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VOLUME I.
THE INDEPENDENT.
SATURDAY, IIPTBIDIBR 6, MM.
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THJB PAST.
BY FREDERIC W. FORD.
*‘l have loved—who has not!” and the vision so
bright,
Once shed round my path its soft halo of light;
Then sunk to repose ui oblivion’s wave,
And its riquiein slugs o’er its own lonely grave.
“I have wept—who has not !** and the tear as it
rolled
Adown my cheek, too surely has told
Of happiness vanished and shrouded in grief.
Of sunny hopes fled, and of pleasures as brief.
“I have smiled—who has not!” and my features
of joy *
Once glowed with that smile that knew not alloy;
But a moment it sparkled, then sharing the doom
Of all earthly bliss, it has sunk to its tomb.
“I have erred—who has not l” and the follies of
youth,
Conviction has crushed with the dictates of truth;
And the mild form of mercy and spirits above,
lUmniue my path with the soft beams of love.
“I have <lreamod—who has notl” and the gay
sunny hours
Again strewed my path with their roseate flowers,
From those (breams of the past. I never awaken
But to feel still more desolate, lone, and forsakeu.
But my love and iuv smiles forever are vanished.
My dreamings and errings I hope, too, have
vanished;
But iny weepings I’ll cherish, whose christening
power
Submission will teach me, in affliction's bleak
hour.
Letter from Colorado.
[SI-ECUI. OORnKSFONDEKCE or THE independent.]
Colorado Springs, Col, , Aug. 30,1878.
Editor Independent:
I wrote yon last from Nevada. New
look at the map, and pnt the end of the
forefinger of the right hand on that town.
You will find it hid away between two
mountains, and about fifty miles northwest
from Denver. Now, you think you’ve got
your finger on me; you are mistaken. I’m
like the Irishman’s flea —I ain’t there.
Now follow with your finger the stage
road down the mountains to Central, then
trace the line of the C. C. R. R. down
Clear Creek canyon past Golden and Den
ver. Hold your finger on Denver four
days, then move it right on down due
south, and you will discover that, you are
following the 1). and R. G. It. R. Pass
over the Divide, through Colorado Springs,
on dowu to Pueblo, hold your finger there
two days; then if you are not tired retrace
the same line, forty five miles to Colorado
Springs. Then you have overtaken me
and been over the same route. Now we
will take the narrow-guage together, and
leaving Denver at 8 o'clock a. m., we fol
low the Platte river about twenty miles;
then, as if tired of our society, this crooked
little stream suddenly takes a short turn
to the right and disappears through an
opening in the mountains known as Platte
canyon. Now, we begin very perceptibly
to ascend, and after traveling fifty-two
miles we reach the top of the Divide, and
are two thousand feet higher than at Den
ver. The Divide is a high strip of land
or spur of mountains about tliirly miles
in width, and extending ninety miles east
from the main range, and is called the
‘ 'Divide” because all the streams on the
north side run into the Platte, while those
on the south side empty into the Arkansas.
Upon making Colorado Springs we have
descended fourteen hundred feet, but are
still six hundred feet higher than at Den
ver. The Divide iB probably the best
timbered portion of the Territory. Many
saw mills are situated along the lino of the
D. and R. G. R. R., and most of the lum
ber is supplied to Denver from this sec
tion. In passing over the line of this
rood we see many herds of cattle, sheep
and ponies grazing on the hill-sides and in
the valleys. All the stock I see looks well,
though I must say the grass is not m luxu
riant as I expected to find it.
Pueblo, located on the Arkansas river,
and one hundred and twenty miles south
of Denver, is the chief city of Southern
Colorado, and is the commercial head
quarters of the vast and rich Arkansas val
ley. They claim a population of 3,500.
It has all the signs of a growing and pros
perous city, and all the evidences of refine
ment and civilization to be found in our
Southern and Eastern towns. Most of the
prevailing denominations have churches
here. Their educational facilities are good;
a high school, two private schools, and the
same system of public instruction that ex
ists throughout the Territory. Puebloites
claim that their city has a bright future.
The railroad situation and prospects of
Pueblo are as fhllows; D. and R. G. R. R.
between Denver and Pueblo, and Pueblo
Rnd Canon City branch in operation;
branch from Trinidad to Pueblo under
construction; extension of Kansas Pacific
from Kit Carson and Atcheson; Topeka
and Santa Fee from Sargent, in Texas, up
the Arkansas valley to this point, being
built. When these lines are completed
Pueblo will be a railroad centre, and no
doubt a place of considerable importance.
