seated, again, the Squire asked her if she had the vritness that her sins were forgiven. " Please, sir, what do you mean by the vntness ? " "Why, child, when you come to the Lord, and tell him all you want, he will send you an answer." " Pray, how, sir ? " " He will not write you a letter, or speak so that you can hear Him, but you will know it." Then she asked him to pray, and ask God for what she needed ; and the old man, with sobs and tears, told God all about it. Oh ! how he pleaded that God would let her know, right there, what a Savior he was. It seemed as if his soul was being breathed out in peti- tion, and his great heart bursting with pity. When he said "Amen," Agnes was praying : "Oh ! Lord, won't you show me the way? I would have sought for it before, if any one had told me. Won't you tell me. Lord, that my sins are forgiven ? That's all I know of, to ask. Won't you, Lord ? Oh ! YOU D ON' T SA Y SO. 45 Lord, if they only knew the way. I love everybody ! You asked me, this morning, about the 'peace in believ- ing,' Mr. Barnabee. Wasn't it because your heart was full of love, and you couldn't help but ask ? Now, Mr. Gray, what must I do next ? " "The Scripture tells us that we must be baptized; then i advise you to unite with some Church." "Shall I be baptized to-day?" The minister smiled and explained to her his meaning. "May I join your Church?" "Why, to be sure, if you wish. We are happy to have all join with us who desire." "Oh! sir, if you'll let me, I'll pay you the price; and, Mr. Barnabee, if you will let me sit with you, I'll be perfectly happy." The minister looked startled for a moment ; then he explained, farther, the freedom of Christ's Gospel, "no compulsion, no exactions of money." As Agnes went home that day, she wondered if the Lord had created the world all anew, while she was at church. She stopped to speak to several truant boys, and obtained promises from them to attend her Sun- day school. She stooped to kiss a little ragged girl, and to slip some money into her soiled hand. Many turned and looked, as she passed them, wondering what news she had heard that lighted her face so beautifully with smilea She went bounding up the steps, and found Guy dozing in the west parlor, his boots buried in damask upholstery. "Oh ! Guy, I've found out all about it ! I've got it, Guy, I've got it ! I'll tell you all about it, for I know you want to know. " Guy started up in wonderment, exclaiming : " Good heavens ! Aggie, where have you been, and what is the matter?" 46 YO U D ON' T SAY SO. " I've been to the church that Biddy recommended, and I've found religion. Guy, believe me, I've fomvd it!" " Why, girl, you're wild ! You're crazy ! " " No, Guy, no. Listen ; let me tell you." Guy sat in mute amazement, while she talked on, telling him all about it; how she was to join the Church, and whom she was to sit with. "What ! old Barnabee, the shoemaker ! Now, Aggie, do stay at home, after this, if you can't go out without making a fool of yourself. I can't see what on earth — Why, child, don't cry so; I don't mean to be hard with you ; but that thing is all out of tune for a girl of your stamp." "But, Guy, he's good." " Good ! Who said he wasn't ? But he hasn't the statnps!" " Oh ! Guy, how cruel for you to talk so ! " " Now, see here ; do you intend to follow this thing up every Sunday?" " Certainly. Why not ? Why should money make such a difference?" Guy went out of the room muttering, and slammed the door behind him. Agnes was so startled and grieved that she could do nothing but sob for an hour; yet, beneath all the bitter disappointment and wounds the words had made, there was a world of sunshine. Guy went and held a long talk with the Rev. Gilmore, of the " Church of the Messiah Universalist." CHAPTER V. A GHOST. ' HE hour having arrived, the Squire leaned his great brown cheek on his hand, and his elbow on his knee. He wondered whether or not he was about to make a fool of himself; but he felt that there was an object in view. Emerson had pledged himself that that night's revelations should be the standard and the trial test of his faith ; and if the Squire could not breathe in enough sepulchral atmosphere, and stamp his optic nerve with photo- graphs indelible, to prove Spiritualism a stern fact> the operation was to be considered as impossible, and the ten legions of angels and devils a thin smoke. " Who knoweth what a day may bring forth ? " The Squire quoted this to himself, considering that the next few hours were to reveal things momentous ; for Emerson was the leading medium of the etherial sect in that town, and the Squire reasoned thus : "If the chief bugler in the band should suffer the aflBiction of the splitting of his bugle, then all the attendant musicians would blow an uncertain sound. Now, I wouldn't smash any man's music-box without making reparation ; but when a man sticks it under my nose, and invites a trial of its inside harmony, I don't know as there'd be any hurt in making a little music, especially if it should win some soul to the battle front of truth ; and if the playing of one ortho- dox tune can tear all the internal apparatus completely 48 YOU D ON' T SA Y SO. loose, pulverizing it so that it could be blown from the small end of the horn, may be the tune had better be played ; for it would be better to have Emerson's Spiritual bugle ruined here, where he can procure a better one, than to have his soul go marching on for- ever, playing: 'Lost, lost, forever lost.'" The Squire's meditations were interrupted by an apparition in the doorway, saying : "Good evening. Squire, good evening." " Why, Sandy, how are you ? I didn't know but you were dead." "Well, I am as well as possible-stances will pertain. You know I was ushered out of this shop day afore yesterday a leetle tew lively, and ejected myself down the street a leetle tew fast fer my rheumatic elements ; but thank Providence, I'm yet on airth, meraculously upholstered by luck and pluck favor." "Well, Sandy, I would have laughed if every thing had smashed, for " "Now, Squire, that 'ar grieves me ; it cuts me to the marrer ; laughed if I'd hed my wagin bruck, the one as I traded fer with Josh Pickard, gin him $24.80 ter boot ; an' my busum friend tells me that ef he'd a seen that $24.80 wuth all hilter-skilter in the gaunt arms of dust-structibility, he'd laugh ! " "Wait, Sandy, wait; I said, or meant to have said, that the sight of the oxen and you, making for home at such a tremendous rate, was more than I could stand. You know, Sandy, we all have risibilities ; and when they are excited " "Yes, yes, Squire; I see, I see. I kinder snickered all tew myself, arter I got home, all settled down quiet ahind the stove. But, Squire, did yer ever think of the philosophic conservation uv that word ris-BiB-41-or-dy ?" "Risibility, Sandy?" YOU DON'T SA Y SO. 49 " Don't interrupt me, Squire ; the Scripture hez said : Out uv the mouths of babes and sucklin's shall wise things be said ; which is, I believe, in Ebenezer's let- ters to the Colippians. My sergacious interlect hez jest this minute pierced the gloom that hez surrounded this word, ris-RiB-il-or-dy, and. Squire, I give you the consequences: You see, these words' all come from some trick, or act, or dido, of mankind, Now, jest as you spoke thet word. Squire — one I never heerd afore — I just lashed up my — auger-ties, to bore right to the foundation ; and, Squire, I've struck bottom. My master interlect hez fit the fight, an' the victory is got. Squire, ef ye'll let down thet window a leetle at the top, fer a leetle more air, I think I can pump up suthin' bigger'n Jonah's whale did. There, that'll do. As I was a sayin' — 'heim — 'em — our words come frum the inside feelin's of the soul, and a birds-eye view of this luger-bous word, loaded with the smell of ages, brought down to this identical pint of time, waited ten thousand years tew hev its meanin' got at in 1876, the grand Centenny Year, by the naterlizer, Sandy Mc- Lure, in Barnabee's shoe shop, is em-mense — a leetle more air. Squire. Ez I was a sayin' — ris-KiB-or-I'll-dy comes frum the antics of some man. You know, Squire, thet we students of nater hev observed thet to laugh the ribs must rise, and if they didn't, it would kill a feller j and I suppose, sometime, in some place, a man was full uv snorts and giggles, an' couldn't rise his ribs, and he shouted out — I hear his voice comin' down the staircase of oblivion — rise-my-RIBS-or-I'll- DiE ! and frum thet very proberble transaction, ariz the word ris-sie-or-I'll-die. Oh ! the majestic animal- cule power of the demi-quavers of my brains ! " Just here the Squire threw up his arms and gave vent to his pent-up mirth by a roar of laughter that was answered by the dog in the next yard, and people 7 50 YOU B ON' T SAY SO. passing stopped to listen." "Ah! Squire, I knowed you'd see the pint : I'm glad you've hearn one of my spontaneous irruptions, cause you git a better idee uv my father's diminyertive larn- in', which is in me." Sandy wiped his forehead, with the air of a man that had just discovered a new continent. Putting his. hand on his knee, and making a right-angle with his elbow in the air, he leaned solemnly forward, omi- nously shaking his finger in the face of the Squire, who was wiping away the scattered tears of his joyous reception of the new discovery. "Squire, ef the simple flickeration of a flash of light frum the bonfire that blazes inside uv my soul stirs you up like that, what would ye dew ef ye had the fire hot within ye, all the time? And, Squire, I've come to a new conclusion, and that is this, my poor frail body don't hold all the powder. The departed spirits of all the natcherlizers that's dead is actin' on my soul. In me is the grand conflux of larniu', poured from ten thousand minds, who hev gone on before ! " " Why, Sandy, you a Spiritualist ? " " Call it what you've a mind ter. Squire ; I am the majestic orgin through which the oblivious natcher- lizers uv the past ten thousand years is a blowing their concentrated brains, at the present time ! " And Sandy, as long and lank as a blow-pipe, settled back, arched his eye-brows, and folded his hands, resigned to the martyrdom of being the sepulchral mouth-piece of all the naturalists in hades, who wished to furnish to the world an appendix to their works. Thus Sandy and the Squire conversed until the little bronze clock, with its ornamental sea urchins on either side, struck the hour' of nine. Just then Stephen Emerson thrust his head within the door, nodded a good evening to Sandy, and asked the Squire if he YOU DON'T SAY so. 51 was ready. Barnabee slowly drew on his thick boots, folded his apron like a man who never expected to wear it again, drew his low-crowned beaver firmly down to his ears, and buttoned his great coat carefully about him. All this was done with the careful exactness and delibera- tioh of a knight preparing for combat or tournament. Grasping his knotty cane from the corner, h6 turned and looked Sandy, who was sitting in silent amaze- ment at the singular proceedings, full in the face. " Well, Sandy, you going ? " "Goin'whar?" •: "Up to the old Valancthen Castle." "What fur?" " To see what's wrong up there." "Now, look a here. Squire ; we've alius knowed each other ; we're buzzum friends. Ez you well know from "my experience up thar, I advise yer not ter go. I tell yer, Squire, when hands thet reaches down from above gits hold of a feller, they don't let go." " But, I asked you if you are going, Sandy." "Now, Squire, dew hear to reason: ef you go up thar, and are sepulchrized inter a mummy, an' dried down inter a walkin'-stick fer one uv them fellers thet makes the night melodious with howlin', and yer spirit is squeezed from yer body, and is obliged to go taggin' round after theirs, a waitin' on 'em. There's no use uv your tryin' to rise to Heaven, Squire, ef you git in with them critters once, fur the law uv the tribe of ghosts is, 'Keep all ye've got, and git all ye kin.' It's hard enough, Squire, to be the sewer-pipe, as I am, fer the spirits of larned men ; but I don't think I could stan' it twenty-four hours to be a galley-slave to a lot uv rank, peramblin' ghosts." "Hold up, Sandy, do you want to go ?" Sandy dropped his face into the palms of his hands ; 52 YOU DON'T SAY SO. and there was a pause of a few minutes, in which he gave vent to a few sepulchral groans; he then rose hastily, pushed his hair back nervously with distended fingers, set his two rows of tobacco-smeared teeth together like adamant, his eyes gradually assuming huge proportions. The whole terminated in his bring- ing his foot down on the floor with a vengeance that made every thing in the shop jingle. "Sandy," said the Squire, hanging up one or two implements that had fallen down, "the sidewalk is the safest place for such doings." "Squire^let's not have any triflin' words ; this is a tryin' time ; this is a solemn matter ; the battle am fit, and the victory am got. I go, 'cause. Squire, the world's nothin' without you. Ef them ghosts hustle you into their crowd tew keep 'em company, I'm goin', tew ; but. Squire, the phygercal nater is a little rebell- ious, an' why I stamped so, was to crush the fears uv the flesh beneath my feet." Emerson, who had been watching Sandy in a half curious manner, mingled with seriousness, at last asked him where he got his strange ideas. Sandy shook his head ominously, and silently pointed upward. Emer- son looked at Barnabee with a glance that said : " How can you get around that?" The Squire went out the last of the three. He locked the door, and started down the street like a man who had hardly time to catch the next train. Sandy still stood on the steps, hat awry, ruminously scratching with his forefinger over his left ear, and exhibiting the nervousness of a canine who sees a piece of meat elevated to a doubtful height, and, by his dancing and whining, seems to say : "Shall I, or shan't I?" At last, he ran after the party with his long, loping gait, which tossed his head 'like the mast of a ship at sea, shouting : YOU DON'T SAY SO. 53 "Hold up, Squire, hold up !" The Squire kept straight on, till even Emerson won- dered at his mechanical silence. Now they come to a corner, and the Squire stops. "Let's see, Emerson, I haven't been out of the shop in so long, I'm turned round." "Turn to the left, Barnabee." Away went the Squire, like a soldier marching to -the quick time of "Yankee Doodle." Emerson followed next, with a quick, nervous step, but with the air of a man who had in charge a couple of amateur sky- gazers ; while Sandy, trotting, walking and^umbling; brings up the rear. The roads are deep with mud, for it is early spring. The trees have not yet put forth their buds, and every thing has that bareness that nature wears imme- diately after the last traces of snow have gone. The moon, just rising, looks cheerily down with her quaint face as an encouragement to the earth to hurriedly res- urrect her spring-time beauties, by night as well as by day, while she held the candle. The sidewalks are left behind, and one must pick his way along by the fences; and to escape an overflowing guttet, the ad- joining field is resorted to. Tobias Barnabee does not abate his walk in the least. Emerson asks him if he is in a hurry; and Sandy declares such crookin', and turnin', and plung- in'll unscrew his equilibrium. "Squire," he remarked, "I think it's good for you I come." "Why, Sandy?" " 'Cause, ef them spirits don't monoperlize us, and if they will eject us once more inter the land uv the livin', you'll have somebody tew give the philosophy uv what yer seed." . "Exactly, Sandy, exactly." 7* 54 YOU D ON' T SA Y 80. "Mr. Emerson, did you ever hear one uv my with- erin' combustions ? " "I never did, Mr. McLure. What do you mean by that?" "Why, one uv my loud medertations on nater. I kinder feel the symptoms now. You know thet old adverb thet sez, like hunts fer like ; and when they come together, I s'pose there's a great recussion. The masterdonical minimum uv my mole-cular mind com- mences now tew breathe in the air, the concentrated mysteries uv that gobblish Castle up there, an' my caperbilities begin to hev thesensation ez if they hed swallered a pint uv 'Twin Brothers' yeast.' But just here, Mr. Emerson, I'd like tew ask you the difference atween a gobbler and a ghost. I've seed a ghost, but I never seed a gobbler." ^ "What !" retorted the Squire, "a goblin, Sandy." "Well, now, what's the difference, Mr. Barnabee?" "A good deal of difference, Sandy, about Christmas time. I think after you'd baked a goblin, there would not be much of any thing left but the stuffing." On they walked, until they came to the foot of the low hill that rises slowly upward, a quarter of a mile, to the Valancthen Castle. Here Sandy paused, and suggested a council of war. The Squire sat down, for a moment's rest, on an old log. Sandy climbed the fence, and standing upright, stretched his neck to all points of the compass, like a crow in a forbidden corn- field. He snuffed the air in a graphic manner, and his sensibilities seemed to have studied the symptoms of the presence of ghosts for a Century. " I tell yer, Squire, we'd better be a little precautious. We've only got one windpipe apiece; an' when the breath once goes out of 'em, it never comes in again ; and, 6quire, I can't tell what it is, but there is suthin' wrong, somewhar." YO U DON'T SAY SO. 55 "Well, come on, Sandy," said the Squire, as he arose. " Wait, Squire, wait. Now, hear to a man of experi- ence. There is spirits up there, who be not friendly to human kind. Now, Squire, listen to a leetle phizer- ology. A man may cut a hole in a ghost, but the spirit will fill up with gas, and be all hull agin ; but a spirit can cut a hole in you that gas won't fill up. Them kind of cuts doctors can't cure, and — gorry! Squire, dew ye see that light up thar ? " "Where?" "Right through the trees — straight ahead." "No;— yes; I do." " Now, you see, you'd better hear suthin'. But, oh ! standin' here, I kinder feel I'm nearin' the rest uv the spirits that, day by day, is actin' on the fiddle-strings uv my nater. Standin' here. Squire, and lookin' down on the world, I hev the mingled feelin's of a poet, a felosopher and a spirit I feel the marrow of my soul expandin'. The grand hay-bus corpus elements of my nater are takin' wings ; ez the poet sez : Oh ! thet I hed the wings of an owl. The world of nater ez at my feet. I feel £fe if I could step right out, and be mon- arch of ali I survey." But here that soaring thought was unthinkingly accompanied by a corresponding gesture of the foot, and there was the mingled rattle of fence-rails and loud exclamations. The next moment revealed poor Sandy being slowly lifted from a pool of mud and water by Emerson. The Squire was so weakened by laughter that he could not lend a hand to the rescue. Sandy solemnly wrung the water from his coat-tails, glancing, meanwhile, at the Squire, whose head was bent low over his cane; and the gurgles that came from be- tween his set teeth betrayed the storm of mirth within. "Well," remarked Sandy, giving his hat one or two 56 YOU D ON' T SA Y SO. shakes to decrease the gathered dampness, and draw- ing it well over his ej^es, "it's a cheerin' th-eught, Squire, thet we're all journeyin' where there's wings for the despiteful soul, and where no rail-fences nor gravi- tation ever comes." The little company now moved on, but only a few steps were taken, all keeping their eyes fixed upon the distant light, when a mingling of strange noises was heard in the distance. They instinctively pause and listen. Nearer and nearer it comes. "Squire, they're comin' — the old white boss, with a wagin full of 'em. Squire, may be we've got over the line fence of their trampin'-ground. Let's step back. That's why the fence fell down." Emerson looked like a man who had all the princi- palities of two worlds aiding him. in the conversion of Barnabee ; but Tobias stood at the head of the line, cane uplifted, the twinkle half faded from his eye. The sound of the vehicle drew still nearer and nearer; and a discordant voice came floating on the breeze. Sandy retreated to the nearest fence. Emerson looked as though the programme had not commenced right. The Squire was firm. An old white horse, with dis- tended nostrils, came dashing up, drawing -a rattling wagon, surmounted by a wood-rack, containing a Teutonic charioteer. " Whoa ! " shouted the Squire. The animal stopped — snorted. The driver, in faint accents, exclaimed : "Minehimmel; und vat see I now?" "Why, me, Nicholas!" " Beest du von more ? " "What?" " Oh ! my ! tree ghosts ! " "Why, no, Nick; I'm the shoemaker, Barnabee." " Ish dot so, mine love ! I bean so glad ! I dought you bean a spirit agin." YOU DON'T SA Y SO. 57 "Again ! Why, what do you mean by that?" "Vy, I see him two — tree^ — -half dotzen times — all in vohce — shust now, und he look — oh! — my! — I can — no tell. He stretch himself up mit his hands, und open himself mit his mout vide, und speaks mit himself sometings, und I quick lick my hoss — und know notings. I tink ish besser, Squire, I go quick home. Git up ! Kate, git up ! git up ! " Hereupon, the Teutonic jehu, with an unmerciful use of the lash, went tearing down the hill-side, and the rumbling of the chariot wheels was soon heard in the valley below. Sandy came up slowly from his retreat, but found his comrades of the forlorn hope, some ways