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belfry, I came into a new gloom ; for over all the valley spread a mist, and its upper parts shut away the distant hills, so that I saw nothing of them. The town, also, which lay beneath me, and the clustered dwellings I saw not, nor the Gothic splendor of the grand cathedral roof. All was mist. But round about me, rising out of the fog like a mountain of the gods that is founded upon the mysteries of the deep, majestic in its shadowy grandeur, was the great cathedral tower.
Turning my eyes from the work of man, I beheld the great world, but it was to me unknown. All below me was gray, and as my eyes sought the farther distance the gray was darker and thicker, as if rolled upon itself. Thus a vast ring of mist was circled about the horizon, and the unseen hills broke it not. The sunken sun still glowed above this sombre circlet and diffused its light throughout the near heavens, but it did not illumine the nether mists.
Then I turned to my task, and the great bell sent its summons down through the mist to the unseen city, and the voice of the bell was above all other sounds. I ceased and listened, while the bell's one note prolonged itself and swelled and softened as ever it neared silence. I listened again, and the deep notes, one by one, then linked in sweetness, rose from the organ to my ear and lifted me from my earthy house as it had been that sphere-born music. And while it still continued, there sweiled and filled the corners of the roof and all the forgotten nooks in the tower the hymn of praise and joy. Yet more serenely it bore its calmness to my soul, and, by its own melody transformed, it became as the angelic song heard by the shepherds on their
Now while I listened, the harmony, grown celestial, became a part of me, so that I heard it not, but only felt its grand sublimity animating me. I woke from my inward contemplation, and once more looked out. I saw over and beyond the mists, I pierced in vision the gathering night, and in wonder, silent and unspeakable, beheld the universe of God. And there was no mist therein, nor was there any city, neither cathedral to His name, but perfect light diffused above, beneath, and throughout all. And I saw no man there, nor any spirit, for I sought them not, but with single vision I beheld all, and looking, I saw only God. And God was in all, and God was all, and to my sight there was none other there; and I was content. But as I gazed a great fear poured over my soul, as it were a great joy, and I lifted up my hands and cried : “ Lord, I am not worthy,” and all the universe of God was filled with the heavenly harmony of silence; and the silence became words and cried : “God is in all and He is all. Glory to God in the highest !”
Then the glory of the world grew dim before my weaker vision and I could no longer see the glory; but God I saw ever, even while before my eyes the gray mists gathered and beneath my feet I felt again the cold Aoor of the cathedral belfry.
I turned to the great bell, but its note had ceased and the church was silent, and there arose from the city no sound save of the moaning wind. And the wind carried away the mists which were in the air above, and the stars shone forth over the shrouded town. With glad heart I descended the belfry tower, thinking not of the dusty steps nor the whirring of the bats, but ever beholding in the darkness round about me the glory of God which is in all and through all.
The Emperor of all the Russias is dead.
- Daily Paper. Ye trumpeters of Death, who ever strive
Ah, what are prince's wealth and monarch's power To summon to that higher haven where
When Mother Earth calls back her wand'ring sons, No transient traveler ever can abide !
When dust to dusty clod again returns, Must he who despot high ruled o'er his race,
When monarch and his serf lie cold in death! Whose heavy hand, whate'er so e'er its bid,
Before the throne of God, no haughty word Gave law to those who know not liberty
From monarch's tongue, no mighty sweep of hand Must he the self-same summoning call obey
Shall bid the serf give up the priceless wealth And crumble into dust, with his poor slave !
That's current there - the riches of the soul !
C. N. B.
Jane Underhill. It was only a collection of miserable houses, scarce worthy to
be called a village, but on that little rock-bound island the course of human life ran much the same as on the mainland so far away. Here people were born, loved, and died subject to the same joys and sorrows as their more fortunate fellows in happier climes, yet not one of the inhabitants of the little village would have changed his lot for that of a prince; accustomed always to simplicity, they neither knew nor desired anything better. And where did Nature so exult as here? Where were sturdier men and women to be found than those reared in the lap of Nature, their only cradle-song the roar of the breakers ?
