Grant County news. (Canyon City, Or.) 1879-1908, December 25, 1880, Image 2

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    . The Grant County News.
S. H. Shepherd Editor.
r Tmisf. f.rnsf, fo vour instinct." mut-
teredthe traveler, letting the bridle fall
upon his horse's neck. "The eyes of an
owl would be at fault on such a night as
this. Be quiet, you brute! Do you
mean to repay my confidence by break
ing my neck?"
The animal had shied so violently as
nearly to throw his rider, and stood
trembling in every muscle. His master
peered through the darkness in the en
deavor to make out the cause of his ter
ror. He could perceive before him the
dim outline of a dismantled church,
with its brood of gravestones clustered
about it. Beside the road, so close that
he could have touched it with his whip,
he discovered an indistinct white object
crouohing upon one of the graves.
Resolved upon knowing what it was,
he dismounted and approached it. As
he did so, it arose and iled rapidly away.
With his curiosity no fully arosed he fol
lowed it. As it neared the church it
turned suddenly and confronted him.
At this moment a broad glare of light
ning Hashed athwart the sky and he saw
before him a young girl dressed in a
thin, water-soaked garment, her hair
falling in drenched coils upon her
shoulders. For an instant her white,
scared face was turned toward him and
her large, sorrowful eyes met his with an
appealing look, then she seemed to melt
into the solid body of the church.
As well as the darkness permitted, ho
examined the spot where she had disap
peared, but could find no opening
through wliich she could haye escaped.
He called aloud that he was a friend,
and that she bad nothing to fear. The,
only answer was the weired wail of the
tempest through the broken arches.
"With a feeling akin to superstitious ter
ror, he hastily remounted his horse, and
did not draw rein until he reached the
village inn.
'"Who occupies the old church yon
der?" he inquired of this landlord.
"Ah ! you too have seen it," exclaimed
the landlord, mysteriously.
"It?" echoed the traveler. "I saw
what I thought to be a poor, demented
"You saw the spirit of one," answered
the host, solemnly. "Every one hero
knows the story. When she was alive
her name was Ada Morton. Her father
died a year back, leaving her heiress to
his property. As she was yet a minor,
he appointed his friend Stephen East
burn her guardian, who in case of her
death unmarried, was to inherit the
property. It is said that he beat, starved
and ill-treated her. One night just
such a night as this she disappeared
Her hat and cloak werofound on the
river bank next morning. It was plain
that the poor creature had sought de
liverance from her persecutor by suicide
That was three months ago. Her body
was never found, but her spirit had been
. . . i
often seen m the church-Aard, wliere her
father lies. Meanwhile, the man who
drove her to her death lives at his ease
in her father's house on the hill."
The traveler was evidently deeply
interested in the story, but he made no
comment upon it. Merely informing
the landlord that he should remain for a
week or two. he retired to his room.
Like many another young man ol lor-
tune Chas. Barclay was allUeted with too
uch leisure. His sole object in this
parfcof the country was mere languid
search after amusement. The landlord's
story had strongly aroused his curiosity.
Morever, the young girl's sad face and
beseeching glance in the churchyard had
made a strange impression upon him.
Something in her improbable history
had led him to form a vague suspicion of
a truth nearly as improbable. Eagerly
accepting the possible chance of an ex
citing experience, he determined to sift
the matter to the bottom.
Without dropping a hint as to his in
tentions, he left the inn on the next
night shortly after 11 o'clock and pro
ceeded to the old church. The place
was deserted and silent ; not even a stray
dog was to be seen wandering about
the churchyard. An ineffably dreary air
hung about the place, depressing his
spirits and almost resolving him to
abandon his object. But a sentiment of
pride urged him on, and he cautiously
made his way into the church and sat
down in one of the j)ews.
For more than an hour nothing oc
curred to attract his attention. He be
came drowsy, and was on the point of
falling aleep where he sat, when a low,
wierd peal from the old organ moaned
through the church. He sat erect and
listened with suspended breath. The
sound rose higher and clearer, and pres
ently the sweet but mournful tones of a
woman's voice joined it. Ho could make
out the words of a prayer for the
After a moment the music ceased, and
he could hear the singer sobbing in a
low, heart-broken way, that brought
tears to his eyes. He strained his eyes
through, the darkness, but could make
out nothing. Arising, he called out:
"Whoever you are, you are in sorrow
and ailliction. I cannot see you. I will
not pursue you. All I desire is to be
your friend. Will you answer me?"