in ad- vance, still on the march. "Barnabee ! — Emerson ! — -E-m-e-r-s-o-n " " What ! What's the matter ? " " Why, hold on ; don't leave a critter orphanized in this brimstun region. Squire, don't it smell kinder sul-PHO-rious here ? " "Why, Emerson is lighting his pipe behind you." " Now, Emerson, I wouldn't dew that. We're about to come inter the presence uv all the scienters and natyerlizers, and if that 'ar terbaccer smoke'd get inter their amphiberous orgins, and pervoke their wrath, they could mix up a mess fur us out uv thunder, and lightnin' and wind. Now, Emerson, hear tew reason " " Come on," shouted the Squire in the distance. They were now but a short distance from the Castle. There it stood, looming up in the moonlight, it's ivy- brown turrets and towers seeming like old monks and priests, in silent contemplation. The sharp contrast of light and shadow fell on moss-grown gable, battle- ments, and groined archway. The long rows of grand old elms that guarded the graveled walk and grass- 58 YO U DON'T SAY SO. grown drive, swayed their pendant branches, and moaned solemnly to each other of the terrors of the winter passed. The moonlight filtered through the leaves, lived again in the fretwork of gray and silver, dancing across the avenue to the Corinthian portico. A dead silence, like that of death, was broken by the sound of a pane of glass shivered, and the pieces falling with a hollow sound within. This brought our little company to a halt. Sandy saw, at a glance, the terri- ble loneliness that reigned around. Trembling with suspense, he whispered : "Squire; let's go back." "I came^^here on business." The sound of his voice went rolling along the roof, and rebounded with dreadful echo in dark gable and archway, and faintly murmured in the wood-land beyond. " Squire Barnabee, don't dew so again. Yew don't realize ; I've got one uv them spells of irizistible im- pulse to run comin' on." "Well, run then, and you'll feel better. If there's any ghosts here, I'm going to holler 'em out." Sandy leaned against a tree for support, and Emer- son desired the Squire to remember that on every hand were the inhabitants of another world. "Well, I want to see them ; that's what I came here for." "Well, you know Nicholas Krouse saw them." "No; I don't." " I never heerd ye talk so afore, Squire ; I'm afeered they've got inter you." "You know, Emerson," said the Squire, "this is to be a trial of your faith ; and I'm not going to be satis- fied without a thorough test. Now, if you are a believer in the possibility that spirits are in the air all around us, and can reveal themselves to us when they YOU DON'T SAY so. 59 see fit, if they are your religious colleagues, they are your brothers and sisters in the faith. Now, I am not afraid to go in and converse with my brothers and sisters at any time ; and you, of course, are not afraid to do so with yours. So, if we are not satisfied with things outside, we will explore within." Emerson suggested that probably the doors were locked, and that spirits had meetings which mortals had better not have the presumption to enter. Hereupon, Sandy was observed nervously beating the air with his finger, looking in the pale moonlight like a monstrous herting in the act of devotion. "What's up, Sandy?" "I'm makin' a rhyme." " A rhyme ! ' I thought you were too scared for that What do you want of rhymes here?" "Squire, the mind that keeps itself on the equinox can think of the future in hours of tremendous flutter- ation. As I expect thet you're about ter throw your- self inter the arms uv a thousand gobblers, who'll gobble yer right up, I've screwed my mind down to the freezin' pint to keep it steady, and hev made this verse for your tomb-stun : "Tobias Barnabee, the cobbler, Got swallowed by an awful gobbler; And ef he'd listened to Sandy McLure, The Lord would o' let him live some more." Here the Squire shouted and laughed so loud that the reverberations, through ivy-grown grotto and deep-shadowed corridor, just beneath the solemn tow- ers, answered back like the muffled tolling of a bell. Sandy clasped his hands in mute imploration. Em- erson told the Squire, with a voice that betrayed much agitation, that he might so offend the dignity of the time-honored spirits that they would not appear. "Then let them revenge themselves," answered Bar- 60 YO U DON'T SAF SO. nabee. " Now, come ! Warn them out ! I can't stand here in the cold all night ! " There was another dead silence, in which Emerson paced the walk thoughtfully at a little distance, and the Squire, out of sympathy for Sandy, whispered to him that there wasn't a spirit to be seen anywhere on the premises. " Now, Sandy, Tobias never lied to you, and if we see any thing of the kind, I'll give you the best pair of calf-skin boots in the shop. Come now, Sandy, bear up ; let Emerson see how brave you are. Now, make a record for yourself of daring action ; and Emerson, of course, will tell all over town of your bravery, in the night time, up at the old Castle. You see ? Do you see, Sandy ? " There crept over the artful and blank features of Sandy a strange, significant smile. "I see. Squire, I see. Now, you mean that, do you ? " "Don't I always?" " Always have. Squire. My ! how much comfort your few words hev guv me. That oncertain feelin' is all gone. Which door of the house shall I try first, Squire?" "Hereupon, both strode up to Emerson, he wearing on his face a look of distraction, and told him they would like to see what he came to show. Emerson was amazed at the change in Sandy, and made inquiry. " Mr. Emerson, one uv them hurricane gusts of calm delight is just now passin' over my soul, and there is awakened in me a strange hankerin' to view the per- formances uv the dead." "Now, gentlemen," replied Emerson, "there are spir- its that dwell in far regions, and that are now in close contact with us. With my well-trained eye I have seen indications of their presence that you would not detect. But we can not will the spirits to become visible ; we can only request ; if they do not reply, then we have YOU DON'T SA Y SO. 61 no power to change their decision." "Ah! that's too thin, Emerson; on this trial de- pends your faith." " Ef ye don't show 'em up, Mr. Emerson, I shell think there's suthin' uv an unharmerny in what yer say- Oh ! how my spirit-haunted gizzard hankers to shake hands with an obliverous dead man." " Well, Emerson, will j'^ou call it a failure ? " "Gentlemen, if you will visit this place with me every night for a week, and there are no farther devel- opments, I'll call it so. I presume that within those ivy-covered walls are transactions going on to-night that would freeze the blood in mortals' veins." "Well, what are they?" Emerson shook a warning finger, and his head ominously. The ghastly moonlight drops its pale shroud over the forms of the silent three, standing in the deserted pathway that led up to the marble steps, now yellow with years. Along that pathway, now so desolate, a tide of American chivalry daily passed, a century ago. The old knocker, now loaded with rust, hangs beside the heavy paneled doors, on its huge, moss-grown, Corinthian pillar. You can hear each breath that, floating on the hollow silence, seems a medley of sighs. An oppressive pause, in which each second, distended by dread, becomes a moment, and each heart-throb tells a coming doom. An old owl, from some lone tower, chants his solemn note. A desolate wood (Jove from a blasted elm, moans her sad complaint. The shadows deepen beneath the porticoes dripping damp- ness; while grottoed walls, and deep-groin6d arch- ways, look out weirdly from their covering of half-dead ivies. We breathe an atmosphere saturated with the odor of the damp and mold of a hundred years. How cold my hand ! It has been laid carelessly 62 YOU DON'T SAY SO. upon tjiat cold, sculptured figure by the door. The wind did not rustle the leaves that time. See ! it was that slimy serpent, crawling in the moonlight there. Moonlight ? No ; a pale halo falls around us, which is not moonlight. Hark 1 Did you hear that footstep, sounding like an echo from the tomb ? Tramp ! tramp ! clink ! clank ! Somebody is coming down the dark stairway. Listen ! The mumbling and jibbering of hollow voices! T-r-a-mp! t-r-a-mp! c-l-i-nk! c-1-a-nkI g-r-a-t-e! thud ! Drawing a cofiin down the stairs ? The lid falls off I Oh! the dismal echo of its fall! Cl-a-ng! cl-orng ! clang ! It strikes against the doors ! They shake like human forms with death in every fiber. Did you hear it? — that g-r-o-a-n? Are they dragging that uncovered cofiin with their chains ? 2Va-mp / tra-m,p ! CLi-NK ! CLA-NK ! C-R-A-S-H I Oh, heavens ! Look ! And there before them, pale and ghastly great, a form like that of the uncoffined dead, wrapped in death's clothes, dripping grave dampness — a grinning skele- ton, from whose head death has never plucked the hair ; but now, stained with mold, they are streaming in the wind. From the empty sockets blaze a lurid light. A fleshless hand raises threateningly a half- decayed bone, snatched hurriedly from some sepulcher., A fieshless foot protrudes from the shroud, and with a look that death only can scowl ; while from within the groans increase, and the specter comes down upon us. Sandy and Emerson retreat, with a howl of dismay. The Squire, striking right and left with his cane, makes a mad rush at the giant specter, put passes en- tirely through it, and strikes — his head, hard against a tree, falls prostrate. A breathless pause. The Squire leaps to his feet — snatches his cane — peers wildly around ; but the specter has vanished. CHAPTER VI. A BOMBARDMENT. ' HE next afternoon, Tobias Barnabee was greatly surprised by receiving a call from Rev. G. F. Gilmore, D. D., LL. D. He arose, respect- fully, shook him by the hand, glanced at his faultless boot, and instantly saw in his face something different than the boot and shoe business, for that day. "I have called to see you, Mr. Barnabee," said he, "on a little business." " Well, sir ! " replied Tobias, laying aside his unfin- ished boot, brushing the leather bits from his apron, taking off his spectacles and slipping them into their case, while he waited for farther proceedings. "It is in regard to a young lady, sir, named Agnes Leland, whose mother and sister were both members of my Church." "Agnes L-e-1-a-n-d? Why, sir, I never heard that name before." "Are you not a member of the Summer Street Church?" "I am, sir." " Did not a young lady come to your church, yester- day morning, and enter your class in Sunday school as a new scholar; and, aftei; church, did not you and your pastor engage in prayer with her?" "There was such a girl. She joined my class, sir, and we prayed with her. She is to be baptized next Sab- bath ; but I have not learned her name." 64 YOU D ON' T SAY SO. • The Rev. Gilmore inquired, sneeringly: "Do you, sir, indorse the practice of making up your Church from other Churches? I would have you to under- stand, sir, that Miss Leland is a member of my congregation." " The girl came without solicitation, and desired sal- vation. The way was pointed out to her, and, thank the Lord, she found it. I have had nothing do my soul so much good, for a year. I wish one such would come in every Sunday." "You mean, I suppose, that you would like to diminish some other congregation every Sunday ? " "Most certainly, sir, if they can't find salvation where they are." The Squire then resumed his work. " I infer, from your remarks that you deny the salva- tion preached by me," continued Dr. Gilmore. "I do, sir!" "Well, sir, what do you call it?" "Now, Mr. Gilmore, you've commenced this subject, and made me talk. I wouldn't go to your house, or stop you on the street, to get up this conversation ; but I see no harm, under the circumstances, in speaking my mind. Your doctrine, sir, is of the devil, who was a liar from the beginning ; for there is scarcely a word of truth in it." "Why, man, I did not come here to be treated in this manner, by one of the principal members of a Tnodel Church." "My dear sir, I am not assailing you, as a person, but your doctrine. I have not said too much, for all true doctrines must be founded upon the Word of God ; and there is not a line in this book by which you can prove your faith." Here the Squire grasped his old Bible — his strong- hold and his fortress. YOU DON'T 8A Y SO. 65 " Why, Mr. Barnabee, you must remember the pas- sage of Scripture that says : "The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness ; but is long-suffering to us- ward, not willing that any should perish." * * * — Second Peter, Hi. 9. " Yes, yes ; and you must know the remainder of the verse reads : ' but that all should come to repentance ; ' and you, of course, remember another passage, which says: "He that believeth and -is baptized shall be saved; but he that believeth not shall be damned." — Mark xvi. 16. "But remember God's mercy, when he says, in the Old Testament: ■ "How shall I give thee up, Ephraim?" — Hosea xi. 8. "Yes; and you remember the terrible punishment of Ephraim, because he would not return." (Hosea xi. 15.) "But your train of argument, followed out, would make God a merciless tyrant." GOD IS JUST. " Not at all, sir. That train of argument, followed out, only proves his justice." "But how cruel you make God, when you follow out your so-called orthodox idea of punishment. You make him more cruel, in your creed of an endless hell, than earthly parents can be ; while we are told that he is more willing to give good gifts to us than earthly parents to their children." " Beg your pardon, sir. My Bible says : "If ye then, being evil, know how to give good, 9 66 YOU DON'T SAY SO. gifts unto your children ; how much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him." — Luke xi. 13. "Well, it matters but little ; we gain the idea that he is to be more merciful to us than we are to our child- ren. Would we consign our little ones to endless fire?" " That, sir, is simply a dextrous ' trick ' to refute Di- vine justice, by an appeal to human sympathy ; it is a pet theme of your creed. Do you believe the Bible where it says that God rained fire and brimstone upon Sodom and Gomorrah, or where he sent serpents among the Israelites, or even the deluge? Do you believe those facts, as related in the Bible, Mr. Gilmore?" " Oh ! I did not intend to bring in question the truth of the Bible." "But, sir, you do question it, when you deny the doctrine of endless punishment ; for what mean these sentences : "Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the king- dom prepared for you from the foundation of the world." — Matt. xxv. 34. "Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels." — Matt. xxv. 41. " Oh ! well, Mr. Barnabee, if you had become as thorough a student of the Bible as I have, you would regard very many of these expressions as being strongly figurative." "But, sir, although I do not agree with you there^ yet, admitting a figurative meaning, must not the figure be a truthful picture of what it is to illustrate ? If so, God means that punitive doctrine in these passages you call figurative, or he is a deceiver." "You evidently are a little confused in your ideas, YOU DON'T SA Y SO. 67 Mr. Barnabee." "Not at all, sir; but while we are talking, I wish you would untangle some of the confused points of your doctrine." " Confused points ! " "Why, sir, do you not call those points confused that contradict all revelation and human experience?" " I am not aware, sir, that such points are to be found in my profession." " Will you please explain your doctrine of 'THE HELL OF CONSCIENCE?'" "We only claim what is evident to all men of com- mon sense, sir, that the pangs of conscience are the greater part of the retribution for sin." " Ah ! you don't say so ! Well, let us look at that a moment : A little child speaks the first untruth, and he weeps in repentance, but the confirmed liar does not bridle his tongue, and even hardly remembers, for the next moment, what he has said. The child commits a theft, and can not meet the person whom he has robbed without great agitation ; but as soon as he becomes like some of our congressmen, he can put his arms into the government coffers, up to the elbows, and stare every- body out of countenance. The murderer commits the first bloody deed, and every dog-bark, or bell-toll, or solemn sound that he hears, he imagines is advertising his guilt; but if he commits murder a dozen times, hardly an unpleasant dream will disturb his slumbers. Now, if this doctrine of a punitory conscience be true, why is it disputed by notorious facts?" PUNISHMENT BY CALAMITY. "But, sir, we do not claim that the pangs of con- science are the only punishment, for you observe that God oftimes brings punishment directly upon the 68 YOU DON'T 8A Y 80. transgressor, in meting out calamity, sickness and sud- den death." "No, sir; I have not observed that; but I have observed that much of experience is to the contrary." The Squire opened his Bible and read : " Wherefore do the wicked live, become old, yea, are mighty in power? Their houses are safe from fear, neither is the rod of God upon them. — Job xxi. 7, 9. " For I was envious at the foolish, when I saw the prosperity of the wicked. For there are no bands in their death : but their strength is firm. They are not in trouble as other men ; neither are they plagued like other men. — Psa. Ixxiii. 3-5. "He hath not dealt with us after our sins; nor rewarded us according to our iniquities. — Psa. ciii. 10. "We see, therefore, both from matters of fact, and from the testimony of the Scriptures, that the ■picked are not punished, here, according to the number and magnitude of their sins." " Well ! Well ! Mr. Barnabee, do not be so positive. You are an uneducated man. You should not speak so unguardedly. You would know, if you read and properly informed yourself, that we have embraced another doctrine." "You don't say so ! Another doctrine ! What is it, pray?" THE DOCTRINE OP RESTORATION. " It is, sir, that we shall pass through a stage of retri- bution in the future, and shall come forth purified and fitted for Heaven." " Oh ! yes, sir ; I have read and meditated upon that doctrine. But one thing I do not understand in it is, how can a man be in a state of retribution and on trml at the same time? If that be true, as God is just, we YOU DON'T SA Y SO. 69 must be in a state of reward and on trial in Heaven, and liable to fall at any moment. Another thing, I don't see why the devil and his angels, who have been in a state jof retribution for six thousand years, seem as bad as ever." ""We do not believe in any devil, sir." " You don't say I How do you account for the evil on every hand ? " THE ORIGIN OF EARTHLY EVIL. "It is the effect of evil influence, and of bad education." "But, sir, who educated the first bad educator?" "Those are things, Mr. Bamabee, that God has thought best not to reveal to us." "But, sir, the first bad man became, according to your argument, bad by education and example ; and if there was no evil agency in existence, no one, save God, is responsible ; and you indirectly lay the blame on God. It is useless to deny it, sir. Suppose, when I stand before God, at the last day, to receive my just retribution, I say : ' I'm just what you educated me to be ; there is no devil, Lord ; you must have influenced me thus ; ' how would it sound ?" "You talk too much at random, Mr. Bamabee." UNIVERSALISM CONTRADICTS ITSELF. " Well, now, while I am rambling, I'd like to ask you one more question. Do you accept the divinity and mission of Jesus Christ ? " "Certainly I do, sir. It is the great foundation of our doctrine that, as Christ died for all, all men will be saved." " Why, sir, I am surprised to hear you, a man that just accused me of talking at random, contradicting yourself" 9* 70 YO U DON'T SAY SO. "Contradicting myself! How?" "Why, my dear sir, you have contradicted yourself, squarely ; " and Barnabee brought his hand down on the leather he was folding with a power that made the implements on his work bench jingle. "You have contradicted yowrself." "I would like you to explain so ungentlemanly an accusation." "Why, don't you see the point?" "I do not, sir." "Strange, that an educated man does not discover a flaw that is so clear to an ignorarit one." " Your remarks are so presumptuous, sir, that I de- immd an explanation." "'Tis granted, with great pleasure. Did you not argiie, a few minutes ago, tha.t the combined punish- ment of conscience, adversity, and a limited futwre retri- bution, would purify the souls of men, and fit them for Heaven?" "I did, sir." "And did you not, just now, remark that, as Christ died for all men, all men would be saved ? " "I did, sir." "Well, does Christ save all men, or not?" "Why, I said once, sir, that Christ saves all mankind." " Then pray why do you contradict yourself by say- ing that the pangs of conscience, adversity, and a lim- ited future retribution are what save men ? " " I have simply stated my doctrine to you, sir, and you, of course, have the privilege of misinterpreting it as much as you choose. I expected, when I called on you, to be treated like a gentleman, and not to be berated in this manner. Good afternoon, sir." "Wait a moment, Mr. Gilmore. As I may never see you, to speak with you, again, it becomes me, as a pro- fessed Christian, to perform my duty now, that is, to YOU D ON' T SA Y SO. 71 entreat you, in