They have good water power, and their
facilities for irrigation are, perhaps, the
best in the Territory. This is now the
principal fitting-out point for the San
Joan country, and the commerce of the
town is much beautified thereby. The
business now seems to be prosperous. Re
tracing my steps to Colorado Springs, I
stop at the Mountain House, from which
point we have a most magnificent view of
Pike's Peak and surrounding mountains.
Yesterday I witnessed quite a. rain storm
on Pike’s Peak, while with us in the val
ley all was bright and serene.
Colorado Springs is only about two years
old, and has a population of 1,500. The
town is laid off apparently in anticipation
of becoming a large city. The streets are
THE INDEPENDENT.
alternately 100 and 140 feet -wide. Shade
trees—cotton-wood, elm and maple—are
planted throughout the town, and grow
ing finely. Streams of clear water from
the irrigating canals perambulate every
street, and gurgle a pleasant welcome to
the stranger. Just in front of the Moun
tain House, and a rod from where I write,
is a clear running brook, and here some
genius, for the want of something to do,
has placed a miniature water mill. Many
new residences and business houses are in
course of erection, and a stir aud activity
is visible quite in contrast with our South
ern towns. This is the railroad depot and
the stopping-place for tourists aud inva
lids desiring to visit Mauiton Springs,
the Garden of the Gods, Glen Eyre, Monu
ment Park, Bergen Park, The Falls of the
Fountain, and many other points of in
terest which are near. Yesterday I went
to Colorado City, “the old town" as it is
called, having once been the capital of
Colorado, and still the county seat of El
paso. It is two miles distant from this
place. Thence I visited Maniton Springs,
three miles from Colorado City. Here are
several flue hotels, and the place is thronged
with invalids, tourist* and visitors.
In common with all other watering
places, it is most positively asserted that
the medicinal properties of these springs
will cure all diseases to which poor, frail,
dying humanity is heir. Had Ponoe De-
Leon, the seareher for the fabled “Spring
of Youth" come this way, he would un
doubtedly have been fully compensated
for his wanderings through the wilds of
America. I washed my hands iu the
magic waters, swallowed two or three gal
lons, mere or less, and not feeling quite
rich enough to pay five dollars a day at a
so-called first class hotel, returned to the
Mountain House. The exercise, pure air,
and, perhaps, the three gallons of mineral
water have made me as wolfish as a hyena.
I noticed in the morning mine host, Cul
der, of the Mountain House, buying an
untelope from a hunter just in from the
plains; so at supper I ordered antelope
steak, well done. Great was my astonish
ment to hear the waiter call out to the
cook “one antelope well done.” I should
certainly not have countermanded the or
der, however, for I felt equal to almost
any emergency in the eating line. But it
seems this was only an abbreviation of my
order—“one antelope steak, well done.”
At any rate, as the waiter had it, I “got
away with” two antelopes well done.
Unless you intend that your life shall be
a failure, to spend the remnant of your
days in “ignorant bliss, and go down to
posterity nnwept, unhonored and unsung,”
why, of course, you must visit Colorado,
and necessarily Colorado Springs. At the
depot yon will find a free carriage to con
vey yourself and numerous family, or
families—if you are Mormon—to the
Mountain House. Inquire for it. It is
your best hotel. Calder will look after
your happiness and give you plenty of
good grub. An antelope well done, if you
can chamber a whole one.
Night before last I went to hear Miss
Anna Dickenson lecture. Her suhject was,
“Joan d’Are;” but Imust say I came away
disappointed. It is true she related the
story quite as correctly as we read it in
history; but eertainly nothing more; no
comment of her own; no branching out
in the spread eagle style I had hoped to
hear; no beautifully rounded sentences,
complimentary or otherwise, of the crazy
warrior girl; only a simple recitation of
historical facts, which some of us knew
before Miss Anna was born. Should I ex
press a candid opinion, I should say Miss
Dickenson’s lecture on Joan d’Arc is a
humbug. This strong minded lady I
should take to be about thirty-five years
of age, rather short in statue, ruddy com
plexion, hair cut like a man, showing signs
of good health, much energy, and withal,
rather masculine in appearance. She re
cently performed the feat of riding to the
top of Pike’s Peak, Some say she rode—
not sideways—but the other way. I vouch
for nothing. Women, especially the
strong minded, are a puzzle I have given
up. She said one good thing, however.