Timr ivns no renlv. and the weeping
suddenly ceased. After a moment of
hesitation he made his way to the organ
loft and struck a match. No one was
visible, nor was there the smallest trace
of? the recent presence of any living be
ing Considerably startled, he left the
church, determined to repeat his expe
rience on the followed night.
Providing himself with a dark lantern
he went to the church on the next night,
and secreted himself near the organ. As
before it was nearly midnight before he
became conscious of the presence of an
other person in the building. On this
occasion the organ was not played, but
there was a slight rustle as of a woman's
dress, and presently he heard the same
low bitter weeping.
Quickly arising he shot the rays of the
lantern in the direction whence the
sounds proceeded. Not more than three
yards from him in the broad glare of the
light he beheld the girl whom he had
met in the churchyard. She was looking
at him with an expression of intense ter
ror in her white face and tear-wet eyes.
As she stood cowering before him she
reminded him of the innocent animal
crouching at the hunter's feet. With
an accent of deep pity he addressed
her :
"I saw you in the churchyard night
before last, I spoke to you last night. I
am not an enemy, nor an idle curiosity
seeker. I earnestly want to aid you.
Will you not trust me?"
Keeping her eyes fixed upon him with
the same distrustful look, she answered
in a faint, far-off voice:
"Your friendship or your enemity can
be nothing to mo. The world you live
in by its wickedness and cruelty, drove
me to my death. I am doomed to this
place until justice is done upon m
destroyer." "You arc trying to mislead me," ex
claimed Barclay. "You are no spirit,
but a poor, starving homeless young
girl. You have suffered miserably and I
have resolved to restore you to your
rights, as well as exact reparation from
the man who has wronged you."
He advanced toward her as he spoke
and stretched out his arms to seize her.
In an instant she seemed uncertain how
to act, then even as his hand seemed to
pass boldly through her shape, she
melted into the shadows of the place.
This time he did not pursue her. Her
mysterious escape, which seemed to con
firm her own words, began to impress
him with the belief that he had indeed
confronted a visitant from the other
Next morning, however, cool reflection
taught him that he might easily have de
ceived himself in his excitemi-nt. He
therefore resolved all the more obsti
nately to pursue the investigation.
For three nights following he secreted
himself in the church and awaited her
appearance, but his watch was fruitless.
This caution on her part fully convinced
him that ho was dealing with a human
being and not with an impalpable phan
tom. Meantime in pursuance of the suspi
cion which the landlord's story had im
parted to him, he found a pretense on
which to make the acquaintance of
Stephen Eastburn. The man impressed
him unfavorably at the first sight. Tall
and gaunt of figure, with small, restless
gra3 eyes and false smile, he seemed to
Barclay to be capable of any villainy.
The young man was careful to avoid
mentioninp the supposed ghost, and de
parted with an invitation to call again.
On the fourth dayBar clay again secreted
himself in the church. It was cold for
the season, and he shivered in his hiding
place, despite his warm clothing. Hour
after hour passed away, and he was be
ginning to fear that his errand would
again prove fruitless, when a faint light
in the church caught his oyc. As
rose higher, he could see that it pro
ceeded from a small heap of sticks col
lected upon the stone floor. Crouching
over it and extending her thin fingers to
the flame, he beheld the figure of the
young girl. Evidently overcome with
the cold, she had --entured to indulge in
this small comfort in the hope that it
might escape notice.
Pulling off his shoes, Barclay crept up
behind her, and before she was aware of
his presence, seized her in his strong
"I knew you were no ghost," he said,
smiling; "though if you continue this
life much longer you will soon become
She uttered a faint cry of terror, and
sunk upon her knees.
"Spare me," she sobbed. "I am only
a poor, homeless, friendless girl, who
never wronged anyone. why do you
pursue me
For your own good, my poor girl,"
he said kindlv. "Why will vou not be
lieve me in my good intentions?"
"Why should I?" she cried passion
ately, "Did not my father's trusted
friend, th man who had sworn to be my
second father, seek my life?"
"Ah!" said Borclay! with a start. "My
conjecture was true, thm. He then de
coyed you to the river, and after believ
ing you safely out of the way, left your
cloak and hat upon the bank to giye the
impression that you had committed sui
Yes," she answered; "but the river
was more merciful than he, for it cast me
ashore alive. Sickly with horror, and
madly afraid of the whole world, I came
here where my father lay, to die upon
his grave. But it, is hard for one so
young to die. I have lived here these
three months., suflering, freezing, dying.