the name of God, to immediately cease propagating a doctrine that you know to be false. Oh ! sir, seek Jesus for your soul's sake. I would not, for the world, speak harshly to you ; but that by so severe a manner, I can the more perfectly bring before you the enormous evil in your faith. Why, sir, the gist of your doctrine is, that men may lie, and steal, and mur- der, and yet be saved. You license every man, as far as his future is concerned, to do evil, and that continu- ally. Oh ! remember that, ' If the blind lead the blind, both shall fall into the ditch.' Come out into the glorious light of the Gospel. I will pray for you. Oh ! praj' for yourself" "Well, Mr. Barnabee, I must be going." "Good afternoon, sir; call again." Agnes also received a call from Rev. Mr. Gilmore. He smiled blandly, asked after her health, told her how glad he was she had returned, and how lonesome her pew at church had looked while she was away. He felt so anxious to know why she did not attend church the day before, that he had called at his first oppor- tunity. Agnes looked a little flushed and disconcerted, but soon replied, with self-possession : "I don't think I shall attend your church any more, sir. You had better let the pew to some one else." "Why, Miss Leland, how you surprise me! Why would you have me do that, pray ? " "Because, sir, I am to go to the Summer Street Church, after this, and have my seat with Mr. Barna- bee, the shoemaker." Mr. Gilmore settled back dismayed, saying : "ISTow, Miss Leland, remember, your mother and sister, and your family for two generations, have belonged to the Church in which I am laboring ; and does it not cast disrespect on the memory of your 72 YOU DON'T SAY SO. ancestory, to leave the paths they have trodden for others less profitable ? " "No, sir ; if they were alive, I should persuade them that the finding of Jesus is the only way that satisfies." "That's what ov,r doctrine is, only we teach that Jesus is so kind, he is ours without asking." "Do you believe that, sir?" "Most certainly ! I would not teach it unless I did." " I did not have Jesus until yesterday ; and now, the world is, oh, so changed I I'm not the same person ! There is swch a difference ! " My child, they talked and prayed with you until you were excited ; and that is what influenced you into this state of mind. This vmaginary feeling will soon wear away." " Oh ! sir ; please don't talk so ! I've been reading my Bible to-day, and it says Jesus will be with me, even unto the end. Oh I sir, do you really know what it is to have the love of God in your heart?" " That's a strange question, child." " No ; no it isn't ; I know if you had the joy that I have, you couldn't wait to tell of it. You would want to preach it to the world; you couldn't preach any thing else. "When you were converted, Mr. Gilmore, what passage of Scripture, or what sermon, was it that started you ? " " Why, child, who has been talking to you ? I would not associate with Mr. Barnabee, if I were you. I went there to-day, and he treated me very ungentlemanly." " In what way, sir ? " "Why, he said some hard things against our Church." "Oh! I understand, sir. He has Christ in his heart,, and when Christ is in any one's heart, he can't help seeing that your Church is all wrong. Why, there isn't any Savior to make us glad at your Church. Have you found Jesus ; Have you, Mr. Gilmore? Oh! YOU DON'T SAY so. 73 let me tell you how to find him. I would be willing to pray with you right here, just as Mr. Barnabee prayed with me, if you would only say yes. You need Christ, Mr. Gilmore. How can you preach without him?" " "Why, Miss Leland, you are presumptuous to address a spiritual leader thus. Your words imply that I am but a pretender — -a hypocrite ! I hope to find you in a different state of mind when I call again." Agnes wondered whether she had acted presumptu- ously or not, as she bade him good afternoon. 10 • Wmi CHAPTER VII. ANTIPODES. ?PRING has really come. Budding trees, green fields, singing birds and warm sunshine enliven the scene. This morning, of May, is one which creatdfe, in everybody, an instinctive desire to lay aside books, and household tasks, to go out and sing with the birds ; to wander away in the wildwood, with no definite aim, save that of enjoyment ; to inhale the odor of fresh earth turned up by the plowshare; to hear the cheery voice of the teamsters, the tinkle of the cow-bell in the distant pasture, and the caw-caw of the lonely crow. Oh ! what a dreamy luxury there is in spring time ! It seems as if God had tinted the sky entirely anew ; burnished the sun's face afresh, made the little stream to laugh louder because of the past winter's solemnity, and the meadows to put on a greener hue, because of a joyful escape from the past cold and snow. Thus Agnes thought, as she walked through the fields, pouring out in her low, sweet singing, the melody of a heart overflowing with joy. She did not seem eighteen, that morning, so artless and yet so wise, so girlish and yet so womanly. You would hardly know, as you looked into her youthful face, whether to call her child or lady. She was not beautiful, yet won- derfully attractive ; not timid, yet retiring ; not bold, yet free to converse. She soon reached the wide stretch of forest that YO U DON'T SAY SO. 75 skirts the hills for miles, and paused at the brook to watch the minnows darting hither and thither. She gave a little cry of delight at the discovery of each new flower that spring time had opened; she braided a wreath in her hair ; and filled her hat with brilliant mosses, and her hands with trailing vines and blos- soms. She turned to see how far the sun had descend- ed, and was startled to find herself just in the rear of the Valancthen Castle ; but was more startled on see- ing, just before her, reclining against a great oak, a man, with his hat thrown carelessly on the grass beside him, intently absorbed in reading a book. Agnes hardly knew whether to apologize for intruding, or to beat a hasty retreat ; but before the moment of inde- cision had passed, the stranger, being unconscious of her presence, cast his book half angrity from him, saying : "It is all folly ! all folly ! There is no God of mercy! Men may write, but they can not convince ! Oh ! thou who art called a God of mercy, thou hast been cruel to me ! thou hast blackened my life with a storm-cloud. No ; THERE IS NO GoD ! I believe, more than ever, to-day, in the harmony of great forces, invisibly linked to a self-acting cause. The next course of lectures I present before the Society of Natural Sciences, will be based on that theory. Experience tends to prove the certainty of this hypothesis. Men may pray, and talk Genesis, but a God is yet to be." Agnes, forgetting her determination, her heart being filled with earnest remonstrance, instinctively inquired: "Why, sir, wouldn't it be lonesome without a God?" The stranger gave a start of sudden surprise, con- cealing, as best he could, his agitation, and wondered if he saw only a little girl decked in spring flowers, or a mature woman in full bloom. "Why, madam, excuse me ; I hardly expected I had 76 YOU DON'T SA V SO. so appreciative an audience." " Excuse me, sir ; I came upon you just this moment unawares, and would not have spoken as I did, could I have helped it ; but your words surprised me so ! " " And your words sounded strangely, too. Will you be so kind as to complete your inquiry ? " PERSONAL EXPERIENCE CONVINCES. " Why, I do not understand how you can talk so. I don't know how I should live without any God to whom I could pray and sing, and from whom I could ask advice and guidance." The stranger answered, with a look of amused pity : " Why, your little simple heart has taken and appro- priated the teachings of your friends, without inquiry, and you are satisfied with their simple statements, without searching into the whys and wherefores. Well," — with a sigh — "that's the happiest way to live." " Oh ! sir ; that's not what makes it a happy life to live ; it's because God is right with us — in our hearts — around us — why, I can't tell you — please, sir, do you know what it is to love God ? " " I have no God to love, little lady," he replied, in a voice strangely pathetic. " Oh ! yes, you have. He wants you to love him ; he says so in his Bible. Don't you read the Bible, sir ? " " Well — yes — sometimes." " Do you remember there is a verse that says : ' Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest ; ' and also one which says, if I mis- take not : ' In the day that thou seekest for me with all thine heart, I will be found of thee.' Have you ever scmght for him, sir ? " " God is a spirit. How can I, & physical nature, per- ceive a spiritual ? " " You could pray, and get the vntness that you had YO U DON'T SAY SO. 77 found God." " How should I know that ? " "Oh ! you would know it ! You could not help but know it ! All the arguments in the world could not make you believe otherwise ! " Agnes' face was 'flushed with earnestness, and tears sparkled in her pleading eyes. The stranger thought he had never seen such beau- tiful sincerity before. The great scientist was half in earnest ; he had never before met just such a preacher of the faith. He had heard men argue until the artil- lery of his science had thundered in defiance ; but this little stranger, coming to the fortress of his unbelief, and knocking at the side door of personcd experience, was something unfamiliar to him. " How do you reason yourself into such great assur- ance?" he asked, half curiously. " I did not reason myself into it, sir. It came into my heart. I was all filled with doubt, and fear, and dark- ness ; and a good old man prayed for me, and I told Jesus just how I felt, and what I wanted ; and he gave me, oh! so much more than I asked for ; and he gives me his blessings every day. Oh ! sir ; do you not want to find him?" Here Agnes broke down in a little sob ; and as she wiped the tears from her eyes, she remembered that she was talking to a stranger, tall and strangely hand- some ; his hair long, to his shoulders, was streaked with gray, as she had seen in pictures of philosophers and judges of a hundred years ago. His face was beard- less; his eyes, dark and piercing; 'and his lips, thin and compressed. He was dignified in manner, yet sursounded by an air of elegance that would grace a monarch's throne. Agnes modestly apologized, for fear she had said too much, and hurried away. 10* 78 YOU DON'T SA Y SO. He walked toward the Castle smiling. He was an atheist. CHAPTER VIII. THE MYSTERY SOLVED. ID you ask what became of Squire Barnabee, at the Castle? You remember the appearance of the terrible specter and its sudden dismem- berment by the Squire, who passed completely through it and struck his head against a tree. And at the same time you remember the inglorious flight of his comrades. He stood there a moment, hardly able to distinguish pain from surprise, and looked cau- tiously on every hand, as if there might be a possi- bility that the earth would open, without warning, and disclose further terrors. He disbelieved, even against conviction. Rubbing the great bump on his forehead, he wondered how long it would be before he would wake up and find it all a drearii. The doors commenced rumbling, as if violently shaken by the wind; and soon they flew back on their hinges, disclosing the forms of two or three creatures that, under ordinary circumstances, would be taken for men ; but the Squire was terribly agitated, and hardly able to decide whether his sense of sight deceived him or not. There stood three of the strange group in half dress, with sleeves rolled to the elbows. On the steps stood the stranger, just described to you, holding a lantern above his head and peering out into the darkness. Coming down the path a few steps, he discovered the Squire, hat and stick in one hand, the other rubbing his wounded cranium, his face wearing a look that we fail 80 YOV DON'T SA Y SO. to describe. He eyed the Squire a moment ; and the Squire gazed in amazement, wondering if he now saw the remains of John Adams, or Thomas Jefferson. He at last addressed the Squire, with a human voice, in the Enghsh language : " Well, sir, what do you want ? " " Why," answered the Squire, in a voice he hardly recognized, himself, " I want to know whether you are a ghost, or a man ? " "Well, sir, to tell the truth, I am neither." " Then what under creation are you ? " "I belong to a race called biped." The Squire, beginning to realize his position, gave a little laugh. "What brought you here to-night?" inquired the biped. "A fool's errand, sir : I came to see a ghost." " Have you seen it ? " " I have ; but still I don't believe it. Who are you, anyhow ? I never saw you before. I didn't know that any one lived here. Now, I suppose you take me for a codger, but I am not." The Squire then briefly related the cause of his errand, and told of the apparition that had appeared to him. All of it, even the part relating to the ghost, sounded strangely to the listeners. That ghost they could not account for. "Where did you see the beast?" inquired one of the attendants. "Right here, where I stand." There was silence for a minute ; when the stranger gave a loud laugh, and pointed to a window opening from the basement. The attendants gave shout after shout of uproarious glee ; but the Squire, rubbing his swollen forehead, saw nothing but a light, and numer- ous articles of machinery such as shoemakers do not YOU DON'T SAY 80. 81 use. The Squire could not see the point. " Well," said the stranger, " come in." The Squire entered. He found within an air of royal luxury that the outward appearance of the Castle did not indicate. Deep oaken panels contrasted with gilded frescoing. Suites of rooms, as he passed along, were bewildering in their stately grandeur; while cumbersome mahogany furniture and snow-white statu- ary were visible beneath vaulted ceilings supported by Doric pillars, richly carved. At last, they descended a stairway where several men were at work on models of machinery, of which the Squire could not perceive the philosophy, excepting it be that the men were endeavoring to see in how many ways they could combine wheels and axles. The Squire, all engrossed and bewildered for the moment, suddenly startled everybody by crying out : " There it is again! A loud laugh greeted this announcement, and the Squire, looking intensely puzzled, said : " Now, see here ! What are these proceedings ? I don't want to be kept in the dark any longer." " Plea;se step this way," said the stranger. The Squire did so, and, as the stranger silently pointed to the corner, Tobias Barnabee saw the exact likeness of himself, standing all cap-orpie, cane in hand. Just back of him was a great pane of plate-glass. "That appearance," said the stranger, "is what we call refradimi. We were experimenting, this evening, while you were outside, but had no idea that our experiments were being reflected through that window into the yard." The Squire, looking in the direction indicated, saw a man boarding up a window, and the mystery was solved. The great scientist seemed to be a gentleman. He told the Squire he had resided there but a few weeks ; 11 82 YOU D ON' T SAY SO. that the estate belonged to him, and he thought it a favorable place to perform some experiments, because of its seclusion ; but was surprised to hear of the con- sternation that had poured out of that one window and filled the whole country. He applied a soothing liniment to the Squire's wounded cranium, and asked him to call again, and bring his friends. Of course, the return of Emerson and Sandy had created some excitement at the office of the weekly paper of that town, where they had immediately reported. A reporter called on the Squire the next day for further particulars. The columns of the next issue were devoured by a thousand eager readers ; and the Castle, for a week, echoed the footsteps of the curious. The effect on the great apostle of the aerial faith, and its short-lived popularity, is already anticipated. Sandy called on the Squire, shortly after, sat down, picked up a scrap of the best French leather, rolled it, for a few moments, thoughtfully between his thumb and finger, and then remarked, with a sigh : " Human nater is an onsartain thing ; yer can't tell when ter depend on it ; fur if it hez an attack of the irizistible ivripulse, away it runs, and yer can't stop it- I wish. Squire, that 'ar attack bed held off a few min- utes longer ; " and Sandy looked at the great toe pro- truding from his boot long since old. " But, Squire, I thought I bed the dead set on yer when I did run; and now, I came in ter see if I could borrer five dollars, for a few days, 'cause that night I was so sure of them boots I went and traded five dollars wuth, and was a goin' to pay in boots; but I's disappointed. Squire; and they want their money;- and I'd like ter borrer it, if it wouldn't discommode yer." CHAPTER IX. WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT IT. SGNES sat in her little parlor, in a deep study. On her face were traces of much weeping. What should she do ! She did not want the money, if it was not hers. Why did they talk so cruel as to tell her it was selfish in her not to marry Guy, and he her cousin ? Her lawyer had told her she might appoint a guardian to manage her estate, in the place of her uncle, if she chose; but she did not wish to cause unfriendly feelings in him ; and he had so set his heart on the property that she did not know what to do. She felt that she could not stay there much longer ; it was so unpleasant. It was late at night when the light ceased shining from her window ; but the early morning fpund her still in trouble. It was the Sabbath — the quiet Sab- bath; and thinking may be she might hear some- thing in the sermon, or that God might send her a message directly, for she had prayed much over the matter, she attended church. As they were singing the last hymn, she gave such a start that Squire Bar- nabee looked from his hymn book inquiringly. Just two seats to the right, she had seen the stranger, his piercing eyes fixed directly upon her. There was much staring and inquiry in regard to the great scientist and his quaint appearance, as the 84 YO U DON'T SA Y SO. people passed out ; for this was his first appearance at churcli. But tliere was more surprise when, at the close of the services, he came through the crowd, lifted his hat to Agnes Leland, and they walked away together. Many a girl, magnificent in appearance, wondered what he found in that little girlish thing to attract his attention. As they walked, they discussed the sermon ; she, in her childlike way ; he, in his philosophic, half-amused manner. The way to his residence lay directly up the avenue on which Agnes lived. When they had reached her home, he lifted his hat and passed on with a calm dig- nity that seemed the very picture of careless ease. She glanced after him, wondered what his name was, and why she did not refuse to walk with him. As she entered the hall, she was accosted by her uncle, who, in a manner somewhat flushed, asked her the stranger's name. " I do not know, sir," she replied. "Well, Aggie, if you wish to remain beneath my roof, you are to mingle with strangers only at my dicta- tion. I hope I shall not have occasion to repeat what I have said." Aggie did not cry, but all alone in her little room she thought strange thoughts. " Yes, I see it now," she said ; " I must not stay ; but I will not take the property from him, for I do not wish to grieve him. Oh I God ! help your Aggie, and direct her footsteps ; she don't know what to do." The next morning, before the dew was gone, she had walked quite a distance beyond the Castle, and knocked at the door of a house whose steps swarmed with dogs and children. Her little determined face formed a strange contrast with that of the swarthy German who YOU DON'T 8A Y SO. 85 appeared at the door. " Good morning, sir ; I understand you are the man who hires the teachers for that school house yonder ; I would like to teach your school." "You teach school ! You not old 'nough." "Why, sir, I'm eighteen." " Eighteen ! I fought you but fourteen. You ever teach?" " No, sir ; but I can." "How much you scharge de veek?" " What do you pay, sir ? " "I can have blenty teacher for five dollar de veek." "I will teach for that, sir." " Veil, you come next Monday. I like de vay you look, first-rate ; und if you vill lick my boys every day I risk you." The next Monday morning found Agnes at her post. Her uncle had simply remarked, at her departure, that if she found the outside world preferable, to his honie, he had nothing to say. He asked her what she was going to do with her property. " Oh ! nothing to grieve you. Uncle." " Well, Agnes, there has been a flaw detected in the will, which I think will probably disinherit you ; but you are welcome to a home here as long as you see fit." " Uncle, don't you suppose mother meant that prop- erty for me, if I lived ?" "That is nothing to do with the case ; law is law." As Agnes walked away, having left word that she would send for her trunks, she wondered if God would convert her uncle, if she prayed for him. She walked dreamily on, wondering, also, how she would get through with the first day of the school ; and if Guy would come up, once in a while, to see how she was getting along. But that day did go by ; it wasn't so dreadful, after 11* 86 YO U DON'T SAY SO. all. She forgot every thing but her work, and when night came, there was the satisfaction that she had done something — yes, she, herself. Her home was with an old lady, who, glad of her company, her heart being full of motherly yearning, made it pleasant for her. Who can tell the hours they spent, reading and talk- ing of the Scriptures? Thus the days went by, and the year crept into June. Agnes did get lonely, sometimes ; and one night, as she walked slowly homeward, burdened with a weari- ness she could not help but feel when she remembered that she had no one to talk with except her old aunty, as she called her, and that she had read all the books in the house, she wished she could only have a ride, or something for a change. She was so deeply engaged in thought that she did not notice the approach of a beautiful span of horses, driven before a large phaeton. "Let me pass, please." She gave a little startled cry, and stepped quickly aside. The blooded steeds were about to dash on, when they were suddenly reined in. "Why, good afternoon." Agnes looked up bewildered, as the handsome stran- ger, hat in hand, said : "Have you not strayed farther from home than usual ? I hope you will excuse me for driving so close upon you ; I did not observe you until that instant." Agnes quietly received the apology, and replied that her home was but a few steps farther ; and she pointed to a little cottage near at hand. " Ah ! are you not the lady that I met with at church a few Sabbaths since ? " "Yes, sir; but I have changed my home; I am teaching." YO U DON'T SAY SO. 87 The stranger's quick perception warned him not to be inquisitive ; but he replied : " You look very weary ; would you refuse a short drive with a stranger ? " Agnes looked up, the very picture of innocent in- quiry, and said : " I should like to ride very much, sir. Do you think it would be proper ? " The stranger gave a pleasant laugh, alighted from the carriage, and extended his hand to help her to the seat. She, half hesitating, asked him to stop at the cottage door. Aunty came out, all in a flutter. " We shall be glad to have you stay to tea, sir ; but we have no barn, you know, and " "Why, Aunty," cried Aggie, "it is a gentleman that has offered to take me riding, just for a rest ; and I came to ask you if it would be proper." "Why — la 1 — ^yes, child. I supposed it was your re- lation from the city." As they drove swiftly by fields and hedges, and patches of woodland, the horses prancing and impa- tient for greater liberty, Agnes thought only of the kindness of the stranger, and the beauty of the horses. She wondered whether, had she taken all her property and bought a beautiful house, and a carriage and horses, she would have been happier. "Why does money make such a difference?" she said, half aloud, in her musing ; but the sound of her own voice reminded her that she was not alone. " What did you remark. Miss " "I was only thinking, aloud." The stranger gave a dry laugh, and said : " I can hardly understand how such a wee bit of a creature has such strange musings. You must practice entertaining yourself considerably." 