For years the peaceful life of the little hamlet had been undisturbed by any unusual event. Day after day the men sailed away to their lobster-pots and mackerel-nets; the women labored at the home and waited the time when their husbands should return. And so the years passed — each morning the village wakened, knowing that that day would be exactly like the preceding, and that to-morrow would be no different from to-day. Yet they lived happily in their contentment. Lived ? No, rather existed, for they knew not what life was.
Of all the inhabitants of Gosport, Jane Underhill alone never smiled, and went each day about her allotted tasks with the air of one who had long since ceased to care for life. The older inhabitants told how, long before, when Jane was a young girl, her lover had left her one morning, bright and happy, and sailed to his accustomed fishing-grounds; told how the treacherous storm, so well known and feared by all, had come upon him unawares, and he had perished before the eyes
of his beloved. Since then Jane had never been the same; and now, when the storm was at its height, she loved to seek some sheltered spot among the rocks and watch the waves and winds battle for supremacy. None ever dared disturb her, and none knew whether she prayed to God in her sorrow or cursed him in her bitterness of spirit.
One never-to-be-forgotten night, when the rain fell thick and fast from the black clouds above, when the wind howled fearfully without and fairly shook the little huts in its fury, and when the breakers dashed in upon the rocks with more than their accustomed power, Jane crept quietly from her lonely fireside out into the storm. Long ago had she ceased to rave, and now only a dull pain was at her heart, but its aching never ceased. Slowly she worked her way among the rocks to her accustomed seat. Never had she seen the elements so wild as they were this night. The thunder added to the awfulness of the scene, and the Aashes of lightning, following each other in quick succession, illumined the sea for miles around. Through the darkness far away to the east she perceived a hugh billow growing every moment larger and larger. Nearer and nearer it came with that onward gliding motion, yet Jane stood transfixed, for on its topmost point she seemed to see her lover of years ago. And now it towered far above her, threatening every moment to descend. With a wild cry she turned to fee, and the next instant the wave broke upon the rocks with all its force.
Not until late the next day did Gosport awaken to a realization of the tragedy which had occurred. Only one more victim of the cruel, relentless sea !
E, C. C.
The First It was in the spring of 1775. The little town of Westminster, Ver
mont, was stirred with extraordinary excitement. In order to understand the Martyr.
affairs which were engaging the attention of every one, a short review of the
existing conditions is necessary. It will be remembered that this was the time preceding, by a little, the Revolutionary War, but the state of affairs existing here was, in many ways, peculiar to the locality. Feeling was particularly strong and bitter on account of the great number of Tories in the section and especially because of the administering of justice in the courts by Tories under commission of King George the third. Many Tories from New York, in league with the officers of the courts, had taken advantage of the great scarcity of money and bought up mortgages against farmers of this section, and, with the aid of iniquitous judgments of the courts, they were able to gain possession of property upon which the occupants had already paid much. This form of precedure had been carried on to so great an extent that the settlers were driven almost to desperation, and the climax had finally been reached in the unusually arbitrary actions of a court then in session, together with the exposed duplicity of the judge of the court.
A meeting of the oppressed people was held at the house of a trapper who lived on the outskirts of the town, at which gathering means for resisting the outrages were considered. After many bold plans had been brought forth, the idea of a more conservative member was adopted, which
in effect, that the Tories should not be given an advantage by receiving any resistance from armed opponents, but that the opposers should assemble at the court-house unarmed, and resist, peaceably but firmly.
In the meeting there arose to speak a young man of about twenty-two years, whose face, by its singular earnestness and fitful radiance of expression, showed its possessor to be wrought up to a high pitch of excitement. The assembly was startled by the almost inspired earnestness of the speaker, the sentiment at the close of whose address was something like this: “Let us assemble at the court-house to-morrow, as has been agreed upon, and, if the Tories shall make a martyr of one of us, every wood and pasture of this rugged land will send forth an avenger, and our cause will be favored beyond any other possible advantage.”
The next day the patriots assembled unarmed at the court-house to resist the entrance of the Tories. In the meanwhile the Tories, being informed as to the state of affairs, proceeded to arm themselves and prepare to make an attack. The attack came the following night, when the Tories, being refused admission, fired into the company at the doors. A number of the rebels were wounded, among which number was the young man to whom attention has been called. The wounded were thrown into a sort of dungeon, where they were entirely uncared for. With the exception of this one young man, nearly all succeeded in escaping.