It was this: “If slander was worth a penny
a sentence, how rich we all might be.”
When out on a “bum” Miss D. wears a
costume similar to the Bloomer rig.
Many literary celebrities visit this coun
try, doubtless seeking inspiration among
the beautiful scenery of the Rocky Moun
tains. Yesterday I had a passing glimpse
of Grace Greenwood, and a few days since
in Denver, saw General Strother (Porte
crayon), notorious for his sketches in Vir
ginia, and others not less interesting.
24tli. This is the Sabbath, God’s
blessed, holy Sabbath, bright, beautiful
and serene. The threatning clouds which
yesterday hoarded around Pike’s Peak
have disappeared. The passing zephyr
brings a movement among the trembling
leaves, and whispers praises to the Most
High. The gingling brook, as it ripples
over the snow white pebbles, murmurs
thanks to him from whom all blessings
flow. All nature seems to feel the Divine
presence, and humbly and thankfully to
acknowledge the Divine command, “Re
member the Sabbath day to keep it holy. ’’
Man—toiling, straggling, restless man—
has ceased his labors. The sound of bnisy
life is not heard; the strife for gain, which
so lately filled every mind and heart, has
given place to purer, higher aspirations,
All is quiet, rest, repose. Now little chil
dren, bright, beautiful and happy, pass on
their way to Sunday School, carrying me
back to my childhood, and causing a heart
felt sigh as I think of one little one far
away. And now the pleasant toned bell
rings clear upon the morning air, wafting
an invitation to all, and saying “Stranger,
come to the houso of God.”
Very truly yours,
QUITMAN, GA., SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 0, 1873.
A SUMMER IN THE COUNTRY.
I do not know of a more beautiful river
than the Landis. The scenery on both
bonks is rich and varied, while not the
least of its attractions is the smooth level
road which follows its windings for miles
and miles away. Just before sunset on a
June day, when the rosos were breathing
their sweetest fragrance, a horseman rode
slowly along, idly watching the "tacking”
of a little sail boat lower down the river.
He was a fine-looking man, of apparently
twenty-seven years, who sat on his horse
with easy grace, and held the reins with a
firm, yet free hand.
As he slowly turned a sharp bend in the
road a bewildering spectacle met his eye.
Coming toward him was a young girl,
seated in a low, basket carriage, with um
brella top, drawn by two spirited black
ponies, which she managed with the skill
of an accustomed driver. A mass of thin,
floating drapery and fluttering blue rib
bons passed before his vision, but the face
imprinted itself upon his memory. It was
wondrous fair, with a warm, rosy color
spreading over it at sight of him, as though
startled from some unwonted re very, a
shy, enquiring glance from the soft eyes
answered his, and the vision passed.
Our friend paused a moment, as if con
sidering the expediency of turning back
to find out whether this were really a
vision. Only a moment, then with a light
laugh, and touching liis horse with the
riding-whip, he gave chase. He turned
bend after bend in the road, but ponies
and pony-carriage hud vanished, and but
for the startled glance of the eyes that had
met his, he might have fancied it but a
trick of his imagination, a pretty fancy
born of tlie roses, the dewy air and the
soft, summer twilight.
This pretty fancy haunted our friend’s
brain for some days, which I tliiuk but
natural, as he had only recently graduated
from college, and so, perhaps, was rather
more susceptible to pretty fancies. Ho w
ever that may Vie, my friends, he ia a fine,
generous fellow, with noble qualities of
heart and mind, and 1 introduce him to
yon with pleasure.
I grant that liis reddish-brown moustache
hides some considerable firmness about
the lines of his mouth, and I allow him to
be quite timid in the presence of ladies,
but these little faults, if so you think
them, only bring him on a pur with our
own mortality. He is spending the sum
mer months in the quiet of his own home,
previous to entering upon his profession
in the fall.
While we have been chatting about him
he has reached home, comfortably estab
lished the “red roan steed" iu his quarters
in the barn, and has made his own way to
his study.
“Hallo! Percy! how d’ye do, old boy ?”
cried a merry voice; and one hand clasped
his shoulder while the other sought his
with the unmistakable “society grip” of
college days.
“Jim, you’re heartily welcome!” an
swered the other, returning the “grip”
with interest.