88 YOU DON'T SAY SO. "Yes; I like being all by myself; but once in a while one gets lonesome. There is no need of that, however, for when I get tired of talking with aunty, I can have a visit with the Lord." "Visit ! well, that is a strange word for religious de- votion. I should think that would be any thing but visiting. I should call it rather tedious business:" " Did you never pray ? " " Not for a great many years, little lady." "You used to pray, then, did you?" "Yes; they called it praying. I learned a little speech, verbatim, and recited it at my bedside every night, and " The stranger paused ; he was aston- ished at his condescending manner of conversation. He must not encourage such familiarity. Thus they rode on. The great scientist, whose grave face was penciled by lines of abstract thought ; whose grayish locks were long, and carelessly thrown back ; and whose dress, from hat to glove, was siibdued ele- gance ; somehow seemed to throw an atmosphere of refined luxury about all who approached him ; whilst his manner, though exceedingly polished, was yet so familiar and kindly as to proclaim him one of nature's noblemen. Agnes, with her plain school dress, and honest little heart, thought all this, and more. Not sentimentally ; oh ! . no ; but as one would think of a benefactor, or a condescending uncle. She at last ventured to reply : " But, sir, I should think, as you kept on saying the ■little prayer, you would have learned its meaning, and loved to keep on saying it, just because your mother learned it to you. Was it your mother that taught you to pray, sir, and listened to you every night ? I think I never could forget to say a prayer that my mother had taught me." She looked up, as she said this, into the stranger's YOU DON'T SA Y SO. 89 face, with an expression of surprised wonderment, and saw a faint tremble on the thin, compressed lips. After a moment's pause, he asked her how she enjoyed riding. "Oh! very much, sir. I owe all this pleasure to you ;■ but I like more to talk with you, for somehow you — seem to know — jv,st what I mean." One of the horses here became unmanageable, and the stranger's attention seemed entirely absorbed in getting him under more perfect control. At last he asked : "Do you not sometimes get weary of teaching?" " Yes, sir, very weary ; but your ride has rested me very much. I think I can commence all new in the morning." " Well, suppose I come and take you often, can you teach the better ? " " No, sir, I don't think I could, if you came often." The stranger started. Somehow this little one, with her honest simplicity, was an enigma not easily read, even by one who had studied the gilded manners of fashionable society. "Pray, why would my coming often disconcert you ? " he asked, in a low, amused tone. " Why, sir, I should be thinking of Guy ; somehow he seems angry when I ride with any one but him." The stranger replied, in a manner still more disconcerted : "Why — I regret that I have invited you to ride, if it will cause unpleasantness between you and some particular " " Oh I sir," quickly replied Agnes, " Guy's only my cousin." "Ah! yes, I see; the place you stopped at when I walked with you from church ; but do you attend church now?" 12 90 YOU DON'T SA Y SO. " Yes, sir ; but I have not seen you there since that Sabbath. I don't see how you can pass the day with- out going to church. You can't work, nor do business ; nor can you amuse yourself on Sunday ; for, of course, you try to keep the Sabbath holy." "I think you are the strangest person I have ever known." The stranger seemed suddenly to be all absorbed in reining in his fractious horses. ""Well," he said at last, "I was about to ask if you walked that long distance every Sabbath." "Yes, sir ; it is a long way ; but I am always repaid for going." " Would you like to ride with me next Sabbath ? I shall be going." "But, sir, wouldn't people think strangely of it — think I was out of my place to be riding with you?" " Why, little lady, people do not all reason alike in regard to the difference that money " " Oh ! no ; that isn't it," replied Agnes, in a quick, hurt tone; "I didn't mean money. I have $500,000, sir; I suppose people call me wealthy; but I meant how people would smile to see us riding together ; you so grand and so wise, and I so inferior and so simple." The stranger was entirely disconcerted; he gave the reins such a jerk that the team came to a dead halt, and looked at Agnes with an amazement he did not endeavor to conceal, realizing he had with him an ideal of simplicity or artful falsehood, and repeated, slowly: "$500,000 — wealthy — I thought you were teaching the little school near the place where I overtook you." " I am, sir." " But," replied he, " you can surely have no necessity for " "Ohl no, no, no, sir; I have my little reason all YOU DON'T SAY so. 91 locked up." The stranger made an apology for his query, and drove on, as one who thought he carried a little epito- me of mysteries. In half an hour the carriage stopped at the little cottage, and Agnes told the stranger she could just as well walk to the Castle and take the car- riage there, as to trouble him to drive for her. ^^m^mmmk CHAPTER X. THE GIANT SLAIN. JGNES ate breakfast dreamily, Sabbath morn- ing, thinking of the kindness of the stranger, as we think of parental solicitude, and wondering if Guy would feel unpleasant. She was under no obli- gations to Guy ; yet, she did not like to make him feel unpleasant. Then, she thought again, would it be treating a stranger well to ride with him, dressed in her usual plain manner. " No," said she ; " I will open my large trunk, to-day ; " and she stood, a few mo- ments afterward, with the great lid lifted. Aunty looked perfectly bewildered when the beautiful dresses of silk, garnet, blue, lavender, alpaca, lawn, etc., were exposed to view ; but when she lifted the lid of a little case, and there flashed out the brilliancy of diamonds ornamenting a watch, bracelets, pendants and rings, the old lady exclaimed : "Why, child, are these dresses yours, and is all this gold yours, too ? Are you some queen or noble lady in disguise ? " " Oh ! no. Aunty ; I'm just Aggie Leland, nothing more." "But, child, what makes you teach, and live in a little hut like this ? One of those rings would buy two farms as large as mine." "Oh I I don't know. Aunty. Here is a ring I think I'll wear to-day. Mamma gave it me one Christmas. Dear, good mamma ! Why didn't you live longer?" YO U DON'T SA Y SO. 93 And as Agnes looked at the familiar gifts she had not seen for months, they brought fresh to her memory the past. She sat down, crying as if her heart would break. The old lady came tenderly to her, and putting her withered arms around her, pillowed her head on a bosom that had mourned, for years, the loss of an only child. Gently stroking back the stray tresses of auburn hair, she kissed the white forehead again and again, and asked her, in trembling tones, to tell her old aunty all about it. Agnes could only answer, for the time, with tears ; but as the sunshine follows the storm, making nature ■ more beautiful afterward, so she soon looked up, smil- ing through her tears, gave a little laugh choked by the last retreating sigh, and said : "I can't now. Aunty. I will sometime." That mornifig a span of jet black horses, driven before a superb coach, with an ebony coachman, in full dress, holding the door wide open by its silver handle, waited the coming of Agnes. The stranger's look of quiet good nature changed to that of puzzled and delighted surprise, as she came down the steps. There passed through his mind two Scripture illustrations, at least : the visit of the Queen of Sheba to Solomon ; and the appearance of Esther before King Ahasuerus. She was handsome, that morn- ing. Her garnet silk formed a striking contrast with the roses on her cheeks ; and pearl beads and a massive chain nestled among the folds of a frill of rare lace ; the tasty bonnet, with its wreath of white flowers ; one hand ungloved, from which flashed two or three rare diamonds ; white silk shawl and dainty kid boots. The stranger stood at the gate, and bowed low, with his hat in his hand ; and his salutation was returned with proper grace. Somehow she seemed a woman, that morning. The polished door closed on a contrast 12* 94 YOU B ON' TSAY SO. of faces, and the carriage rolled away, aunty wondering if she dreamed, or whether Agnes was really a royal lady. The horses dashed up to the church; and as the coachman descended and opened the door, with a low bow, there was a hum of expectancy among those out- side ; but, at sight of the great scientist and his passen- ger, the whisper of voices arose to exclamations of sur- prised wonderment; and when the stranger swept down the aisle with Agnes at his side, in manner truly royal, here was such a flutter of hurried whispers and unconcealed surprise, that the minister paused in the reading of his hymn. Agnes wondered why everybody looked that way, thinking it must be because the stranger was so hand- some, and so elegantly dressed. As they paused at the pew of Squire Barnabee, he started up in a manner truly fatherly, and bowed them in. When they sang, the stranger turned the leaves of a superb hymn-book, ivory-bound, gold-clasped. Ag- nes wondered why he should have such a book, and wondered more at the rich tenor of the voice that caused all the choir to look instinctively from their books. As they passed out, at the close of the service, the stranger in advance, Agnes felt a hand on her arm, and turning quickly, beheld Guy, his face betraying much agitation. " Why, Guy, you here to-daj'^ 1 I'm so glad ! " "Yes; I'm here; but do you know who that is you came with ? " " I don't know his name ; but he lives in the Castle, and he asked me to ride." "And you rode without knowing his name? Why, Aggie, that's the great scientist. He don't care any thing for you. He won't come down to small fry like YO U DON'T SAY SO. 95 you. He'll never marry you, Aggie; you are pre- sumptuous to think so." "Why, Guy, marry me ! I never thought of such a thing. Of course he wouldn't. I — I — don't want he should. How cruel for you to talk so I I only accepted a ride, as it was far to walk." "But what are you fixed out so for, to-day?" "Because I did not wish him to feel unpleasant by my plainness." Guy went out muttering, with a look of dark deter- mination written on his countenance. A moment after, he was driving at a mad rate toward the Castle. Aggie found the stranger waiting, apologized, and the carriage rolled away. Her mind was filled with strange thoughts. She saw things difierently, wondered she had not before thought how it looked to other people and resolved never to do so again. TOTAL DEPRAVITY. The stranger asked her what she thought of that part of the sermon that said we are all naturally de- praved. She replied, that she thought it true. " How do you prove that, please, little lady ? " " From experience, sir ; I used to make up my mind to stop doing and thinking every thing wrong; and I made good resolves ever so many times, and nearly every time broke them. I tried to be better for two long years ; and one night I sat down to search my heart, to see if I was gaining; and I found, on the whole, that I was woi'se than ever. Can you keep the resolves you make about a great many things, sir? and if you have not the love of God in your heart are you becoming better year by year?" The stranger looked confused, and asked what dif- ference the love of God in the heart made. 96 YOU DON'T SA Y SO. " What difference, sir ! Why, we have a new heart ; the sin that was in there is gone ; it's all love to every- body, and to God. Somehow we don't want to do the wrong things we used to do ; and we want to do good all the time. I don't see how you have lived so long, sir, without religion ! Why, if you only knew how dif- ferent you would feel, you would never be satisfied until you found it. You are a great scientist, they tell me, sir ; but I can't see how you have found the rea- son for so many things, and not found God." "My little friend " "I am not really your friend, sir." "But let me call you my little friend." The manner of the stranger was entirely changed. Somehow, it seemed as if his great heart had been locked for years, and all its harps of melody untouched. Philosophy and argument had battered its adaman- tine doors ; but they only rattled defiance in return ; yet this little key of personal Christian experience fitted the lock ; and now the doors are swung ajar. The old chords, that rang with music years ago, are touched again, so delicately that the soul listens, as a heaven- born melody breathes o'er his nature, with the words of angels : " Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." Agnes replied : "I'd rather you would call me just by my name, 'Agnes.'" " Well, just as you say. I do not know why I am so familiar with you in conversation, Agnes ; but I am better acquainted with you now than any friend I ever had except " The stranger had thoughtlessly unlocked a forbid- den door with the last word, and hastily asked if the carriage was not too warm, as he let down the window, and then continued : " I am surprised at my familiarity with you, Agnes — YOU DON'T SAY 80. 97 that is what you said I might call you " "Yes, sir." REASON INADEQUATE TO FIND OUT GOD. " But as we have been conversing on this topic, I will tell you, honestly, my opinion. I have searched much for Go'd. I have traveled in every clime, and sailed on every sea ; gone down into deep mines, and ascended lofty mountains ; watched the movements of the little animalcules beneath the microscope, and the elephant in the African forest; analyzed plant, and mineral, and fluid ; studied the stars, until the constellations are a book in which I read their names and trace their forms ; but I am farther from God, the more I reason. I can not reason out a God. I see him in beautiful symmetry, and design, and wonders innumerable, but can not bring him down to my mind only as some cold, innate first cause. Agnes, I can not find your God." "Would you like to find him, sir?" The stranger resumed : " Oh! if I had a little honest heart like yours, I could believe, and not reason myself out of it; but — why! little lady, I have said more to you of the true feelings ,of my heart than to any one for years. You must possess some mystical key. Do you enter all hearts thus?" "It isn't me, sir; it's the story of Jesus. "Will you let him come into your lonely heart, sir ? " " Why do you say lonely ? " "Because, any heart must be lonely without any God. Now, you have searched so many years, aided only by reason, and have not found God ; and I, in a few moments, found him. How strange ! If I will tell you another way than reasoning, will you try it, sir?" And the little hands were clasped in earnestness, 13 98 YOU DON'T SA Y SO. and the face had a pleading look that it was hard to- trifle with. "Well, you may tell me, if you choose." SOUL THIKST. "I think, sir, you want God ever so much; but hardly know what you want. Your great mind has reasoned, and thought, and invented, to find some- thing, you know not what. In every country you traveled, on every mountain from which you gazed, you were searching for something that you did not understand. It was God. You have unconsciously looked for him, and searched, and trusted, and kept on reasoning ; and your reasoning has never "shown you God, and never will. I remember when we were reading Plato's dialogues, in Madam Chevois' school — " " Have you attended Madam Chevois' school ? " "Yes, sir; I graduated there this spring. But I remember, in reading those dialogues, that Socrates remarked to Alcibiades that God could not be found of them, unless some one told them how ; and I am so sorry for you, sir; you have wandered so long, and become so weary, when you could have found rest so easily. Oh I isn't it true that you have become weary, and heart-sick, and discouraged, and can find nothing to satisfy?" The stranger forgot all but the little sympathetic speaker, and felt as if some one was holding wide open the door of his heart, and reading every line written therein ; and he involuntarily answered : "You have spoken the thoughts of my inmost soul." " Oh I sir ; I am so glad you have told me, for now I can tell you better what to do. Just go home and get down on your knees, and tell Jesus how weary and discouraged you are, and how you have searched for him and can't find the way. Ask him to just take YOU DON'T 8A Y SO. 99 you, and lead you. Tell him you have tried yoyr rea- son, and it is not sufficient ; and I will be praying for you at the same time. I'm so glad you told me. I know you'll find him. God is answering my prayer. I have prayed for ybu every day since the first time we met ; and wasn't God good to answer my prayer?" The scientist was great no longer. He bowed his head, covered his face with his hands, and shook in every fiber of his frame. He seemed a pigmy before his God; and the little lady, an angel directly from His throne, with a message for him. He had heard men abuse his opinions, and he defiant as Goliath, of Gath; but when a little woman said she had been praying for him every day for weeks, that arrow pierced his stubborn heart. He was slain. Just then a sharp report of fire-arms ; — the plate glass is shivered ; — the warm blood splashes into her face; — the stranger groans, — gasps, — drops forward. Is he slain ? CHAPTER XL DEEP, DEEP SLEEP. gNOTHER month has rolled by. The sultry July days have come. The sun pours upon the dry earth a flood of heat. The landscape glimmers to the sight. The distant ring of the sharpening of scythes, the rattle of machines, and the loud shouts of the drivers come from every hillside ; while the air is rich with the fragrance of new-mown hay. It is Satur- day ; Agnes does, to-day, as she has done every Sat- urday since the stranger was wounded — carries him a carefully selected bouquet of flowers. She has the time, on this day ; and she remembers how great must be the patience to endure the pain of the healing of such a wound ; and then, it was received when the stranger was doing her a favor. Wouldn't it be selfish not to cheer him, in his