That 1 was taken for my own ghost was
fortunate for me, and aided me to get
what little would keep me alive, after
nightfall. And I oncouraged the super
stition. Now you know all. If you are
hat man's emissary, inay God forgive
you and help me."
"1 am the emissary of mercy," re
turned Barclay. "I am here to do jus
tice on a villain and to restore you to
your rights. Will you trust and" help
She looked up at him.
"You have a good, kind
face." she
said, offering him her hand, "1 will trust
"Then," said Barclay, "keep up the
character you have assumed for one more
day. To-morrow night I shall bring
Eastburn here with witnesses. Do you
play on that organ when 3-0 u hear us
enter. When I turn the dark lantern
u'pon you, rise, and denounce him as
your murderer. We can safely leave
him to accuse himself."
"I will do as you wish," she answered.
"How can I thank you?"
"By following my directions." re
plied Barclay, brusquely, to hide his
own emotion.
With a few words more of advice he
left her. His next move was to go
directly to the landlord of the inn, re
late the whole story and secure his sup
port. At 10 o'clock on the next night, in
company with the landlord, he called
upon Stephen Eastburn. Gutting short
his smooth salutation, Barclay said:
"Mr. Eastburn, the obscure manner
of your ward's death has given rise to
atrange rumors in the village. Her
spirit is said to wander in the old church.
We desire you to accompany us there to
night in order to set their stories at
Eastbur.n's jaw dropped, his face grew
livid, and he was barely able to reply in
a quavering voice.
"Ghost? ghost! Do you mean to make
a fool of me? I aviII not go to the church
at this hour of the night."
"Allow me to observe," said Barclay,
sternly, "that the rumors, unless you
aid in dissipating them, may culiminate
in a charge of murder."
Something significant in' his tone
seemed to render Eastburn suddenly
"Of course I will go, out of polite
ness, if you insist. We will probably
bag a church mouse. They are proverb
ially so starved as to be incable of
No reply was made to this lame at
tempt at humor, and in a very uucom
fortable frame of mind he went with
them to the church, and was shown into
a pew in the dark between them. After
a moment's silence the low tones of the
organ sounded through the church, ac- j
companied by a woman s voice.
"What is this?" cried Eastburn, start
ing up. " Whose voice is that?"
"Be silent," said Barclay, sternly.
"Good reason have you to hear that
voice with guilty horror
At the same instance the glass from
his lantern fell broadly upon the organ.
Standing before it, looking down at
them, was the figure of Ada Morton.
"Oh, God," groaned Eastburn, chok
ingly. "My sins have found me out
Shehas come back from the other world
to accuse me of her death."
Vw. " o.iJ.l 4lir rrivl cnlnm nl v
'Stephen Eastburn, you are my mur
derer." "I confess it," shrieked the terror
madened wretch; "I ask no mercy from
men, for the grave has condemned me.
Take me awav hide me from this aw
ful sight."
The light was turned out and'the girl's
figure disappeared. The horror-stricken
Eastburn, shrieking mingled prayers and
curses, was taken to the village and im
prisoned on the double charge of fraud
and attempted murder. In course of
time he was convicted and punished.
On the same day that he was sentenced
Barclay called upon Ada Morton, now
installed in her father's house. With
her restoration to her rights she had re
covered her health and beauty, and it
was with a strange feeling of mingled
hope and fear that the young man took
her hand and said :
"I have called to say good-bye, Miss
The bright smile faded from her face,
and a look of pain came in its place.
"You Jtfl-e going away ? I had hoped
you would stay with us."
"My woik here is done," he answered.
"I have restored you to your home, and
to-day your enemy receives the punish
ment of his crimes. What more is there
to do ?"
'Nothing," she returned brokenly
"but to fonret the poor girl whom you
have befriended. That will be easy."
"No," he replied earnestly, "so diffi
cult that I shall never accomplish it. To
stav as your friend is impossible. I
must go away and labor to crush out this
longing, this lcve for vou winch lias over
irrown mv whole heart, or stay to cher
ish it for your sake. Tell me, dear Ada,
which must I do ?"
She looked up at him shyly, and came
nearer to his side as she whispered :
A Washington reporter of the World
has discovered that tho notes of his in
terview with Senator Conkling in April,
1878, are fuller than they were trans
lated at the time. He has made a literal
transcript, showing that the Senator
said: ,4Hill, of Georgia, is well known
in his section as the champion liar of the
South. Nobody m his own State would
believe him "under oath." Of Senator
Butler, of South Carolina, the New York
Chesterlield said: "He is a cool and
polished villain." The reporter further
states: "In the published account of
the interview I left off the last word.