“Down hero for the summer with
mamma and Nannie. Could not rest until
I had hunted you up. By George! what
a cosy place you’ve got here!” And Jim
Harris indulged in a prolonged whistle
as he sank into a capacious arm-chair;
then looking up to his friend, ho said
slyly: “Wouldn’t Nannie enjoy looking in
here ?”
“No admittance to ladies,” said the
other, reddening a little.
“See here, now, Percy. I’ll venture to
say, with perfect safety, that at first sight
you will fall in love with my charming
sister. And, really, come to think of it,
I don’t know of a better fellow for her. ”
“Come, Jim, I’m a dangerous fellow, as
you know, so cease your bantering, and
tell me about some of the fellows. Where’s
Atwood ?”
This proved to be an even more tempt
ing subject than Nannie, though Jim could
not resist bidding his friend “mark his
word.” Then the two indulged in a long
and pleasant reminiscence of college days,
parting at last with a promise of meeting
the next and every succeeding day to
come.
A week passed, and Jim had not suc
ceeded in impressing upon his friend the
necessity of an early call upon his mother
and sister; so, in pretended dudgeon, he
informed Percy that he thought best to
stand upon ceremony until some of his
calls had been returned.
True to bis word, no Jim appeared, and
now the third twilight had come, and,
wearying for a sight of his friend’s face,
maybe just the least impelled by curiosity,
too, Percy mounted his red roan with the
fixed determinotion of appeasing Jim’s
wrath. The red roan carried him swiftly
to the grounds of the pretty cottage where
Jim had said they were staying, and being
informed by a servant that the young
people “were up near the woods,” he tied
his horse and proceeded to the designated
spot. It was a pretty, winding path he
followed, and in it, directly at his feet, lay
a dainty blue ribbon. As he picked it up
what train of associations did it awake in
his mind that he Bhould recall the little
lady of the pony carriage ? yes; and there
she was before him, sitting swinging on
the old stile, crooning softly some song to
herself. She blushed like any rose at sight
of him, but rising, gave him her hand and
said:
“I think you must be Mr. Rolfe. lam
happy to meet my brother's friends, Jim
is out calling with mamma; will you wait
for him ?”
This little lady of the pony carriage was
very winning. Mr. Rolfe thought it would
be exceedingly pleasant to wait for u few
momenta.
“Jim has been looking for you for the
last three days,” said the soft voice, while
she gave him a shy glance; “and to-night
he came to the conclusion that there was
no such thing ns friendship, Mamma re
minded him that there was such a thing as
politeness, and carried him off to show
that virtue to a number of old ladies of
her acquaintance.”
Mr. Rolfe laughed pleasantly, and said
he greatly wondered at himself for not
having called before; and he only hoped
he had come in time to dispel such a mel
ancholy idea from Jim’s brain. Friend
ship was a sacred thing.
Then thore was a little pause, until Mr.
Rolfe enquired if Miss Harris rode often
with her ponies ? (How pretty the roses
and dimples were in Nannie’s cheeks!)
“Yes, every day; it ia so very’ quiet
hero, I should be wholly at a loss if it
were not for them. Sometimes I rather
weary of my’ drives, for though the scenery
is so very beautiful, I find it very lonely
riding mile after mile without seeing a hu
man being; and when I do come in sight
of a houso I never see a face at. the win
dows. Twice I have found myself at the
end of the road, and once came out iu a
deserted stone quarry, which is the great
est excitement I have hail since I came,”
and she laughed a little as she pulled a
daisy to pieces.
“It must be rather dreary, I confess, to
a city young lady. If you would allow me
to join you sometimes, I think I could
show you some places of interest, unless
you have already’ come across them iu
your wanderings—paradise and purga
tory ?”
“No!” she said, laughing; “but, oh 1 I
should much prefer paradise.”
“You have no idea of how beautiful
purgatory is until you get there!" he re
torted, with a merry twinkle in his dark
blue eye.
What a sight for Jim!
“Ha! old boy! Glad to see you have
come to your senses! Been improving
y’our time, eh!
As Mr. Rolfe rode home that night he
called himself a very foolish fellow for
having deprived himself of so much pleas
ure as the past ten days might have brought
him; and I rather think, too, he concluded
to make the most of the time remaining; for
certain it is that, rides, picnics, and all
sorts of pleasant times filled the days fol
lowing, iu which Mr. Rolfe bore a promi
nent part, and where lie seemed to lose
much of the timidity and reserve he had
ever before experienced in ladies’ society.