The Tories, thinking that their victory was complete, assembled next day at the court-house and were carrying on the business before them in quite as high-handed a way as was expected. But they were deceived as to the completeness of their victory. The farmers, having had time to assemble from the neighboring districts, and no longer fearing lest they should injure their cause, had collected a small army and came down upon the assembled Tories so unexpectedly as to take them prisoners without difficulty.
Shortly before the advancing columns of men were to be seen, something came to the ears of the Tories in the court-room which caused them to pause in their shameful proceedings and turn to one another with expressions of awe upon their faces. It was a long-drawn wail which came from the depths below as a soul departed from this life. They knew what it was. They knew that it was the death-cry of a man whom they had mortally wounded the night previous. This man was the one before referred to. His name was William French, and he was the first man who died in the cause of liberty in the War of the Revolution.
The following is the inscription upon his tombstone: “In memory of William French, son of Mr. Nathaniel French, who was shot at Westminster, March ye 13th, 1775, by the hands of cruel ministerial tools of George ye 3d, in the court-house, at ii o'clock at night, in the 22d year of his age.”
F. M. L.
Silas White of SMITHVILLE, the home of Silas White, is a small New England vil
lage situated twenty miles from Hancock, a county seat, and is famous Smithville. as the home of a great statesman. It is now becoming well known
as a summer resort, for those who wish a long vacation, as well as for the business men of Hancock, many of whom go back and forth every day. Famous for its pure ozone and wholesome air, it is an excellent place in which to rest from the rushing life of the city and to recuperate from sickness and overwork. The inhabitants of Smithville are sturdy people, who earn their living, as a rule, by farming, although a little manufacturing is done in the town.
The residence of the Whites is a shabby old-fashioned farmhouse near the railroad station. The appearance of the yard will give one a good idea of the owner. On the right as one enters the premises stands the house, a low story-and-a-half wooden structure which was long ago painted white.
To-day, with its green blinds dilapidated and broken, it looks as if a coat of paint would improve it. The front yard is always filled with a conglomeration of things,— different kinds of lumber, fence rails, old barrels, hay riggings, horse-rakes, buggies, and wagons. The last named are rickety and out of repair. One would hesitate long before accepting an invitation to ride in any of them, but this the owner is not likely to extend, not being a very generous man. The combined value of the conveyances cannot exceed one hundred dollars.
On the left first appears a two-story building, used many years ago for a country store. Since Mr. White ceased to keep a store, the upper part has furnished shelter and abode for his hired men, who are deemed unworthy of rooms in the house; the lower part probably contains old counters and other things used in connection with the store. Further on are three barns, in the first of which is kept a number of old carriages; in the second, hay, grain, farming tools, and swine; and in the third, numerous members of the equine and bovine species. Besides these are various out-buildings, in which are hens and other possessions of like nature.
After getting a true idea of the village and the White estate, we now come to the serious part of the sketch — the man himself. Silas, as every one calls him,- though, of course, not to his face,- is easily the character of the town, and is of a type which can be met with only in a country village. He needs to be seen to be appreciated. His straw hat appears to be about twenty years old. In it he carries his legal papers and documents. Sometimes, when he takes it off to wipe his massive brow and the wind blows, his papers soar aloft and he has to get out of his wagon to get them, but he does not seem to care, for the very next time he puts them in the same old place. He goes around in his shirt sleeves, and without a collar. The poor quality of his laundry work is painfully evident. His trousers show little style in their make, are beautifully fringed at the bottom, and appear to have seen their best days long ago; his stockings are generally perforated, their color sometimes being red, sometimes Aesh-colored; his foot-gear shows need of a visit to the cobbler and is of a very unaristocratic style. Physically, he is of medium height; his gait is measured and slow, his carriage dignified. The face shows merciless and unrelenting determination and indicates that Silas White "knows it all.”