But it is recorded in my note-book, and
the Senator will not deny using tlie lan
guage. In Butler's case he added the
trite quotation of 'As mild a mannered
man as ever scuttled ship.'" Senator
Hill is a gentleman from Georgia, sah,
and he hails from La Grange, while But
ler's address is Columbia, S. C.
King Oscar, of Sweden, gave 120,000
crowns toward the expenses of Norden
skjold's expedition. The total cost of the
expedition is said to have been 419,177
crowns. Nordenskjold's account of his
voyage is shortly to b& published in Ger
man, at Leipsic.
Liquors and Tobacco.
According to the ancient rhyme, the
reason why little Johnny Beed resolved
never to masticate the Indian leaf was the
filthiness of the weed. But according to
Dr. George Beard, of New York, the rea
son wns tlmfc flirt litfln "Rppd's nervous
...... ti
Tl0a !5I 'fiiS?, JlTli
Beed had used tobacco lavishly and, so
far as he was concerned, with impunity,
but he bequeathed to his son a nervous
system that weuld stand nicotine; where
fore, wliere the father chewed the son es
chewed. As the senior Beed never had a particle
of tobacco in his mouth, and the junior
Beed had acquired the habit of chewing I
surreptitiously, had been Hogged several
times for indulgence in the vice, and
had never recited his little verse about
tobacco with sincerity, both of them
would have been crreatlv astonished at
1 " 11 U . 1 K C
u f ti
before the
iiearm ir. iieurus lecuuo ueiuiu
, , t .1 .
Philosophical society In hat lectme
the doctor set forth that while the late
generation of Americans
indulged 111 the
without much distinction of sex, in the
use of tobacco, the present generation
finds its nerves in such a condition that
it has to limit its use and stimulants and
narcotics to the minimum; and the doc
tor not oniv discoverd a rapiu reduc
lion in the amount f.f smoki n bu : he ntl to ' ive moreW fairer
1 1 -n't ' (iiviwnii Hnif nil I lanlllM I TiPVinil XI J o
...v T : 7 AiiViJ ohauces to capable and well-meaning
M-hon chewing will be a lost art. All this . ... , , fl ,
i... 5 l xi... : -people than they are likely to find at
nervousness of the America people, fQl. SQ fc ft Silinnd that price is sep
wlnch obliges them to abandon U isk : U, e a;sociation t older re
tobacco, and in many cases eve tea and . formation of
eollee. A few facts 111 support of tin b v' Tliorn is ,m-
theory would facilitate its acceptance.
There are a large class of young men,
who are now smoking and chewing with
an industry that is highly gratifying to
all patriots who desire to see the public
debt paid, and every one of whose an
cestors looked on tobacco smoke as iden
tical with smoke from the bottomless pit,
A-ho are a little curious to know where
Dr. Beard got the impression that the
dead Americans were large users of to
bacco and that the liviug ones are grad
ually giving up chewing and smoking.
In spite of reductions in the internal rev
enue duties, the national revenue from
view 01 r. in t!u;r mat cue louaeco crop oi
tii 1 1
1809 was 223.000.0U0 pounds, and in 1878
on.- Min-k rwm 1,. T4- ,,.;fl,,, fl.n
OVOfJUU,JVJU pUUima. in uiium unt; 1
recollection of persons by no means old
that the culture of tobacco came, sav.-, '
and conquered the Connecticut valley. I
The attention of the public has been
called several times lately to the enor- i
raons increase of the consumption of,
cigarettes. No person who walks the
streets can bo ignorant ot the youthful
ness of the smokors who chiefly use;
cigarettes, and the increase ol their con
sumption means that more youths are
smoking than formerly.
Aiimnrr flio Tnfyli ff X"oV VnT'k if. ?VlLV
, . i. i , r
uu Li i it; unit, muii mm nuim-u ui iwimw
i.- 1 n vi..w..rt ,,01
generations both used tobacco and iihed
it more freely than now. But among
New Englauders and thoir western off
spring the use of tobacco was formerly
looked on as a jsin, and in those com
munities of New England extraction
, . r..n..
nave ueeu most success mi itiiusieu.
i- :.. ..i:u T 00
jf an unregenerate nature. The
Methodist Church, which looks
pretty close y after the habits ot
ts members; and even recommends
a rising hour to its ministers,
deplores every year the increasing mini -
bers of those within its fold who use to-
i n.. :u.,.rn.