Jim looked on approvingly, smiling to
himself, and thinking, no doubt, of sun
dry prophecies of his own, Sometimes
joining in these little excursions, and at
other times pleading other engagements.
Through the intimacy of the young peo
ple Mrs. Harris found a thoroughly lady
like and agreeable companion in Mrs.
Rolfe; indeed, I think the city and country
bred lady each found mutual improvement
iu the other’s society. Thus the two fami
lies were brought into intimate relation
ship, and tea-drinks and lawn-parties fol
lowed each other with amazing rapidity
and untiring interest.
Paradise and purgatory were visited, and
they proved but to be the introduction to
many charming excursions. Returning
from one of these, one afternron, after
they had seated themselves in the boat,
for they lmd been far up the river, they
paused a moment to take a last, lingering
look of the scene of their day’s pleasure.
The boat lay in a little cove; the water rip
pled along its sides in a soft, monotonous
murmur, and the white sail hung idly save
when the evening breese gently stirred its
heavy folds; the tall trees stood silent and
gland against the fair sky, casting long
shadows upon the green grass; across the
river was a rolling sweep of meadows, a
wide, grass-grown path, leading up to a
gray old farm house, with green moss
clinging to and fringing its gabled roof;
little flocks of fleecy clouds, with rose
tinted edges, floated across the sky. Not
a sound broke the stillness, save the shrill
cry of a lonely cricket. Suddenly Mr.
Rolfe gave a quick dip of the ours, and
they glided out upon the smooth river.
“There was always something mournful
to me in the cry of a cricket; sitting in
my study, quite contented with myself and
all the world, if I chance to hear their
shrill cry, all my views of life change in a
twinkling, and it is only with an effort I
can throw the feeling off.”
“That is strange,” said Nannie; “you
never can have read Dickon's ‘Cricket on
the Hearth,’ or I am sure he would have
persuaded you to think more cheerfully of
them. Don’t Dickens’ works find a place
upon your book shelves?”
“Quite a prominent one, Miss Nannie,
though I confess I have never read the lit
tle story you refer to. You have never
been inside my saw-turn sanctorum! If
you fell like lengthening out your day a lit
tle, it will give ms great pleasure to show
you its wonders.”
Nannie’s heart beat fast, for this was an
honor, indeed, according to Jim. The
color deepened in her face, her eyelids
drooped until their thick, black lashes
swept her cheeks, and she shook her
pretty head a little doubtfully.
“It is very tempting Mr. Rolfe, and if you
feel like using a great amount of persua
sion, I may be induced to say yes. ”
What a pretty picture she made, sitting
there just before him! It was a dainty
face, with its delicate features, soft color
ing, aud varying expression. Percy looked
at her until a great love surged up from
his heart, and found expression in his face.
Nannie, raising her eyes, saw it, and said
hastily:
“I must bend my energies to tlie oars if
I expect to see your study this afternoon. ”
Mr. Rolfe started perceptibly, and dip
ping the oars vigorously into the water, in
ten minutes reached the landing. Shaw ls,
luncli-baskets, sketch-books and parasol,
were gathered up in a promiscuous way,
and a quick walk soon brought them to
Mr. Rolfe’s home. Ho deposited his load,
led Nannie to the end of the hall, and
opening a door, said gayly:
“‘Will you w’alk into my parlor?’ I
shall put yon just here, in my easy chair,
Miss Nannie, and then you can take ft sur
vey of my room at your leisure, while I
leave you for a while."
Nannie sank hack into the luxurious
eßsy chair—low, deep, and wide—then
gazed about her with a feeling half of cu
riosity, half of awe. Plaster, parian, and
bronze busts of great men looked coldly
down upon her from low bookcases that
lined two sides of the room; a largo desk,
with numberless compartments, its table
iu a charming state of confusion, occupied
the third, while above it hung an exquis
ite Ec.ee Homo, delicate, feathery vines
creeping over its frame from vases on
dainty brackets; a fine organ stood be
tween the two windows, through whose
long, wide, open casements the evening
sun sent slanting rays of gold and crimson
that flecked the carpet and flickered over
the long rows of books. It seemed to
Nannie that this room held the most curi
ous collection of chairs she had ever seen
—for lounging, for writing, and for study
—of every shape and size. What a place
this seemed to study or to dream away
one’s life in! A shower of rose petals fell
from above her head, and glancing back
she saw Mr. Rolfe just outside the w in
dow.