great affliction, with a few flowers ? Agnes rang the bell, and was answered by the stran- ger himself. She gave vent to her undisguised pleasure at his partial recovery by shaking him heartily by the hand, saying : " I'm so glad to see you recovering, sir. But you are not well?" She was startled, at a second glance, by the haggard paleness that seemed to add years to his appearance. " No ; but I am much better," he replied. " I have been looking for you. I have learned to appreciate your flowers ; they have been my best medicine." YOU D ON' T SAY SO. 101 " I am glad of that, sir ; I thought how lonely you must be ; and flowers were the only thing that I could think of to send you ; for I thought in studying nature you must have learned to love them." " Won't you step in, a moment ? " asked the stranger. " No, sir ; I don't think I had better ; but I am so glad to find you improving so fast. I will send the flowers hereafter." " But, will you not bring them ? " "I have found you so nearly recovered, I will send them now. Good morning, sir. Remember, I am pray- ing for you." " Agnes ! " She stopped and returned slowly. "You said I might call you Agnes?" "Yes, sir." " / have been praying. " " Have you, sir ? Have you found Him ? " " I hardly know, my little lady. How Tnay I know ? " " Why, God will tell you. Oh ! you have not found him, or you would know it." "Well, I have searched the best I can. I don't know why I should tell a little lady all about these things ; but I have searched as best I could ; perhaps I may be all wrong." "Can I help you any, sir?" "You could pray for me, here, this morning. Will you?" Agnes was a little startled ; but, looking in wonder at the deep earnestness written on his countenance, she answered, falteringly : "I will try, sir." The great scientist, like a willing pupil, was now ready to be taught by one who seemed almost a child, his once proud fortress having been all battered down by a maiden's artless story of the Cross. He opened a 13* 102' rOV DON'T' SAV SO: great door into a parlor, fit, in elegance and size, for the cEOwn-room of a king, turned, and with trembling voice,, said : "LiMe liady, I want to find your God, your Savior. Now, do help me." Agnes knelt, with tears fast flowing, and prayed : " Oh ! God, here is some one that is searching for you. He has looked for you a long time, and yet has not known it ; but has found he can not find you. He wants Jesus to lead him. Dear Jesus, you came to blind Bartimeus ; come to this great philosopher, who can not see the way. Oh ! Jesus, how his heart aches I it has yearned for you so long ; and now he calls for you. Oh l Lord, won't you come quickly ? What was the matter when he prayed to you ? Didn't he re- nounce all his sins ? Didn't he promise to give up all, Lord ; won't you help him now? Poor man, he's been sick ! I was afraid he was going to die ; but you have let him live. IXdh't you let him live just on purpose to save him ? And he wants to be saved ; da save him just now, Lord ! Oh ! don't keep his poor, weary heart in suspense «,ny longer " and here Aggie broke down in sobs; and the stranger wept, and sobbed, and called on the name of his God. God heard him, for when they arose^ Jesus had sat- isfied that hungry longing of his soui ; but the stran- ger could only Mripe away his tears of gladness and speak in tones of deep emotion of the rest that had come to his soul. ^Another month has fled. Agnes is still teaching. Somehow, the school has all gone wrong, to-day. And then, she has taught so many weeks, and' the weather is^so warm, and her head has ached so hard all day. She was weary, and there came into her heart that dreary, lonely, tired feeling which comes into all our YOU D ON' T SA Y SO. 103 hearts sometimes. She bowed her head upon the hard desk, and thought and dreamed for an hour ; for the scholars had gone home, and the sun was fast sinking. Oh ! how many thoughts of the past, of the present, of what it was, of what it might be ! Was it right that she should work, and work, until her head throbbed, and until she was almost wearied to death? Her voice went tremulously through the old school-room, as she said : "Oh! God, shall I take the money? I don't want to sell the keepsakes mother gave me. Oh ! Father, your Aggie gets so tired, sometimes ! Won't you tell her what to do, or send somebody to tell her ? " "He has sent some one." Agnes gave a little startled shriek, looked quickly around, and saw the stranger standing in the doorway. "Why, sir, I did not know that you were here ! " "I thought that you would be weary to-night, which is doubly true, isn't it ? and would like to ride. I did not intend to break in upon your seclusion ; but as I did not find you at the house, I thought I would walk until I met you, and have found you here by this little old desk, so tired, looking so ill. Why, little one, this will not do ; it is all wrong." " You do not know, sir ! " " Yes, I do know all about it. No matter how I came by the knowledge ; but it is wrong for a little rosebud like you to transplant yourself into the desert to fade away." " Are you acquainted with my uncle, sir ? " "No; lam not." "Well, then, you must have had a talk with Mr. Hard, my lawyer ; he is the only person that could have told you. Oh ! why did he ? " "Are you sorry, little friend?" "Why, sir, you were not to call me friend, but 104 YOU D ON' T SAY SO. Agnes." "Well, if I am to call you Agnes, may I not have another name to put with it ? " " Did not Mr. Hard give you my name ? " "No ; he only gave me an outline of some facts." "I am sorry, sir. I had rather you would not repeat them to any one. But you asked my other name. My name is Agnes Leland." There was a long silence, so long that Agnes looked up inquiringly. The stranger stood pale and motion- less, his countenance betraying deep emotion. " What is it ? " asked Agnes, starting up. " Are you ill?" ' "No; oh! no," he answered, strangely;" "but had you a sister — Belle ? " "Belle?— yes!— yes!" " Did she ever tell you of Hugh St. Clair ? "Oh! is this Hugh St. Clair? Tell me quickly." And Agnes sprang to his side, and looked up eagerly into his face. "M is." "Why, it doesn't seem possible! And you knew Belle?" "Yes, and loved her." " Can you tell me all about how she died, the first thing?" And thus they talked ; and that very night, when the long drive was ended, Agnes, alighting from the carriage, said, to St. Clair's inquiry : " Yes ; you may call me your little friend ; I want to be now, for we both have loved Belle." "Yes," replied St. Clair; "and now I live alone in the old Castle ; it is so lonesome." "Oh! if Belle had lived, you never would have been lonesome." "But I have;i't any Belle." YOU D ON' T SAY SO. 105 , " That is true. How I wish I could help you not to be lonesome, in some way." "You can." "I can? How?" "By changing your name." " By changing my name ? " "Yes ; how would it sound, Agnes St. Clair?" Agnes was taken completely by surprise. She could neither speak, nor could she hide her confusion. "Shall it be Agnes St. Clair?" he asked again,. "Why, — I — you so surprise me! Are you in ear- nest, sir ? But you must wait until they can get another teacher." That night, long after the constellations had wheeled past the heavenly mile-board of midnight, Agnes was still awake. There was a tumult of thought, and won- der, and excitement, that seemed to be holding high carnival beneath her throbbing temples. At last, near dawn, she slept, and dreamed that Hugh and she were riding on the brink of a dizzy precipice ; the horse plunges; she falls down, — down, — down, — Hugh wild- ly calling her name, pitch darkness around ; — but now it is light; some one stands above her with drawn dagger. She shrieked — awoke. It was day; aunty was bending over her. " Why, Aggie, what's the matter ? " "I was only — dreaming — yes — I was — dreaming — but oh! my head — my head; — send for a doctor, quick. Aunty, quick ! " The old lady sends a message by a boy directly to her uncle's house. Guy receives it, says he will send the doctor, and converses full fifteen minutes with him in nervous undertone, his last words, "How can the thing be found out ? " The doctor rode quickly away. An iron-faced man, 14 106 YOU DON'T SA Y SO. with a look of greed always shining in his eyes that would have shamed Lucifer. He is not the best doctor in the town, and there have been many ominous whis- pers concerning him ; but still, Guy thinks it best to employ him this time. He found Aggie raving in a delirium of brain fever, and told old aunty it was a hopeless case, that she would not live until morning. "Why?" Hark ! — " But give her this powder in an hour ; it may help her." — Aye, out of the world ! Poor little helpless one, with no one to defend you ! Brave little heroine, how you have struggled in the battle of forgiveness ; but in that you found a friend ; but now there stands over you the great hungry monster, death ! Innocent little Aggie ! who will bat- tle with the monster for you ? Alas ! your tiny arm is too week for the struggle. That night, when the sun Sank to sleep and above her pillow cast a radiance of light, he seemed to be weaving a coronet for a saint departed ; for the eyes were closed, the lips were motionless. Poor tired Aggie, your heart of sympathy, so fearful of giving pain to other hearts, has it ceased to throb ? How beautifully she sleeps, as an angel that any mo- ment may wake, plume its wings, and vanish. Old aunty can only wring her hands and weep, and cry: " Oh ! Aggie, my child ! my child ! How I loved you, Aggie, my poor dead child ! " Guy and his father were there in an hour, all excite- ment and agitation, the father weeping, wringing his hands and mourning in self-condemnation. " It's all wrong ; I should not have let her go. Oh ! God, forgive me." On Guy's face there was an expression that one who YO U DON' TSAY SO, 107 reads human nature could not decipher; but there were no tears. It was decided, as Guy thought best, to have the funeral early the next day. CHAPTER XII. WAS IT A DREAM? *UGH ST. CLAIR, who had been to the city for a couple of days, returned, on the morning of the funeral, entirely ignorant of the melan- choly circumstances that had transpired in his absence. He had brought home a number of acquaintances with him, medical students and naturalists, together with a distinguished anatomist. They sat, that morning, in the grand old parlor, whose windows look out to the road, laughing, chatting, and exchanging bits of sar- casm ; one or two in undertone argument, and the others looking at the paintings and quaint old statu- ary. At last, breakfast was brought in ; and as they did justice to hot coffee and cakes, praising old Aunt Chloe, the cook, until her ebony face reflected a bur- nished glow of pride, one of the company said : "Say, Hugh, how did you come by this old house? It makes one feel ancient to look around it ; but it's fit for a king." " Oh ! it was an heir-loom ; it came with the rest of the estate." " But what have you done with that grand new man- sion you had put up last year, in the city — the best location there, on the avenue ? " "Oh! that's closed up." " You're a strange fellow ! What on earth prompts you to stay in this weird old Castle ? Everybody that ■'YO U BON'T 8A ¥' SO. lOO belongs to the ' upper-ten ' dn town Has been in a fever of inquiry about y<)u at the places of summ«r resort. You don't know, old fellow, how much you are appi^- eiated. The scientific columns have ' suffered i&'j'our absence. Pull up stakes, how, and go back with tts. Why don't you open youi* Hew housis at the be^ihhirig of the season, and invite iii your friends a'mJ Isi theiii knbw you are alive? Why, aH-the belles of the town - — " "Oh I'' replied St. Glair, in an—impatient torite of voice, "I'm tired of it ! I'm tired of it ! I have c6m6 out here to get rest; and, gentlemen, / hdv&'fQun<4ir ■ Hugh toldthein of the new aftd perfect fesli- he hM found, in a tone and manner that comihandeid fesp'&ct. There were listening hearts,- from whence* came a feeble voice only heard by that soul and God, "Oh ! for this rest." An hour after, as Hugh and the «&m'pany wfere examining the models of invention and the wonderful apparatus in his conservatory of experiment, the aiiato- misi 'remarked, laughiftgiy : "You have every thing here, St. Olair, except the human skeleton. i^I should- think it a good plac&lbr private study, out here, >' ho one to pity, nonei- tb' molest?" ■ ftl-have ho taste in that direction,'' replied Hugh. ■ '1 f*Say,-- Prof.," suggests a' strident, '''cah't' yoii' giVe us' A lesion 'before we return?" ': '^ Why, I hadn't thought of that; don't know but I cah.* When shall it be?" ' I^iWhy, not to-night. We'll consult St. Clair." Hugh hesitated. It was not his place to dictate the pleasure of his visitors ; but he would rather not have aSny thing to do with it. '-'A few moments after, a stu- dent hurriedly entered the room, and,'~"with a peculiar wink, remarked : 110 YOU B ON' T SA Y SO. "Step outside a moment, gents, step outside; and I will show you something to encourage to-night's project." They stood in the doorway. A funeral procession was slowly passing ; and a moment after, the mournful notes of a deep-toned bell came throbbing through the air— toll — toll. A student, with a significant look, commenced, in trembling tone: "Somebody's dar- ling " "Harry! Harry!" and the old professor beamed on him an amused reproof. Hugh looked upon him with aversion. The professor went out quickly, found his handy man making an acquaint- ance with St. Clair's coachman, and huriiedly taking him one side, whispered : "Do you see that procession going down the hill yonder, Jem ? " " Yes ; x-y-z, yer honor ? " "Exactly, Jem," " And when, my lord ? " "To-night, at eleven." " I will be there, sir, and bring a friend ; " and he followed on hurriedly down the hill. It is evening. No cloud hangs its curtain over the stars ; and the brow of Heaven, aglow with sparkling gems, is unveiled to earth. The silver moonlight has tinged all nature with transparent sheen. The distant hills that frown upon us are chiseled sharp against the sky. The low winds play upon the leafy tops of the woodland yonder a mournful dirge. We stand in a grave-yard. White marble shafts gleam down like frozen ghosts that guard the city of the dead. Dead ! Deathly silence reigns. Hark I did you hear it ? No. Do you see it ? What I the sound of earth cast out by a spade ! Did you see it gleam in the moonlight ? See it ! See it ! Did you hear that hollow sound as it struck upon a YO U DON'T SA Y 80. Ill coffin lid? Look ! look ! a white form is lifted from the grave and laid upon the mound of damp earth ; and the spade gleams, and grates, and fills the grave again. The moonlight falls upon the face so ghastly beauti- ful ; a snowy blossom falls from the auburn tresses and drops into the grave ; the ruffian drops his spade, leaps into the grave, and casts it out with a curse. The great clock in the grand old hall of the Val- ancthen Castle points to the hour of eleven. The shadows dance across the dial-plate, and across pictures> and statuary, and faces, — faces varied in expression' from deep thought to nervous expectancy. "It's time he was here," whispers a trembling voice. The bell rings. The professor smiles grimly, and says: " Always on time ; never failed me yet. Wheel out the long table, boys, and open my case of instruments." It is done. The castors creak out a sullen scream, and old blood stains are seen thick upon the marble top. Stumbling footsteps are heard on the stairway, and the low jargon of confused voices. They are com- ing up this way. They pause. Three measured knocks. "Open the door, boys." All instinctively shrink back, except one, of stony countenance, who, lamp in hand, turns the key. The door swings back. A score of blanched faces, with bated breath, look wildly out. The light falls upon a bearded vagabond, whose arms enfold a shrouded form. " On that marble table, Jem. " The burden is dropped with a jar, and a whispered curse that freezes the blood. "That'll do, Jem." He went out, slamming the door after him ; and the deathlike echo rolled through the hall. In the midst stands the blood-stained table on which lies that figure ■x^ .kyov Dom^sAY so. closely wrapped in its white winding sheet.: ; ButiJsee! .feeE^eath'jthe.shr(>uded folds you may trace the Taeaiiti- rfijl QjitJii^egiOf: sleeping day^ , Slowii;^: the professorlun- win.d?j.tl*ef;f)uter ivrappihga, givea^^ an exclaniatirimcof -§jftrpr4S%;i^jid;. then Covers the marble face and satin Bj^rppd, again, and there only: hafiga down from beneaMi, ft> (little i white hand. As we listen to the clink of , the hurried assorting of instruments, each breath is ' a fligh of suspense. I'fCallin St.' CLair," whispered the professor, i He came, glanced indifferently at the shrouded corpse, and sat down carelessly. "Now," said the professor, I in a low tone, "we will first dissect a human :hand, 'You will notice how per- fect a model :;Wfe have here i of that part of the body, fresh as life, buried but this morning. As I insert-the }ftji(S#jifi"the^^.palm, : " .:''.< " ; ,Therp-iwas heard, a little crushing of-eofdsj and bones, tod flesh ;: Blood stains his hands; he starts,; 'and cries; "It is warni!^' All s|)*ing to their feet with a ca-y/, :Tliere is a::nioVenient b^neath the windihg-sheetiy it's folds axe- jJushed back, a^id . the dead springs ttp-4-the form of a beautiful woman, a lancet piercing her uplifted hand, the blood falling upon her ghastly face, as she shrieks * , ,^'Qh I God,) is this your Aggie's Heaveii.?i'/- CHAPTER XIII. THE CURTAIN DROPS. OW the weeks have fled I The harvest has been gathered, the forest is dressed in its brill- iant robe of autumn leaves, and the fields are brown with stubble. Agnes has recovered ; but it was a terrible battle between death, medicine and prayer ; yet she lives, and seems as one who lives another life — one not her own. None have known of the scene in the Castle we last presented, except those then pres- ent, they never having revealed the secret. There has been a beautiful monument erected to the memory of Agnes by her uncle ; and Squire Barnabee has visited the grave and moistened it with tears of tender mem- ory. How lonesome is his pew in church each Sab- bath. He can not sing from the old hymn book they used to sing from, without weeping. Sandy listens for the voice that made his Sabbath a day of days, but hears it not. The funeral is past, and she is numbered with the dead; but, as you know, she was dug from her grave before she awoke from the breathless stupor, the effect of the deadly poison, and was restored as by accident, and by weeks of tender watching. Hugh had sat at the foot of her couch ; and old aunty, taken into confidence, hovered over her, trying to soothe her in her wild delirium ; and the skilled professor staid for days. At last, the fever left her ; she slept, and then awoke to call : " Hugh, where am I ? What does it mean ? Why, 15 114 YOU D ON' T SAY SO. Aunty, how large your cottage seems 1 " Gradually she comprehended all, and was glad she lived, because Hugh would have been so lonesome. The gaily dressed page of the Valancthen Oastle drove swiftly from door to door and left invitations, printed in gilt within a wreath of flowers stamped upon white silk, for the marriage of Hugh St. Clair with Miss . Every one said : " How strange not to give the other name ! Who can be the happy one? Of course some grand lady from the cityj may be a royal duchess." How the carriages rolled up the drive to the old Castle that morning. The coaches stood thick before the gate, and the pages, in glittering tinsel, bowed and made courtesies continually to the people who poured from the carriages into the great doors beneath the groined archway. The great drawing room was crowded ; the minister stood waiting ; there was a rustling of heavy silks and billowy lace down the grand stairway, every eye eagerly watching the door- way. Hugh St. Clair enters with the proud majesty of a king ; but who leans upon his arm ? Who ? WHO ? A full half hour went by before the service could be performed, filled by a scene you could not expect us to reproduce. That night, after the grand fete was ended, there was discovered on a couch in a distant room physicians en- deavoring to revive Guy Leland, who, it seems, at the appearance of Agnes had given a loud cry and fallen insensible. The doctors are wiping the blood that flows from his lips. A blood vessel is ruptured. He is dying ! He calls for Hugh and Aggie. They listen tenderly to his last whispered words : TO U DON'T SAY SO. 115 " Forgive me, St. Clair, for the deadly wound I gave you! Forgive me, Aggie, for the poison! Oh! God, have mercy on my blackened soul ! " He was dead ! Aggie whispered : " Father, forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us." Christmas has come — merry, merry Christmas. The old Castle blazes with a dazzling illumination. Every window flashes light. Music rolls out upon the frosty air in enrapturing undulations. The great house is full of gladness. Long tables, laden with luxuries, are surrounded by faces cheery with merriment, and laughter and glad exclamations. The feast is cleared away. A flood of music fills the whole house, and causes the heart to beat quickly with swelling emotion. There is a pause, and, to the unbounded amusement