It is in trading operations that Silas is so well known around Smithville. Years ago he kept a store, but, as he was absent much, a rival set up another store and drove him out of the business. One day a customer visited him to see a cow which Silas had praised very highly. While they were discussing the characteristics of the animal a voice was heard at the back door. Nancy, his wife, apparently interested in the future of this great cow, appeared on the scene and said : “Silas, what be we goin' ter do fur butter if you sell that cow.” The scheme worked like a charm. The would-be customer determined to have the cow at any price, and bought her. She afterwards turned out to be a fat failure. Similar cases might be related, but this will suffice to show the business methods of the subject of our sketch.
Silas is a very interesting specimen to meet and converse with. Sitting in his yard on a pile of lumber, or in his wagon, he harangues with equal facility on the condition of the country or the Chicago strike. In these impromptu speeches he brings in most effective gestures, which would do credit to a teacher of oratory. If he had forensic practice and a college training, what a noted man he might have become! His voice might has been heard in the halls of Congress, champion
ing the cause of a protective tariff or honest money. As it is, he is obliged to be content with a smaller field of action, which is in town meetings where his logic and eloquence bring terror to the hearts of inefficient town officers. Standing in his presence one feels that surely here is a character unique in this world, and wonders what the man's chances will be in the next.
The writer is grateful for having seen this interesting pair, for Nancy, in her way, is as strange as her lord. That the readers of the TUFTONIAN may some day see their equals is the earnest wish of a lover of human nature.
G. P. I.
Exchanges. The following poems have been clipped from eleven to desert our gridiron. This is the the papers designated :
opinion regarding such action as expressed by
the paper representing Colgate. The MadisoTHE POET.
nensis distinctly and well says :In the heavy web of the loom of life He weaveth his fancies to and fro,
The action of our foot-ball team in leaving the field, And the golden threads of his verse will show
as a protest against unfair decisions in the game at The pictured tale of his earthly strife.
Manlius, deserves criticism. Under no circumstances
ought a team to leave the field. It is a confession of But the artist dieth ; the web is hung,
weakness. It reveals a lack of pluck. “I won't play" With never a thought for its imagery ;
is an echo from the playground of our boyhood. The And in passing years, to the tapestry
alleged injustice against which our team contended The dust and grime of neglect have clung.
ought to have spurred them to more heroic efforts,
instead of causing their resolution to ooze from their All tarnished now is the thread of gold,
We have a foot-ball team capable of
finger-tips. The picture is blurred by the lapse of time;
upholding our fair fame on the athletic field. The team
which can defeat us in a fair struggle may be proud of But there's one has seen mid the dust and grime That tale which the long-dead poet told,
having met a foeman worthy of its steel. We must keep our record clean. Let our action at Manlius
never be repeated. That strange new song with a sweet refrain,
A song that whispers of life and love,
The publication of a large co-educational So, long forgotten, he lives again.
college has been received, and the first inside -Cornell Era.
page is devoted to a certain firm which adverDAFFODILS.
tises a matrimonial agency. At the bottom of Behind a hedge
the page is the customary exhortation to the Of Buckthorn, bordering a garden quaint And rambling, such as artists love to paint,
students," Patronize our advertisers."
« Bloom daffodils. Their hue's intensity Seems born of bright spring sunshine and to me
It is interesting to note the various questions Reflects a halo on the silver hair Of her who, bending o'er them, lingers there
that are now agitating many of our institutions. . Behind the hedge.
At Cambridge there is a growing feeling in -Williams Literary Monthly. favor of the division of Harvard into several
smaller colleges. If the plans of the overseers “I simply dote on Horace !" Said the Boston maid ; “don't you?"
of this university are carried into effect, the And the maiden from Chicago,
superiority of a college of five hundred memWondering, queried, “ Horace who ?”
bers over one of several thousand will be clearly -Lasell Leaves. proved, as the men who will render the verdict
are in every way capable of deciding. AccordAn interesting editorial is clipped from the ing to the Harvard publications, the prevailing Madisonensis, published by Colgate University. opinion is in favor of such a division. The It seems that the foot-ball team of this institution advantages of the college having about five left the field during a contest under conditions hundred men are plainly marked. In such an similar to those which prompted the Technology institution there is a much more friendly and