"Miss Nannie, do not yield to the magic
influence of this room, but trust my hand
to help you from the window that you may
eat grapes and look at the sunset.”
“O! Mr. Rolfe, this room is a kingdom
of itself; what can ever tempt you to leave
it?”
“Look at the sunset!” was the only an
swer.
They found Mrs. Rolfe, Mrs. Harris and
Jim at the ond of the walk, sitting in gar
den chairs before a table that displayed a
tempting array of grapes and other fruit.
“I take my wine in pills, Percy,” said
Jim, making rapid progress into a bunch
of grapes.
Mr. Rolfe laughed and hold a tempting
cluster toward Nannie.
“All!” said she, stretching out her hand
for them, “ ‘sweeter yet did never crown
the head of Baccheus!’ ”
“ ‘Deign then, fairest fair, to take
them,’” retorted Percy, with laughing
eyes, keeping up the quotation.
So they jested until Mrs. Harris warned
them that darkness would shut them in
unless they made a move for home.
So the days flew by until there lacked
hardly a week ere their return to the city.
One afternoon Nannie sat by the water’s
edge, at the foot of a low, branching tree,
thinking of her pleasant summer, and
fancying how long the winter would seem.
“If only Jim could be at homel But
with only mamma and me—oh, dear!”
Then, at the sudden sound of dipping
oars on the river, her cheeks flushed, and
she began gathering hastily together the
scarlet and yellow leaves that came flout
ing down around her.
“ ‘My boat is on the shore.’ ” sang Mr.
Rolfe, as he pushed liis way up through
the bushes, his hands full of white lilies
from Mrs. Rolfe’s little conservatory; but:
as he threw himself upon the bank beside
her, he seemed grave and silent, even agi
tated. By some subtle sympathy Nannie
felt much of his emotion, and it was with
great difficulty that she could control her
self sufficiently to calmly take the lilies
from his trembling hands.
“How lovely they are! see what a bril
liant background these leaves make!”
She spoke rapidly, as if to take refuge in
her words. “What a pleasant summer I
have had!” she contined; “nearly four
months of pleasure. Isn’t it sad that
pleasant things must come to an end? I
can hardly realize that we return to the
city so soon. How I shall miss these pleas
ant country sights and sounds; but, with a
little shiver, “winter must be dreary here!”
“Shall you miss them?” broke in Mr.
Rolfe’s voice, deep and low. “And how
do you think it will be with me, whose
life you have made so bright with happi
ness all these weeks? It is a thought I
cannot harbor for a moment. I have been
in a dream—a hope—Miss Nannie; may I
dare ask if it can ever be realized? Will you
think me worthy of your love? I offer
you mine, strong and true. Do not speak
lightly, dear.”
The blood rushed to Nannie’s face, then
left her pule and trembling. She twisted
the flowers around and around in her ner- ;
vons fingers. The silence was growing |
painful, when she raised her eyes. He j
smiled. All Nannie’s pride was up in 1
arms. She fancied there was mischief in
his smile. Naughty, wilful Nannie! Her ;
cheeks reddened; she made a saucy cour- j
tesy, and though her voice shook with
love, pride und terror, she gasped out a
“No, thank you,” and turned away.
In an instant Mr. Rolfe was on his feet.
“Can I believe it V” ho spoke, placing
himself before her. “Is this my friend,
treating lightly, with contempt, a true,
manly love? Nannie, do you mean it?
Can I never be anything to you ? Can I
give up all the beautiful dreams I have in
dulged of you ? Nannie, Nannie, can it
indeed be true ?”
The soft eyes filled with tears, and Nan
nie was pressed close to Percy's heart,
where she was glad to hide the teardrops
and the roses that would come and go so
prettily in her cheeks.
“Are you my own Nannie, willingly and
gladly my own ?” asked Percy.
We did not hoar Nannie’s answer, but I
think it must have been satisfactory, for
Percy clasped her little hand and looked
up to the fair blue sky. as if asking God’s
blessing upon their love.
What a prophet Jim was, to be surel
A LEGEND OF MAMMOTH CAVE.
BY MAKY KYLE DALLAS.
“Come closer, Stewart.”
The man went closer to the bed on which
the woman who spoke lay, propped by pil
lows.
“I’m listening, Maria, he said; “I'm lis
tening, my deal'. ”
“Am I your dear? she gasped. “Really,
truly, yon loved me, Stewart?”