of the audience, and his own delight, Sandy, McLure is delegated to make the ora- tion of the evening. He stands' before them in a new suit, of the latest cut, and in his left hand a polished beaver. He has reluct- antly accepted these as indispensable to his grand effort of the evening, and as a tribute to his "master lamin'." He has found in Hugh St. Clair another sympathizer. You can imagine his bow, accompan- ied by a sweeping gesture of his shining tile. Squire Barnabee is ready to explode. " Friends, an' folks in gineral, I am here tew speech- ify a leetle. I hev consented tew dew this hifeluken job by the tearful articulation uv another natcherlizer, the nearest like myself uv any thing I ever seed grow. I feel wonderful kinder loo — loon — ish, standin' here this great day when I shall publish to the American people one uv my hyperbolical spontaneous insignifi- 116 YO U DON'T SAY SO. cant combustions. I've longed fer the time tew come when the great might know, "From east to west, from north to south, What larnin' flows from out my mouth; and the time hez come ; "Hail, Columbia, happy land;" And now I hope tew mal^e a stand. "I am to give a spontaneous irruption on the four seasons, spring, summer, autumn and winter ; and now I commence one of the biggest gushes I ever gushed. "The year comes inter bein' clothed in the fust faint emerald garmint uv the spring, which seems tew be the child uv autumn, but like some who come up through dire adversity. The spring time leaps over the snow drifts, bursts every icy chain, and, with its lock of airy spring clouds, its eye the genial sun, it goes forth on its mission of marcy, until the medders are resurrected from their snowy sepulchers. " The streams flask their gladness, and the buzum of the great deep heaves with emotion at the striking off of their fetters, and return thanks in a prolonged ora- torio, whose faint flute is the dying of a ripple, whose diapason is the crash of thunderin' billow. Again she wanders through fields and forests, and her pathway becomes fragrant grasses, while on either side the tiny wild flower peeps up to give its little welcome. The trees o'er head, in honor uv their queen, begin to don the drapery of leaves. The cold winds recoil, abashed, and her breath comes wooing us, until we consent to set down beneath the grand old trees ; and with velvet breezes, golden sunshine, and a wilderness of green, we git up a big oration. "But hardly has she flown before summer comes — the blue-eyed, the golden-haired, 'the beautiful. Her robes of yeller gauze she fastens with a belt of early YOU D ON' T SAY SO. 117 grain, while a spray uv snowy fruit blossoms adorns her flowing hair. Oh I Summer, thou most beautiful uv the year I all nature claims thee as her favorite, and at thy comin', dons her loveliest dress, 'hem! — a leetle more air. Squire. Ez I was a sayin', "Autumn is a spring grown old; a summer whose loved one is dead ; one who has passed through great afflictions, until she has become a beautiful melan- choly. She smiles in October, that warm, tender, glow- ing smile, bright, yet subdued. She paints the sky with a plainer blue, and the fields a more sober green ; and then she seems to revel, for the time, in a faint hope that former joys may return. Her robes assume the brilliancy of autumn leaves, and her cheeks glow with the hectic flush of ripening fruit, as she reclines on her arbor of golden sheaves. "But in November she begins to reflect upon her comin' doom. The brightness fades from her eye ; the auburn tresses become a sailer gray; her many col- ored dresses, a faded brown ; the flush of her counte- nance assumes a holler ashiness. She weeps in No- vember rains, wails in the moanin' winds, hurriedly snatches her shroud the first snow storm, and drops into the icy arms of winter — dead. " Now, winter is the undertaker uv the year ; he is constitutionally cruel, frozen ! His aim is to have dominion, and to spread desolation. Trees stripped of leaves are foliage to him. He seems one great sepul- cher, in which are buried all the beauty and wealth uv the year. He is now come upon us. Verdure has died in dread of his approach. The sun seems to shun the scene and abide but a little while in the day, and that as far to the south as possible. He stands now on some Arctic shore, brewin' tremendous storms, a little of which is howlin' around us to-night. He has already cast his white shroud upon the year; and while the 15" 118 YOU D ON' T SAY SO. winds keep up the music, the old sexton, Father Time, will soon beckon to the bearers, who, shiverin' beneath the pale moonlight, lift the coffins uv three forms, spring, summer and autumn, and ten thousand stars will hold their lamps as they sweep backward over the dreary pathway of oblivion ; while a bell, slowly toll- in' from some gray tower, repeats to earth the story that the year is dead." Sandy sat down, amidst round after round of ap- plause. The Squire came directly forward and took him by the hand, exclaiming : "Say, was that original?" "Why, Squire, it had an origin." " But in your brain ? " "Don't query me, Squire ; I need rest." Now, in came Santa Glaus, amidst shouts of greeting, and left to each a memorial of that happy night. When all were supplied, Sandy, Squire Barnabee, and old aunty, with whom Aggie used to make it her home, only held sealed envelopes. Sandy unsealed his and disclosed an elongated blank that he was trying hard to decipher. Sandy couldn't make out the scrib- bling on that scrap of paper. He asked the Squire's assistance ; the Squire said he had one just like it, but had left his spec's at home. Aunty came over to have hers read ; she couldn't see what it meant. A friend offered assistance. Aunty's read thus : " Third National Bank, pay to the bearer ten thousand dollars." The old lady exclaimed : "It can't be!" " Dew tell," cried Sandy. "You don't say," murmured the Squire. "Read mine," said Sandy, all in a tremble. " Same bank pay to the bearer fifteen thousand dol- lars." Sandy gave a war-whoop, and swung his beaver, crying : YO U D ON' T SAY SO. 119 " I'm a millionyer at last." "You don't say," cried the Squire. The Squire passed in his for translation. " The same bank twenty-five thousand dollars." " You don't say so ! " roared the Squire. The scene ended with round after round of applause. CHAPTER XIV. CONCLUSION. HUNDRED years to come, Hugh St. Clair's skepticism still lives in other men ; but Aggie Leland's simple story of the Cross points woman to a work the most sublime. Her gentle fingers thus can touch the chords that ruder hands must not play upon. Universalism still exists ; but its advocates feel that they have peculiar sympathy with that Biblical char- acter, husk-fed. Spiritualism still flickers, a " Will-with-the-wisp," a "Jack-with-the-lantern," an "Ignis fatuus," hovering above a trackless shore. Anon it is extinguished. Friends, shall you and I not be careful in our search for the truth — be sure that our feet are on the rock? Keep human reason limited to its proper calling, and God's pure love in our hearts ? So may it be, and then with faith we can send up the prayer of a united brotherhood, GOD SAVE US ALL. FINIS. Legend of Lake Erie: A PO E M , FOUNDED ON INDIAN TRADITION FROM VARIOUS SOURCES. FULL EXPLANATIONS GIVEN IN THE PREFACE AND INTRODUCTION. ^~Y\cA,\ ^ «W~iC?' I HAMBURG: ERIE COUNTY INDEPENDENT. 1877. PREFACE. The following pages are leisure scribblings that we publish without pretense. If you wish further inform- ation, you will find it by reading several works on Indians by Schoolcraft; also, Buffalo and the Senecas, the History of the Holland Purchase, and Black Robes. You will observe that the poem embraces fictitious, characters and shadings of incidents wholly imaginary. We anticipate but little interest from our readers in the poem ; for they can argue, with plausibility, that the subject is much too ancient and abstract. With us it is a production of considerable labor, having spent much time in gathering material, which can only be obtained from sources quite uncommon ; nevertheless, if you spend an agreeable hour in its perusal, we shall feel richly repaid. Yours Truly, Ward Platt. 1 INTRODUCTION AN ANCIENT VILLAGE. The plowshare has done a ruinous work among the old land-marks of Indian settlements and warfare. In these days, when the soil must be thoroughly culti- vated to yield a proper ratio on investment, one must have unmistakable evidence in regard to the locality he seeks, being extremely cautious that every little knoll in the vicinity does not become, in his imagina- tion, an Indian mound. We have examined, spade in hand, one locality in particular, and with alacrity commenced unearthing a grave-shaped mound, with sanguine expectancy; but we soon found that copious perspiration liquidated hope, and clipped the wings of imagination. We accordingly invited common sense to give us her opin- ien, and she unhesitatingly answered : " These mounds are but the remains of decayed timber." Our hunger for Indians subsided; but a bread-and-butter "war- whoop" from within constrained us to quickly shoul- der our spade and march hurriedly homeward in search of the substantials. But in one thing we were very fortunate, and that was the privilege of having a few long talks with an aged grandfather, by name Moses Dart. He was a matter-of-fact man, not one to be carried away by im- agination, or theory. Himself and a brother, very early in life, started on foot from the State of Vermont, and reached the present locality of Hamburg before Buffalo fell a prey to flames and Indians. He was on duty as a soldier for some time in Buffalo and vicinity, INTRODVGTION. 3 and stood upon the border of the lake when the terri- ble explosion at Fort Erie occurred, of which he used to give a graphic description, declaring that the terri- ble concussion caused a wave to roll over the smooth lake and break upon the shore. He had been dis- charged from duty but a few .hours, and allowed to return home, when Buffalo was burned and many of his acquaintances massacred. The farm that he occu- pied until lately deceased was situated in the immedi- ate vicinity of the Hamburg Fair Ground. More than sixty years ago, being very inquisitive in regard to historical or scientific facts, he was led to examine extraordinary antiquated remains that bordered upon the present site of the fair ground. On the farm owned at present by Alois Kcslmel is a beautiful slope, just across the highway leading to the above grounds. A living brook bends in such a manner as to bound it on three sides. It contains about twelve acres, which the narrator declared, when first discovered by him, were cleared of trees, and grass-grown. There were also evident traces of streets ; for although the village could not have been large, yet the exactness with which the ground was divided into squares, inter- cepted by streets, excited inquiry. Scattered around were remains of implements of warfare, bones of ani- mals and fish, bits of colored stones, some resembling the moss-agate, and beads made from rock of blue color. Being something of a mineralogist, he said that no such rock existed in this region. From these facts, the inference was drawn that the men who lived there were warriors; that they sub- sisted upon game found in the forest, and fish from the lake ; they also carried on a limited commerce with western tribes. (And to prove, more fully, such com- mercial relation, we would add that we are in posses- sion of a large red pipe, found in Hamburg, and find, 4 INTRODUCTION. by reference to Schoolcraft's Iroqiwis, that this was the material from which Indian jewelry was made ; and was found in that section of country between the sources of the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers.) AN ANCIENT CEMETERY. Adjoining the site of the ancient Indian village on the southwest (or the gravelly fields lying between the road leading to Abbott's Corners and the one leading to the fair ground) is an Indian cemetery. The graves, arranged with considerable regularity, and numbering about a thousand, evidently contain the bodies of many departed giants. The timber disap- peared years ago. The plow has obliterated the only historical writing, inscribed in dust, whose page was sacredly guarded by melancholy, mourning pines. The soil being light and dry, of course all remains would be well preserved. Led by curiosity, Moses Dart, in those early days, unearthed a few of the graves, and found, after digging a little below the sur- face, traces of a covering of hemlock bark. Digging still farther, the resting places of the dead were discovered. ONE SKELETON SAT UPRIGHT, arms folded, looking toward sunrise. (Mr. Dart took this as some evidence, at least, that they were worship- pers of the sun.) The graves were square, and rarely over four feet deep. Very often whole families were grouped together in one. Various implements were found buried with the dead. In the lap of one skele- ton was found a brass kettle, partly filled with seeds. Mr. Dart, being a practical botanist, declared they were unlike any he had ever seen, and failed to sprout them. In another grave was found a knife blade, upon which had been inscribed characters still legible. Being a man well read, he gave it as his opinion that INTRODUCTION. 5 the writing was Hebrew. Unfortunately, in the course of time, all these relics were lost ; but if we give the last opinion weight, it is a remarkable coincidence with JEWISH RELICS found in the mounds of Ohio. Axes have been found in great numbers ; one was plowed up quite recently, by Mr. William Perrine, of Hamburg; its shape is that of a grub hoe, the blade parallel with the eye; on the side of each of these axes a stamp is invariably found, consisting of three small circles, arranged in the form of a triangle, figured by lines crossing at right- angles. • The meaning of this stamp would be of great aid in determining what nation visited this tribe. The probabilities are strong in favor of the French ; but still, this stamp may have been used to make these axes more salable to the Indians, circular shells with lines crossing each other at the center being regarded by them as badges of honor. In the same region were found remains of an old palisade. The poles, sharpened and driven into the ground, had entirely rotted away, save the sharpened ends which could be traced in regular line. The age of these relics is proved by several facts; one or two we will mention : A very large tree, grow- ing near one of the graves, was cut down, and the number of rings indicated great age. When the cross- road leading to the fair ground was constructed, skele- tons nearly SEVEK FEET IN HEIGHT were exhumed ; and bones of portions of bodies dis- covered outmeasured those of any race of Indians now in America. This, then, proved them to be a truly ancient race. In this busy age we are surrounded by so much din 6 INTRODUCTION. and rattle, such eagerness of watching for to-morrow, that we do not pause to inquire in regard to yesterday, much less of Erie County as a wilderness. Al- though the curtain has dropped, the foot-lights have been extinguished, the theater has been obliterated, and the audience is dead, the thrilling drama was en- acted none the less. There were deeds of valor and silent midnight contemplation, heroic sacrifices and moonlight wooings ; there was eloquent harangue and starlight tragedy; viewed only by the grand old trees, which, unhewn by the hunter's axe, grew for centuries. The forests, whose aisles we walk to-day, are but the children of those ancient, moss-grown priests, who, in solemn tone, chanted^ with the winds, praises for a wild creation never viewed by the swarming East. There is implanted in the bosom of many an insa- tiate thirst for the romantic, especially that sort which is associated with knight or castle, the Orient or roll- ing prairies. If the hero override difficulties and plant banners on dizzy heights ; or if he be pictured to them SCARLET-SCARllED AND BATTLE-BEGRIMMED, the demand is partially met. But if, when we are all expectant, breathlessly awaiting the appearance of the central figure upon the stage, a daring woman, with .athletic step, sweeps down to the front, her brow bronzed copper red, but, nevertheless, her beauty matchless, the demand is met. Now, I am to tell you how, at one time, the region we inhabit was occupied by a gigantic race of men ; and how, in the hour of their greatest exultation, one woman brought down destruction on them all. A great while ago ( I can no*t tell exactly how long, but at least more than two hundred and fifty years), there dwelt a tribe of warriors that for stalwartness, strength, and deeds of valor, have had few parallels in INTRODUCTION. 7 history. They were called the Ereighs (Eries), from which, you observe, was derived the name of both our lake and county. They occupied the banks either side of the Niagara River, for some distance this side of the Falls, also the present site of Buffalo (called Tuslieway, meaning " bass-wood tree " ) ; thence their villages ex- tended some distance southward, parallel with the shores of the lake, but a few miles back, to guard against sudden attacks from their enemies. They were exceedingly proud, and so strong was their love for unquestioned liberty that they made no alliances with other nations for protection, but asserted their rights and extended their dominion with a most powerful policy, viz.: TOJIAHAWK AND MUSCLE. This policy making all alliances with other tribes impossible, and they occupying a central locality be- tween the western Indians and those of the east, they found that their territory was a very convenient battle ground for the nations which they separated ; and over their heads, and through their hunting grounds, must these unwelcome neighbors be flinging the defi- ant war-whoop, and traveling in long columns. They soon came to the conclusion that they needed more room ; they would stretch their arms so far that these quarreling nations must stand back on either side at a respectful distance, and thus remain ; and as successive victories had inflated their pride, they mixed the war paint, donned their feather helmets, filled their quivers with arrgws, loeked toward the east with a cold, grim smile, and then toward the west with a withering frown — a language FULL OP MURDEE. But even while their ardor was boiling at high heat, and thpir boasting immense, there came something .8 ' INTRODUCTION. from the eastward like a cold rain storm to their hot enthusiasm, and a blighting frost to their boasting. It was the news that the five separate nations, who had fought against each other for years, and whom the Eries had expected to conquer separately, had come to the conclusion that for common safety they would bury the tomahawk and become one great nation such as none other could conquer. Upon hearing this, the countenances of these would-be conquerors enormously lengthened. They sullenly washed off the war paint, tore the feathers from their tangled locks, and sat down, staring each other in the face, while none knew what to say. But hours of meditation cooled their wrath into crafty treachery. They now proposed to send a challenge to the nearest tribe (the Senecas) that they come and play a match game of ball. By this "strategy they would be able to compare their strength and skill with that of their neighbors, and thus get an approximation of the power they would be obliged to overcome in a pitched battle. The secret was, of course, to be carefully concealed from their ene- mies, by the hospitality which they were to extend to them. They chose a fit embassy; and these, with proper formality and deference, extended to the Sene- ca tribe the invitation. It was received with due delib- eration, but finally rejected by the old men, who had a secret suspicion that it was but a trap set in order to SWALLOW UP A HUNDRED of their best young men. Now, you must know that this ball game was a na- tional amusement, on each side of which were engaged a hundred players ; and we do not wonder at the de- liberation of the Senecas in regard to sending that number of their best warriors into the heart of a nation whose character was so questionable. The matter was INTRObVGTION. 