“Haven’t I behaved as if I did?" said
he, softly. “Have I ever given you any
reason to think I did not?"
“No," she said, “no; but I was rich aud
yon poor, and I old and you young, and
so I can’t help thinking.”
Don’t think that way any more. Try to
be calm, my dear,” said the man.
“Calm!” said she. “I am going to leave
you. I’m going to die. Don’t you know
that, Stewart?”
“No.” said he. “While there is life
there is hope.”
“I’m going," she said again; “but we'll
meet in heaven. You'll be mine there,
and I shall be young and benutifnl again.
Stewart, promise me you’ll come to me ns
I leave yon, no other woman’s husband.”
“Don’t think of such a thing, Maria,”
said he; “it’s horrible.”
“But swear,” said she. “Here is the
Bible; swear. Lawyer Grey is in the
other room yet. He lias made my will in
your favor, but yon know, Stuart, I could
call him back in a moment. No other
woman shall have, my money to spend. If
yon think of marrying, I’ll make my will
over."
“How could I think of marrying witli
my wife dying?” said the husband. I’m
not a brute.”
“Then swear,” said she; here put your
hand on the Bible—say this after me:
“I swear before Heaven never to marry
again while I remain upon earth.”
The man she spoke to was young and
ardent. He had married a woman fifteen
years liis senior for the sake of her for
tune, hut they had been happy together—
she had been even personally agreeable to
him. Now she was dying, and ho had
nothing hut grief in his heart. He be
lieved he should never wish to have an
other wife, and he desired to make the
anxious woman happy.
“Maria,” he said, surely I will do it, if
you think it will comfort you,” and he laid
his hand upon the Holy Book.
“I swear never to marry again while I
remain upon the aarth,” he said.
Then liis wife put her arms about his
neck and kissed him.
“In heaven, dearest.” she whispered.
They were her last words.
After she was dead, the widower lived
alone in liis handsome house for some
time, and grieved sincerely for the poor
lady whose generosity had only been
equalled by her love for him. It was not
until a year had passed that he began to
spend his large fortune as though he were
its exclusive master.
Then, however, he decided upon a trip
to Europe, and, acting upon his resolu
tion, spent many months abroad. Rich,
a widower, and very handsome, he was not
allowed to remain without friends during
his travels. People soon discovered that
he was a very agreeable person, and ladies
lavished their smiles upon him. None of
them, however, tempted him to wish his
vow unuttered. He was not to he won by
any of the arts which belledom so well un
derstands, If he ever loved it would be
because love came unsought. Long be
fore he had decided he could he happy
with all agreeable women with whom he
had no thought of falling in love, and he
did not belong to the susceptible order of
mankind.
He had taken an oath never to marry
while he remained on earth, and lie had
rio intention of perjuriug himself. So he
flirted coldly enough with pretty women,
and each time dropped the amusement
quite unscathed himself.
He returned to Amorica as ho had left
it, and, with the fever for travel still strong
upon him, determined to make a tour of
the United States.
Where he went and what lie saw, we
leave the guide books to tell our readers.
Enough that, after many days, our hero
found himself in Kentucky; and in the
quiet of a Kentucky parsonage, whither
chance led him, met, for the first time in
his life, a girl against whose charms he
found no weapons of defense. She was
the pastor’s daughter—a young brunette,
with crimson cheeks und eyes soft as bluck
velvet. He looked at her, and loved her,
and in an instant his oath recurred to him.
“He had vowed never to marry while he
remained upon earth.”
The thought soon became torture—but
for that vow heaven seemed to open itself
before him. Why had he taken it? Why
had liis dead wife demanded it? He al
most hated her for the uct. Ho despised
NUMBER 18.
himself for his cowardice. Yet he dared
not break an oath.
Meanwhile he lmnnted the steps of the
young beauty and made mad love to her.
Soon he discovered that Bhe returned his
love, and then he told her all his misera
ble stoty. She wept, but the dread of the
oath was upon her also. Love they might,
Irat they could never marry. Hero was a
tragedy indeed.
Tlie daughter’s cheek paled; the lover
wore a look of misery; papa, the pastor,
noticed nothing, and smiled upon them as
usual; and suns arose and set, and sum
mer flew by on airy wings, and the dead
woman lay In her grave at Greenwood,
and her widower hated her memory be
cause of the promise she had forced upon
him.
Yon all know what and where the Mam
moth Cave is—the Mammoth Cave of Ken
tucky—where the guides keep travelers
from losing their way; carry blazing
torches, which reveal strange stalactite
hung chambers and mysterious corridors
that, seem to have been cut by some giant’s
tools from the firm rock.
Hither it pleased the Rev. Mr. Bray
one day to take his guest, and with them
went Rhoda, liis daughter. The girl had
never visited the cave. Slie was full of
curiosity. The guides, with their torches,
walked before. The three visitors fol
lowed. Rhoda clung to Stewart’s arm.
Sometimes, in the obscurity, he placed
his hand upon the hand that rested there.
They paused in great chambers, where
their voices sounded strangely hollow.
They crept through narrow passages into
grand and wonderful places that sparkled
ns though hung with jew els. At last they
paused.
“No lady Ims ever been any farther,”
said the principal guide. “Indeed, few
of the guides know the way beyond this
spot. We are very far below the earth.”
He mentioned the distance. It was
something astounding. It struck Mr.
Bray as a text for a sermon.
“My dear children,” he began, “think
of that, We are no longer upon the earth.
Awful thought! No longer upon the earth!”
Then Stewart seized Rlioda’s hand.
“My darling,” he said, “listen; do you
hear ? My vow holds me no longer, lam
free here. I only swore not to marry an
long as I was upon earth. We are as
much beneath it ns though we were in our
graves.”
“It is trite,” said Rhoda.
Then they both clasped the old pastor’s
arms and besought him to marry them.
He had no idea of the motive, but he rather
liked the sensational.
He bud married people in odd places
before—in a boat, in a steeple, in a grave
yard. He agreed. The guides stood as
witnesses, and the words were soon said.
Rhoda was Stewart's wife.
“And I have kept my oath,” he whis
pered, ns he kissed her. “I never mar
ried upon earth.”
As he uttered theso words one of the
guides shrieked aloud and fled, dropping
his torch. The Other, with an oath, fol
lowed suit. There stood amidst the group
a tall, ghostly figure—a woman in her
shroud. She stretched forth her bony
fingers and pointed to the bridegroom.
“You never married upon earth,” she
said, “and you shall never live there. Fol
low me. ” Aud she vanished iu the shadows
of the cave.
An hour after, the guides, attended by
a strong body of believers and misbeh vers,
and fortified by plenty of whisky, ventured
into the cave again. They found the
Rev. Silas Bray, more dead than alive, and
took him home; but Rhoda and Stewart
were never seen on earth again. And
there are Mammoth Cuve guides to this
hour who believe that sometimes, at a
certain day of the year, there is likelihood
of meeting two ghostly figures wandering
hand iu hand, who ask you the way to
the earth iu tearful voices, and before you
can answer vanish with a shriek.
[From the Davenport Gazette.]
A Queer lowa Story.
One of tlie leading citizens of North
Davenport had an only daughter, who was
betrothed to a young man of fair promise, a
clerk in a leading commercial house at Du
buque. His visits to tlie city were regular,
and arrangements had been made for an
immediate union, when the bride-elect was
stricken down with typhoid fever, and, in
spite of all that skill and care could do,
died. After the melancholy journey to Oak
dale the young man returned to Dubuque.
Nervous fever sat iu, and a peculiar hallu
cination seized him that his lost one was
present in tlie room draped in the same
garb which hod enveloped her clay. All
remonstrance was in vain. He minutely
described her dress, her appearance, and
her position in his chamber. Even when
his parents or friends would sit or stand
where he declared her to he, he hiiw her
glide away and take another place. This
went on for weeks, and the patient was
gradually sinking under physical and ner
vous excitement when a friendly ruse was
tried to cure him of his ecstacy. Coming
to Davenport, his mother found that the
funeral garments were purchased of C. &
M., and made by a Mrs. B. She procured
the material,had it made up. and returning,
a young lady as near iu height and appear
ance as could be found was dressed to re
semble his deceased love, and during one
of his fevered and brief slumbers was in
troduced into tlie room, taking her seat in
a shaded corner. His awaking was
anxiously watched, and sanguine hopes of
removing his hallucinations were indulged
in. He awoke at length, and, turning his
eyes in the direction of the pious fraud,
stured with fixed eye-halls fora few seconds
then rousing himself almost upright in hia
bed, flung liis arras aloft, and shrieking iu
an unearthly voice: 'My God, there are two
of them!' fell back und expired. ”