9 agitated no farther until the next year, when a second invitation was sent. This was also set aside. Before the end of the third year another challenge was received from the Eries. The old men showed no signs of yielding, but the young men, whose ambition could not be so easily pacified, declared they would go on their own responsibility if the Council did not give them permission. They were not a class of young men to be challenged three times by any nation, even the Eries, and by refusal make a record of cowardice. Reluctantly the old men equipped them for the jour- ney. They were to play for a large booty ; therefore^ belts of wampum, rare skins of animals, and Indian trinkets were brought out from the smoky wigwams to the sunlight — making a large stock, considered by In- dians very valuable. Equipped in their gayest dresses, bearing their rare merchandise, they plunged into the shades of the forest, which soon hid their retreating forms from the wistfal gaze of the wise old men. They were received by the Eries with great hospi- tality, the first day being spent in feasting and in the entertainment of the guests. The next morning, when the hour arrived, one hundred of the most athletic of each proud nation commenced the game. The power displayed by the giants was wonderful ; but those wily Senecas so carefully improved every opportunity of success that they finally snatched all the laurels from the field and left the boasting giants nothing but the most shameful defeat in the presence of all their neighbors. The confused, surprised, idiotic looks which covered the faces of the vanquished scarcely concealed the savage chagrin which boiled within their copper bosoms. One consolation was left them, their legs were longer than those of the Seneca men; they would beat them at a foot race and regain their departed glory. The challenge was accepted, and ten of each side 2 10 INTRODUCTION. stood abreast, awaiting the word. It rang through the tree tops, and the locomotive members of the Eries be- gan to vibrate ; but as the spokes of a varnished wheel glance swiftly in the sunlight, so the legs of the wiry Senecas began to play, and to carry them so swiftly that they reached the goal and waited for their bulky neighbors to arrive. Then the Kawkwahs sprang up ex- ultant (always living in fear of the Eries before this, but now willing to show their boasting, next door neighbors that the Kawkwahs, if their palates were somewhat windy, knew how to handle legs and arms better than the Eries) and invited the Senecas to visit them at the mouth of Eighteen-Mile Creek. They accepted the hospitable offer, and journeyed through Hamburg until they reached the Kawkwah hamlet. After a great feast, the brutal Kawkwah chief chal- lenged any ten of the one hundred Senecas for a wrestling match, and whoever threw his opponent might cleave his skull with a tomahawk. A large, brawny Kawkwah confronted a smooth, compact Sen- eca. The introduction was short ; but the Kawkwah's legs seemed long as they quickly pointed upward in a confused manner toward their huge termini of flying moccasins. The Seneca, with diffidence, walked from the ring, and left his prostrate opponent unharmed ; but the anger of the Kawkwah chief only found vent in cleaving his warrior's skull because of his clumsi- ness. A second match was formed ; the Kawkwah, of course, very cautious ; but the secret springs that moved the Seneca's muscular powers reacted suddenly with such swiftness that the amazed raw-boned man felt a gentle pressure of the ribs, an exuberant uplift- ing of the heels, and the contact of the whole length of his spinal column with the green grass so suddenly, that all the motions, and all his feelings, seemed blended in one ; but directly he was terribly confused. INTR OD UCTION. 11 for his enraged chief's tomahawk was buried in his slcull. The Senecas quietly conferred with one another, and came to the conclusion that, as the faces of their enter- tainers were becoming shadowed with the war cloud, and loud jtones were heard on every side, making harsh discord with their peace-loving principles with- in, they had better retreat. Pretending that thirst necessitated their visiting a spring at a short distance, they no sooner put that amount of space between them ^nd their unlucky com- panions than their nether members began to prophecy of the glancing pitman of the Fast Mail engine that centuries hence would also be making good time for the Rochester country. In their flight they visited the Erie village where the prizes, gained in ball playing, had been left (the Eries being at Eighteen-Mile Creek to see the wrestling sport), and' thence reached home in safety. The Eries, who were filled with bitter hatred toward the Senecas because of the renown gained by them for having gotten victories in every instance over a nation noted for their boasting, assembled in thoughtful and determined counsel, and after much deliberation adopted the daring resolution of rising suddenly in arms and falling upon each of the five na- tions before they could have time to concentrate their forces, and exterminate all. A DUSKY HEROINE. Now, there lived with the Eries a Seneca woman who had married one of their tribe ; but her husband being dead, she felt no family tie binding her to his people ; still, she preferred to dwell among them. Hearing the decision of the Council, she pondered its dreadful design. She had not visited her people for years, and had dwelt so long with the Eries that they 12 INTRODUCTION. did not doubt her loyalty; but the remembrance of childhood days, old companions, and her mother's family, made her feel that her people were those who were to be slain. She glided from her wigwam, and sped swiftly on till she passed the roar of -Niagara and heard the distant Kan-ya-ta-ra of the waves on the shores of Lake Ontario. There, finding a canoe in the undergrowth, she rowed on until she landed near the present site of Oswego. She aroused the great chief and told him the starthng story ; he called his coun- selors together and recounted the circumstances to them, stating that a little bird had warbled it in his ear. His warriors sent up a defiant war-whoop that made the distant hills resound. They marched west- ward, crossed the Genesee River, and waited, in am- bush, the arrival of their foes. They secreted, at a distance, a thousand of their best young men, whom they called Burnt Knives, and who were not to enter the battle until a given signal. The Eries came marching on, unconscious of the terrible fate which awaited them, until on every hand a defiant yell tolled their destiny. The battle now commenced ; the air was filled with tomahawks and arrows-; no quarter was asked or given ; victory wavered ; the Eries were becoming masters of the field, when a shout called up the Burnt Knives, who rushed into the ranks of the exhausted enemy and slew them by scores, until there remained not an Erie's hand to raise the implements of war scat- tered broad-cast over that gory field. The Senecas passed on, came to the Eries' villages, in our vicinity, and, slaying" part of the old men and women, pursued the remnant of the tribe until they found shelter in the wilds of the AUeghanies. "Thus," says tradition, "perished the former occu- pants of our soil, the Eries." A LEGEND OF LAKE ERIE. I. All this land was once for hunting, By the different tribes of red men, Oneida, Mohawk, Onondaga, Cayuga, Seneca, Giant Erie. To the westward lived the Hurons, By the great black stretch of water. Where the noisy storm-god liveth, Where the great U-wel-on-do^ Lashes high the black sea water. Wets the wigwams of Tu-she-way.^ To the eastward, the Iroquois^ Wandered in the quiet valleys Of the peaceful lakes, and quiet ; * Where stillness, fleeing from the tempest. Hovered round, and whispered softly In the ears of the Iroquois. Here it was that A-to-tar-ho,^ 1 The wind (Oneida). 2 Buffalo; the word above is Ellicott's pronunciation, which is but one of many; the meaning of the word is linden or bass- wood tree. 3 Iroquois; the collective name given the six nations by the French. The se.at of their government was Onondaga or the ancient Onondaga Castle. 4 This has reference to the small laltes in central New Torlr, which have taken part of the names of the six nations forming the great Iroquois League, Seneca, Oneida, etc. 6 Most distinguished, however, above all others east or west, was a leader of great courage, wisdom and address, called A-to- tar-ho; and when they (the Mohawks are said to have been the 2* 14 A LEGEND OF LAKE ERIE. Wisest, east or west, of red men. Saw the follies of the people, The dissensions and the fighting ; Saw the Mohawks scalp Oneidas ; Cayugas killing Onondagas ; . Senecas shouting for the battle.^ Then this mighty man of wisdom Called his children all together. In the solemn forest temple. Near the water, Onondaga, Near the dark and rushing river, Near the water called Oswego, Where it leaps into the distance, Where its waters hiss and rattle. Whirl, and hiss, and seethe and bubble. Rushing to the Git^hi-gu-ma.^ Then he cried : " Are ye my children. Or do ye wander with the bison. Gorge, and wound each man his brother. Each one fill his friend with anguish ? first proposing the Iroquois League) proposed to form a league. This person, who had inspired dread and kept himself retired, was anxiously sought. He was found by the Mohawk embassy, who were charged with the matter, composedly sitting in a swamp, smoking his pipe, and rendered completely invulnerable by living serpents. These animals extended their hissing heads from all parts of his head and body. Every thing about him, and his place of residence, was such as to inspire feay and respect. His dishes and spoons were made of the skulls of his enemies whom he had slain in battle. Him, when they had duly ap- proached with presents, and burned tobacco in friendship in their pipes, by way of frankincense, they placed at the head of their league as its presiding oflScer. — Schooler afVs Iroquois. 1 Indian tradition points to the Earth Mounds that have ofen been seen, as the fortifications reared in these wars. The round, square and elliptical forms denoting difTerent ages of warfare. 2 Great water. A-TO-TAR-HO. 15 Think now of peaceful Chibiabos,^ , He who soothed your souls with music, With his sweet lute taught you friendship, Taught you love for one another. " Last night, all pale and filled with sorrow, Came he from his home afar, Came to my wigwam in the forest, Opened not my curtained door. " But, as the wind sighs through the pine-trees, Came he sighing through my doorway. Came he soft into my wigwam. Hung in silence there above me ; And I said: 'Oh! lost Chibiabos, What hath brought you from that far land From that pleasant land of hunting. From that land of sweet musicians ? ' And, as when the soft breeze gently. Twines among the flowers and grasses, Breathing softly in its twining. So Chibiabos breathed his sorrows To the wisest man of nations. " Oh ! Chibiabos is forgotten. They, who loved no longer love him ; I perfume tlie breeze with fragrance, But the rot of carcasses turns all to stench ; Upon the evening breezes Comes music from my airy lute, But its notes are drowned in din of battle. " Tell them, Atotarho, If they turn not from the war-path, 1 Chi-bi-a-bos, the name of a certain musiciau in Longfelloio^i Hiawatha. 16 A LEGEND OF LAKE ERIE. I will change the balmy air of morning To a pestilence, And from my lute breathe thunders. Then the red men all repented, Called once more each man his brother, Sat in bitter tears of sorrow, Sorrow like that of Chibiabos. But Atotarho, crafty, cautious, Married from each tribe a hundred Into every other nation. That there be no more dissension, No more work for arrow-makers.^ Thus it was that five great nations ^ Made themselves a mighty people, Stronger than all Indian nations. By the wise Atotarho. Oh ! how the years do swarm together. In the distance swarm to blackness. As I earnest strive to count them. Strive to class them into hundreds, Since first the giants of this region, Saw here the sun in heaven shining, Beheld his glory in the morning, "Watched the shadows in the evening. As he slowly sank to westward ; And so many their traditions. The weird stories of this people. That your life time must be lengthened, Should you listen to a portion Of the vast unnumbered legion. Did you know that on the Pine Ridge, 1 This fact shows the wonderful sagacity in firmly cementing the league. 2 Afterward, the Tus-oa-ro-ras, from North Carolina, were added, making, in all, six nations. TUS-CA-RO-RA. 17 . Covered now with field and meadow, Covered once with lodge and forest, Dwelt the mightiest of nations, Dwelt the strongest race of red men ? Where the great lake takes to bending, Turns its waters toward the river, Where a noisy city prospers, Where proud Buffalo looms up darkly. Smoked the wigwams of Tushewayj Many hundreds were its warriors, Very beautiful its women. Very strong great Gitchee Negus, Chief of Cat Nation, the Eries, But there was one of greater wisdom, The medicine doctor, Sheck-o-me-go. But Tusheway's greatest warriors Dwelt not near the noisy water, . But removed to Tus-ca-ro-ra^ Handsomest of Indian lodges, Nestling. in among the pine-trees. Near the brook of living waters, Never dried up in the summer. Never frozen in the winter. But always sang its song of welcome To the weary, foot-sore hunter. Sang loud and boisterous to the victor. Sang low and sweetly to the vanquished. Quenched the thirst of deer and bison,'^ Gave new voices to the robin ; And the pine-trees, in the evening, 1 A fictitious name for an ancient Indian village. The ruins, discovered years ago near the present site of the Hamburg Fair Ground, are mentioned in our Introductory History. 2 There is much to prove that buflfaloes once roamed this region. 3 18 A LEGEND OF LAKE ERIE. Chanted on in dreamy measures, Chanted deeply with Wan-os-sa, When he sang so sweet and softly, Poured out his soul in deepest sorrow As an offering for the dead one. Offered up to the Great Spirit, Gitshee Manito,^ the mighty. On three sides was living water. On the other, gently swelling. Was the gravel plain, allotted To the tribe that journeyed upward ;^ There the grasses grew untrodden, There the wild flowers grew unbroken. That the people, wandering upward, Might behold them on their journey. Proud and haughty was this nation. Given much to war and fighting, Much to conquering and to bloodshed ; Hemmed between two other nations, Great League eastward, Hurons westward ; Their wild spirits chafed with anger. For they loved not this restriction ; Hurons westward, warriors eastward, They would roam the wide world over, The whole earth should be for hunting. Thus these Eries, proud and threatening, Sat and muttered in their lodges ; But when they heard that Atotarho Had woven all their foes together, Not a word was there then spoken ; No dissensions found a dwelling In the hearts of these great giants. For their hearts were turned to cunning, 1 Great Spirit. 2 The Indian burial-ground mentioned in tlie Introduction. GITSHEE NEGUS. 19 Turned to cunning and devising How this wise man of the forest Should be called the fool of sages. For many hours this silence brooded O'er the wigwams of Tusheway, Spread its gloom o'er Tuscarora ; But, when deepest evening shadows Painted all the earth with sadness, Negus gathered with his warriors Round the camp-fire, in the evening. Then, uprising from the circle Stood the chieftain of the nation, Gitshee Negus, strong and mighty. Spoke in tones so loud and warlike That the trees were full of echoes: " Why sit ye here so full of sadness, Your hearts all filled with strange forebodings. Strange forebodings, as of evil ? Is Matche Manito,^ evil spirit, Hanging, like a night-hawk o'er us ? What hath changed your cheerful faces From the smiling to the anxious, From the hopeful to distrustful ? Hath the awful Sheckomego, Artful knave, the medicine doctor. Melted all your hearts like water. Made you hang your lips like women ? Have you not followed me to battle, Ne'er turned backward from the battle Till the ground was sown with arrows, Till 'twas drenched with blood of warriors. Till the air was red like wild-fire, Dark like thunder-storm and lightning With the spirits of the warriors, 1 Evil Spirit. 20 A LEGEND OF LAKE ERIE. Fight onward, soaring upward ; Ne'er turned backward from the battle Till the scalps of those that fought us Stained our wampum-belts like crimson ? Who in all the world but fears you, Kneels when you say, ' Bow before us,' Flys when you cry, ' We are coming ? ' Bravest are we of all nations. Ablest to maintain our glory. Wisest in all arts of cunning. Tricks in gambling and in hunting, Who can cross our path in day time. But we track him to his wigwam ? Who comes prowling in the midnight. But his scalp hangs high next morning ? Then, why hang your lips like women ? Smoke your pipes like sleepy old men, Sitting here in silence dreary, As if Ma-ni-toi stopped your windpipes? With your stomachs full of turtles 1 " Thus spake Negus, and then added : " Wake the artful Devil Doctor, Brother of the evil spirits. Ruler of the hopes and wishes Of the fearless and the hopeful." Then old Ousen rose up quickly. With his drum of many snake skins, With his stick of polished boxwood. To arouse old Sheckomego With the soft and mournful music. To call his spirit from afar off From the form of wheeling eagles 1 Ma-ni-to is a spirit, either good or bad ; the meaning is determined by the adjective; when used without the adjective, we have intended it to designate the Evil Spirit. THE DEVIL DOCTOR. 21 Back into his dried-up body, That he might bring back from water All the heai'ts of Giant Eries. While the pine-trees mourned with sadness, And the gray owl shrieked through darkness, Ousen, with his drum of snake-skins, Made such echoes through the forest That the echoes through the forest. Rolled in great waves o'er the Pine Ridge, Broke upon the distant hill-tops. Calling loudly for the spirit Of the dreadful medicine doctor To come home and heal his children. Soft as the moon's first silver halo Hovering faintly o'er the tree-tops ; So the lamp of Sheckomego Softly from beneath the curtain Of his large and spacious wigwam. Shed its soft beams o'er his children. The white and polished skull of Wa-bus, Mightiest of Erie's foemen. Long since slain, and wandering upward. Once full of cunning thoughts and plannings Now was fall of shining glow-worms, In the hand of Sheckomego. Softly beaming o'er his children, Slowly stepping from his wigwam, Rolling up his eyes like dead men's, Stretching out his bony fingers. Stretching dried-up arms to eastward. Rattling with the great snake-rattles. While across his dusky forehead A frightful coronet was woven. Of all different teeth of wild beasts. Braided in among his white hair, 22 A LEGEND OF LAKE ERIE. White and tangled up with bird's beaks, Beaks of all the wandering night birds, Beaks of all the birds of evil; And to shield him from the night wind. Closely drawn, his skin of bison. Up around his tawny shoulders, While the horns, with strings of wampum. Were closely fastened to his temples ; And 'twas thus the medicine doctor. With the bison robe and wampum. With the strings of teeth, and rattle. With a skull filled full of glow-worms, Came to change to peace and quiet The hearts of all his dark-browed children. Then with voice like rushing west wind Spake he thus of Matche Manito : "Au pit she Mon-e-tog Ne mud wa-wa wau ne gog ; " ^ Matche Manito, the mighty. Hears my prayer, and he will answer. Hark ! Manito, on the west wind, Screeching, like the wild Oh-o-wa,^ Darkly lowering, swooping, diving. Calls the name of Sheckomego. Then the wary red men listened. Heard no sound but creaking branches, Branches of the oak and pine-tree Talking with the birds, 0-chee-taw ;^ But Sheckomego, looking upward, Breathing quick like 0-ne-soo-no, Called: "Wa-be-no, Evil Spirit, 1 "The Spirit on high repeats my warlike name." 2 The owl (Mohawk). s A bird (Seneca). THE WA-BE-NO DANCE. 23 King of shadows, and of darkness, Fold thy wings neat Sheckomego, Speak to him of Giant Eries, Children of Gitshee Mon-e-do.''^ Then a rushing in the tree-tops. As of many pigeons lighting ; Sheckomego, quickly fading, While the red men, starting upward, Calling: "Matche Manito ! Manito!" Os-ken-e-ga, strong and powerful, Bravest man of Tuscarora, Quickly struck the Tay-wa-e-gun,^ Sweet, melodious drum of forest. Old Ousen snatched the loud She-sheck-won," Struck the rumbling Mit-tig-wu-keck ; * While the red men, wildly dancing In the flickering fire-light shadows. Cried : " Manito ! great Manito ! Speak the truth to Sheckomego." And the distant Ba-im-wa-wa* Rolled against the sky in thunders. Woke Kach-gu-a,^ god of morning, Smiling sweetly on his children. Opening wide his great eye slowly. Then they saw old Sheckomego 1 The Merciful Spirit. 2 Tay-way-e-gun, a tambourine or one-headed drum, made by adjusting a skin to one end of a moderate-sized, hollow tree. 3 A rattle, made from a bladder, a gourd, or by attaching the dried hoofs of a deer to a stick. *When a heavier sound is required, a tree of larger circum- ference is chosen, and both ends closed with skins; this is called Mit-tig-wu-keck, and is appropriately used in religious cermo- nies, but not, perhaps, confined to this occasion. — Schooler afi^s American Indians. 5 Passing sound. 6 The Sun (Seneca). 24 A LEGEND OF LAKE ERIE. Standing in the deepest shadows, Saying slowly to hi$ children : " Giant Eries, go you eastward To the league of the Iroquois, To the mighty Seneca nation ; Challenge them to great Tusheway, There to have a wondrous ball game. On the victors will Manito Rain a shower of endless blessing. II. Close beside the running water, Where it leaps and sparkles brightly,^ Dwelt the old man, Oskenega, And the quiet maid, Wa-net-ta. Very quiet was the old man ; Hatred of all strife and bloodshed, Love for friendship and the peaceful. Filled his great heart full of blessing ; And the sprightly maid, Wanetta, With her dark eyes Softly beaming, As the stars beam soft in evening. Wandered through the lonely forest, Plucked the brightest flowers and berries, Loved the fragrance of the flowers, Liked the color of the berries ; For when woven in her tresses, Gitshee Negus smiled, and smiling, Said : " Wanetta, you are handsome." No such beauty as this maiden's Was there found in all this region. For her lone and artless childhood. Stained not once by word or action. Or the knowledge of an evil, Lent her face a sweet expression, Only such as Ni-yqh '^ gives us. Not only daughter of the old man, But daughter of the other old men, 1 This has reference to the living brook and ruins of the In- dian village on and near the site of the Hamburg Fair Ground, fictitiously named Tusoarora. 2 God (Moliawkor Seneca). 4 26 A LEGEND OF LAKE ERIE. Daughter of the poor old women, Sister to the Erie's children. She trusted every man and woman, Knew no evil lurked in red men. Thought their lives as pure as her life, Thought all lives were naught but goodness ; For the faithful Oskenega Had entreated all the people That they treat her as Yak-es-a-ah,i Pure one of the Giant Eries. And the mighty Negus pondered On her beauty and her virtue, Thought his wigwam very lonely; For all alone lived Gitshee Negus. He left his lonely lodge next morning, After Sheckomego's vision. Sauntered to the quiet wigwam Of the old man, Oskenega, With Usk-on-ont* meat and peace pipe ; Bowed in silence to the old man. Simply smiling on Wanetta, And in accents somewhat broken, Told the old man all the story Of the tribe of the Iroquois, Of that mighty league of nations Newly formed by Atotarho ; How he in the gray of morning Sent his runners through the forest To the lodges of this nation ; That they come to Tuscarora, Come to play the wondrous ball game, That all might know on whom Manito 1 Child C Seneca). 2 Deer (Oneida J. WA-NET-TA. 27 Should bestow his greatest blessing ; And then added, speaking slowly: I, a mighty man and warrior, Find my lodge so very lonely, It sends me searching for a fire-light Brighter than Woh-ne-da's^ shining. That the shadows in my wigwam Dance no more upon the curtains ; 'Tis your daughter, grave Wanetta." And "Wanetta started quickly. Dropped her bowl of Ot-si-on-da,^ Knew not that her face was burning With a radiant joy she could not Hide from those who chose to see it ; But Oskenegg, answered, sighing : " When the great light paints the waters, I will answer Gitshee Negus." Thus it was this mighty chieftain Won the gentle maid, Wanetta, Found her willing to go with him From the wigwam of her father : For the old man, in the evening, Answered sadly: " I'll be lonely When Wanetta has departed. Take her to your spacious wigwam, There to be your light and sunshine ; But the life will be departed From the lodge of Oskenega." Then Gitshee Negus answered, proudly: "We will wed when the Iroquois, That great people from the eastward. Come to show their skill at ball play. 1 The Moon (Oneida J. *Fish (Cayuga). 28 A LEGEND OF LAKE ERIE. I will show to this proud nation, I will show to Kish-ke-mun-ingi That I can wed a fairer maiden Than he can find in all the eastward. 1 As Gitshee Negus is taken as a fictitious name for the chief of the Eries, so we adopt the name Kish-lce-mun-ing as a, name for the chief of the Senecas, one of the nations of the Iro- quois League. III. Twice great An-i-kha^ rose in splendor, Twice he left the earth in shadows ; But the runners to the eastward Came not back to Gitshee Negus, To the dreamy ridge of pine-trees ; But when three times in his travels He sank into the burning water, While Neh-so-ha^ followed quickly, Spread his dark wings o'er the Pine Ridge, Melted all the shades to darkness ; Then, away off to the eastward, On the east wind came Sa-sak-won, War-cry of the Giant Eries Smote the listening ears of warriors. Springing from their lodges, quickly, Gazing through the forest shadows. Catching glimpses of the runners Coming home to Tuscarora, Smote the ears of Gitshee Negus, Looking proudly through the darkness For those noble forms, his red men, Bringing answer from Iroquois. " They could beat the Giant Eries At this game of Taw-en-yo-ha ; And if we come through tangled forest. Beat you at this game of gambling. It would make us none the wiser. Make our conquest none the greater, 1 The Sun (Onondaga)., 2 Night (Seneca). 30 A LEGEND OF LAKE ERLE. For what Iroquois know, they kno-vy it, Need not learn their knowledge over. Your devil doctor, Sheckomego, Can not gain you, from Manito, Any blessings that you pray for : He hears the prayers of the Iroquois, Listens not to Cats,^ the Eries." Gitshee Negus' eyes flashed lightning. He stamped the ground like 0-ne-soo-no,^ Stamped his ermine robe beneath him, Swore he'd never don his ermine Till those Iroquois, those boasters, Were beaten at the famous ball game. Beaten, till with shame and sorrow They should wander to the eastward, Never would be called great Negus, K.ak-0-wan-a^ of the Eries, Till the Eries were the victors. He himself would take the challenge To the wigwam of their chieftain ; He, without his bow and arrow. Would travel through the tangled forest. He spoke not to Oskenega, Smiled not once on pale Wanetta, But strode away into the twilight. Through the shadows of the forest, Crashing through the trees and brushwood. Rushing madly to the eastward ; And the gray owl, the Oh-o-wa, Hoarsely whooped and flapped his pinions ; O'er him moaned the plaintive Cuckoo ; But one voice, more loud than any, lErie, in the Huron language, signifies cat. 2 Tlie Evil Spirit— Satan (Cayuga). 3 Chief r Mohawk) . OZ-0-NO-RA. 31 Galled his spirit with its harshness : " Manito hears not Cats, the Eries." When the sun, next morning rising, Drank the dew from off the grasses, Drove the shadows to the westward, Gitshee Negus saw the lodges Of Iroquois in the distance. Proudly strode he through the valley, Spoke not to the early hunters. Turned not from the warriors' pathway, Till he stood before the doorway Of the artful Atotarho ; Simply nodded to the old man. Took the mat he pointed for him. Took the pipe he passed him, rudely. Speaking roughly to the old man, Asked him why he came not westward To the far off ridge of pine trees, To the peaceful Tuscarora, "When he sent his warriors for him. Through the dark and tangled forest ; Waited long for the short answer That the old man gave him slowly: " Negus, we have other business Than to play at Taw-en-yo-ha." Gitshee Negus rose up quickly, Would have quickly left the wigwam. But the old man spoke out sternly: " To-day is Kishkemuning wedded To the wild maid, Oz-o-no-ra. How could we arrange this matter On this great day of our nation?" IV. Gitshee Negus from the wigwam Fiercely strode into the forest, Pacing westward through the shadows To his lodge in Tuscarora. But, across his path a maiden Sprang, with step so light and buoyant, Thrust such lightning from her dark eyes, Plucked an arrow from her quiver. Bent her slender bow so quickly, Sent an arrow whizzing upward ; And a wild goose, wheeling downward. Fell with broken wing, and bleeding. Near the feet of Gitshee Negus. Had a roebuck crossed his pathway. Or a panther shrieked above him, He would not have left the pathway That led straightly to the westward. Would not have made one step the shorter ; But this wild and radiant beauty, Shooting wild geese like a warrior. Killing wild fowls flying southward, Seemed so strange and so enchanting. Seemed so like a dream of witchcraft That he paused in his swift running, Seemed no more great Gitshee Negus, Seemed not filled with fiery anger. As he gazed on this bright maiden. Wild Ozonora of the forest ; And her eyes grew darker, brighter. And her dark and wavy tresses Floated as a screen around her. While she laughed so clear and merry KISH-KE-MUN-INQ. 33 That Gitshee Negus looked above him For the warbling bird, Ocheetaw, Hidden somewhere in the branches ; But her strange and sudden bridling Awed the soul of Gitshee Negus ; There she held him in her meshes, Charmed him with her wondering glances, Glances from beneath her eyelids, Handsomer than any maiden Gitshee Negus thought was living. But the truth was burning in him. Burning all his soul with envy. Could he let young Kishkemuning Wed a fairer maid than he could ? Then he quickly stepped beside her, She still flashing pride upon him, Quickly flung his arms around her, Fled away into the shadows, Plunged into the tangled brushwood ; But each step was one of anguish, For his burden, like a panther, Tore, and raved, and cut his body With the arrows in her quiver ; But he wrenched the quiver from her. As he speeded to the westward. Toward his lodge in Tuscarora. When the shadows, pointing westward. Turned and pointed to the eastward. Once to westward, once to eastward, Oskenega, from his wigwam. Saw the mighty Gitshee Negus Coming swiftly through the forest, In his arms a raving maiden ; All his face was blood and gashes, 5 34 A LEGEND OF LAKE ERIE. And Wanetta shrieked to see him, Seeing so much blood and bruising. When she saw her whom he carried, Saw him place her in his wigwam, Saw him fasten strong the doorway, All the air seemed darkness round her, And she groping, falling, murmured : "Oh ! Wanetta, those are dark eyes." Gitshee Negus to the brooklet That we drink from in the summer Went and washed his blood-stained body, Murmured to himself while washing : " As these stains are washed and blotted, So the hopes of Kishkemuning Shall be blotted out forever." Then he straightway to his wigwam Walked, and pushed aside the curtain ; Stepped he through the ample doorway, Gazed upon the frantic maiden. From whose dark and glaring eyeballs The accursed evil spirit Seemed to flash forth lightning glances. Piercing the very soul of Negus ; But he spoke with voice so steady That none could read the fear within him Save the eyes that flashed the lightning Through his very bone and sinew ; "You need not rave and fight, Ozonora, Acting foolish as a woman Of the rude and clamoring Kaw-kwahs ; You must stay and light my wigwam With those eyes that flash such brightness ; Cheer my wigwam with your beauty." Then Ozonora, quick uprising, Shrieked until the forest echoed A WOMAN'S CURSE. 35 With the wild and piercing accents : " Gitshee Negus, thou great warrior, Know thou not this wild Ozonora, Star of the Iroquois nation, Who yesterday should have been wedded, With great feasts and joyous dancing. To the hunter, Kishkemuning ? Take me quickly to the eastward ; Take me back, thou mud-jee^ chieftain, Or the curse of Ozonora Shall attend you all your life-time. Shall make all your women widows,^ Shall blot out your mighty nation. And spread all the land with darkness." But Gitshee Negus answered, calmly: " I care not for woman's curses." ' Again she cried : "In-ya!^ Rak-o-wan-a;"* While around her head a halo Seemed to blend with angry flashes, Seemed to wrap her form in fire. "I now curse your mighty nation With a death so quick and awful That the birds of Gitsheguma'' Shall devour your moldering bodies. Shall pick your black eyes from their sockets." And Wanetta, slowly waking. Heard those words so very plainly: " Cheer my mgwam vnth yowr beauty; " iBad. 2 It is said that among the ancient Indians there was a super* stititious dread of a womwrCs curse. 3 An exclamation of surprise ( Odoibwa). 4 Chief (Mohawk). 5 The great water— Lake Erie. 36 A LEGEND OF LAKE ERIE. And the trees seemed quickly turning, All the pine trees tipping upward ; And for many days she lay thus, Crying faintly: "With your beauty, beauty [" ^ But the old man in the corner Smoked his pipe in perfect silence. Gazing on his daughter sadly. Pressing close his lips with anguish, While a tear hissed in his pipe bowl. After many days she wandered From the wigwam through the forest, Gazing wildly through the pine-trees. Hardly knowing where she wandered. Once she laughed, but Oh ! what laughter ! 'Twas enough to freeze the life blood Of the boldest Giant Erie. All day wandering, all day moaning : " With thy beauty, with thy beauty." 1 Intonation of contempt. V. But once again pi:oud Gitshee Negus Sent his warriors to the eastward, Daring all the eastern cowards To come westward for a ball game ; And the old men thought in silence, Told the young men very gravely: " Gitshee Negus, he, the crafty, Seeks the lives of all these young men." But the young men answered, rudely: " Who are these boasters living westward. Burrowing near the Gitsheguma, On the Pine Ridge, near the water ? Shall we sit and hear, like women, All their boasting and their talking ? No ! the spirit of Iroquois Calls for justice with these Eries, With this long-tongued, noisy nation." But the old men said : " Ozonora, Evil spirits snatched, while wandering. Stole her from the forest shadows, Left us but her bow and arrows ; And we dare not let our young men Travel in the forest shadows, For they, too, like wild Ozonora, Will be stolen by Manito." But the young men cried : " We will go, Go and teach this haughty people That Iroquois still are living. Still know something of the ball game." Then the runners, speeding swiftly. While the shadows lengthened slowly. 38 A LEGEND OF LAKE ERIE. With their proud hearts leaping wildly, Came once more to Tuscarora, Telling to the joyful Negus That the Iroquois were coming. Told of the grief of Kishkemuning, How no man could change his sadness, Change his mourning for Ozonora, By any words or acts of kindness. VI. Need I tell how these great nations Met in Hamburg, near the Pine Ridge, Played the game of Ta-wen-yo-ha, Each side with a hundred players, Noblest hundred of their young men. Oh ! 'twould weary you with reading, Make your eyelids very heavy. Should I tell you all the ball play, The great foot-race on the morrow. In which our great and boasting nation. Men who for conquest were so anxious. Were whipped most shameful in the effort, Beaten bad in every instance ; And how the noisy men, the Kawkwahs,^ Living on a creek near Erie, Asked the victors to their village, Praised them much, and feasted grandly. Wondered if a match in wrestling Was desired by the Iroquois ; Ten Kawkwahs and ten Iroquois, Whoever threw his quick opponent. Should prove quickest and the strongest, Might split the head of him he vanquished ; And the Iroquois said : " We wish it," Lest they should be classed with cowards. A brawny Kawkwah stepped out boldly. Quickly faced by Kishkemuning ; But ere the Kawkwah gathered effort 1 Tradition locates this nation at the mouth of the Eighteen Mile Creek. The Senecas claim them to be identical with the Bries. 40 A LEGEND OF LAKE ERIE. ' For a sudden, bold maneuver, Ere he squared himself for battle. Stretched he lay there on the greensward, Hardly knowing how he came there ; And the diffident Iroquois Bowed and smiled, but never harmed him ; But the Kawkwah chief, uprising, Clove the skull of his own warrior, Stained the greensward with his life blood. Swung his tomahawk with fury. Three times were matched two giant wrestlers. Three times Iroquois successful. Three murdered spirits wandered upward ; For the Kawkwah chief was raging ; And the uproar grew so mightj'^, Echoed o'er the cliff so loudly. That the Iroquois were fearful That some greater thing might happen. Gliding swiftly through the forest,' Fainter grew the Kawkwah clamor, As they swiftly sped to eastward. To the wigwams of their fathers. VII. Ozonora, guarded closely, In the lodge of Gitshee Negus, Could not speak to her own people. Could not say 'twas not a spirit, It was not Manito had taken Her from her hope, Kishkemuning. Filled with wounded pride, great Negus Smoked his pipe within his wigwam, Sat among his band of wise men. Listened to their wisest counsels. Weighing carefully their wisdom. Ozonora, softly sleeping. Breathing as if sweetly sleeping, But remembering all they uttered, Hearing all the wise men told him, Heard Sheckomego, slowly speaking : " This nation can not exist and prosper, except all rivals in power be exterminated. Bring all the war- riors together quickly. Let Ousen sound his snake- skin drum throughout the land, and light camp-fires on the Pine Ridge. Let us surprise these five great nations by sudden and separate attacks. Our conquest shall be great, and the dominion of the 'Eries' much extended." Then the old men slowly glided From the wigwam to their lodges. Gitshee Negus rose up quickly. Left in haste his bow and quiver. As he ran to warn old Ousen 6 42 A LEGEND OF LAKE ERIE. That his drum might rouse the nation. Quickly, Ozonora springing, Grasped the fatal bow and arrow ; Silent was her every movement ; Bent the bow with borrowed purpose. With a strength most superhuman. An arrow, whizzing through the darkness, Pierced the heart of him who guarded. She glided out into the darkness. Fled beneath the moaning pine trees, Fled within the deepest shadows. Till the lodge of Gitshee Negus Was left beyond the reach of vision ; Glided on, and ever onward, Till the roaring of the river ^ Loudly came, like mighty thunder, Louder grew, and still grew louder. Till its spray leaped wildly upward, Flashed upon her raven tresses. She saw the waters seethe and bubble, Growing calmer as she journeyed ; And the thunders grew more distant ; Then came the sound of Kanyatara'^ The sound of waves upon the rock coast, Boundry of the Gitsheguma, Beginning of the black sea water ; There among the thickest brushwood, Down among the twining branches, A bark canoe was tossing, floating. On Ontario's deep waters. Quick she paddled on, and onward. Till the waters were all golden With the glories of the morning, Till the waters were all crimson 1 Niagara. 2 The Lake — Ontario (Mohawk). THE RETURN. 43 With the flush of coming evening, Till dark night again had gathered All its somber shades and shadows. Where Oswego now is builded, Most famous for its schools and learning, Where the forest moaned its dirges. O'er the site of that same city, Ozonora, in the evening. Landed from her tedious journey. Straightway hurried to the wigwam Of the wise man of that nation ; Startled she old Atotarho With the form of roaming spirit. Spirit of the long-departed ; Told him of the Eries' plotting. Told him all her wrongs and capture. But the old man, looking archly, Said : " I thank you, Ozonora, For your warning of this battle ; But Kishkemuning can not wed you ; She who runs away with Eries Can not marry an Iroquois. You know you lie when you say, 'captv/red;' 'Twas you who captured Gitshee Negus." Oh I could Raphael have seen her Coming from the old man's wigwam. With her lips so tight together. From her eyes the lightning flashing. He would have flung his easel backward. Cried : "I can not paint such pictures." Firm she traveled to the water. Journeyed once more o'er the water, Caring not for life or landing. 44 A LEGEND OF LAKE ERIE. Two more days and nights of torture, Then she came to Tuscarora, Found the warriors all departed, Knew her curse was sure to settle On the heads of Giant Eries ; Fell as dead upon her mattress, Lying many hours in stupor ; While the old man, Oskenega, Watching close the raging fever, Bathing tenderly her forehead ; And Wanetta, talking wildly: With thy BEAUTY, with thy beauty." VIII. In the land of the Iroquois, The wise man, Atotarho, Roused his warriors from their slumber, Said that a wondrous bird of beauty- Warbled near his ear while sleeping ; That the boasting Giant Eries "Were coming with a great war party For all the scalps of the Iroquois. Then a cry of rage resounded Through the forest o'er the water, Reached the ears of Ozonora, Slowly toiling on her journey. But you are weary now with hearing This one romance of old Erie. I'll not tell you of the battle. Of the great surprise and onset; How the Eries were all murdered. How they would not fly from battle. But among the fiercest, struggling, Were the chieftains of those nations, Gitshee Negus, Kishkemuning, Grappling now for life or ruin ; On his knees is Gitshee Negus ; And a tomahawk descending Cleaves not the skull of Gitshee Negus, But sinks into another forehead ; And the warm blood of WaTietta, Mingling with his gaudy feathers. Makes him shudder, as she utters, As the cold lips softly murmur : " I have saved him for his beavi/y." IX. A single moon had made its circuit, When the quiet Tuscarora Echoed to the shouts of warriors Bringing Negus as their captive, Searching there for other captives. "Gitshee Negus, show thy wigwam." Sullenly he pointed westward To the spacious lodge of hemlock. Then said Kishkemuning gaily: " Let us enter his great wigwam. Gaze upon his squaw and treasure ; " And he tore aside the curtain, Entered roughly — went no farther, Gave a look of mingled pity. Wonder, hatred and of vengeance, Crying : "Oh! my Ozonora, It was not the fierce Manito, Snatching you from out the forest. It was this Manito, this Negus. Oh! Ozonora ! Gitshee Negus! Then sat he tenderly beside her, Held her wasted hand in his hand, While her weak voice told the story Of her many wrongs and sufferings. Then wildly uprose Kishkemuning, Crying : " Loose this Gitshee Negus, Give him tomahawk and sharp knife ; I will avenge mine Ozonora Of her many wrongs and sufferings ; VENGEANCE. 47 I will settle this with Negus." With hatred from their dark eyes gleaming, Nostrils widening, firm teeth grinding. Closed they in the deadly struggle, Closed they in the mortal combat. The pointed knife of Gitshee Negus Sought the heart of Kishkemuning ; The tomahawk of Kishkemuning Clove the skull of Gitshee Negus. Gitshee Negus wildly shrieking : " Cling not so close, oh ! fierce Wanetta !" Kishkemuning faintly murmuring : "I am coming, Ozonora." And they who stepped within the wigwam. Found the spirit of Ozonora Had flown with Kishkemuning upward, To the pleasant land of hunting. To the land of the departed. FINIS. ^■^^'mmmm