I l'll'l'll ' HVII ) i v 111 lt II ll'iL 1 1111 I I11JI1L.I:
that lsitno uncommon thing now tor can
didates of the ministry to be addicted to
the use of tobacco. If Dr. Beard has
found more non-smoking sons of non
smoking fathers, his observation is ex
ceptional. That drinking, as a social institution,
to 1 nvnip in m f in A in ni'ii-:! 11 nV tl 1:1.11
r i i i ...... n,.,n in Hi.i.nno
lUlIlil'lM , mill ll OO llliu mull ill jjmujyv., I
is true: but that this results from the
not proven. Two of three questions that
eternally agitate Americans, according to
increasing nervousness oi our people is
Dr. Beard, are,: "Who shall be the next
. . . .... imrl 1 1 i T
when I die?" The latter has had a good
deal to do with the disuse ot liquors.
Tn no otlicn- tiountrv have temperance
societies exerted so much
influence I
as here,
is itself
The other
Methodist church i
a temperance society,
churches huve efficiently
with temperance societies.
Clergymen were among the first to aban
don their bibulous habits. Nearly all
the churches have taken part in the war
on drinking, and nearly all the temper
ance orators and organizers are church
people. The most successful of recent
temperance movements have bean as dis
tiuctively religious as the Moody and
Sankey meetings. Among the people
who are exempt from the influences of
any church it is questionable whether
Dr. Beard could prove that there has
been any radical diminution in the use
of liquors.
Dr. Beard's remarks about the groat
reduction in the use ot liquors in JMig
land are not corroborated by other and
very recent observers. Some of these
have noticed an increase of intemperance
among English women of the better
classes. On the whole, there has doubt
less been a decrease in England, but,
next to America, England is the country
where temperance societies have most
flourished, and where religion has ex
erted the most influence on tho side of
abstinence. Chicago Times.
Germany, France and Italy now im
pose a tax, in jiroportion to their means,
on all who, for family reasons or physi
cal deformities, are exempted from mili
tary service.
distilled spirits was SloAKJO.UlJU in lSbu;'"r rv , J
iR7r. i modern society has sprung.
" Vl' ..11-7 -nY ' i viduahsm and every man
UUV b,?mu m xo " i in 1 111 i i 1 i 11 ir i n ve become so wholly the
-.1 tii ii e . our SO
The Iiugby Colony.
The English colony which Mr. Thos.
Hughes and his friends propose to found
in Tennessee has been misunderstood, as
being an enterjjrise exclusively English
which was to maintain itself as English,,
cultivate English traditions and feelings
and aim to be a little England in the
and aim to oe a mtio jnp
midst of the United (State., i
111 the same
way that Plymouth was a new England
T. . . m , " , ft
in the wilderness 01 jlwj. The Ameri
can and English critics of the scheme
showed at once that such an undertaking
must fail because the movement springs
from no religious or social theory, but is
merely an industrial enterprise. The
result would inevitably be the mingling
of the colony with the Americau life
around it, and gradual absorption in the
crreat American community. But when.
! this had been all cogently set forth and
i reasoned to a logical conclusion, Mr.
' Hughes made a speech at the opening of
, o , . .... . ,
1 t " 1. i.
. I intention, that the
. ... .. . , . ' , -,.
, , . , , . . ,
licence from .everv uuarter. and that
while in its beginning it was necessarily
English, "we hope that this will very
soon cease to be so."
It is, in fact, merely an escape from
the narrower opportunities of life in.
new ties with stramrers. nere is an
other price to be paid also, which is in
evitable, and that is the attempted en
trance of the shiftless and impracticable.
No body of persons can found a simple
industrial community wliich is designed
to lessen the friction "of the great contest
for existence without being beset by a
swarm of drones who hope somehow to
be helped without helping themselves.
There is perhaps to be added to this
price list the slight unnaturalness which
seems to belong to the impression of such
! endeavors. This is not, indeed, what
can be called an original feeling, because
form our
But indi-
for himself
principle of
ciety that there is now a shrinking
from any return to any form of com-
Of this Mr. Jtiughes is well aware, and
in his very tranquil and sensible speech
he alludes to the odium
to the word community,
which attaches
and repudiates
entirely all svmpathv with the State
communism ol wliich we have had some
ugly teachings in this country, and of
which Lasalio and Marx arc leaders in
Europe. Indeed, the Rugby community
is to Be neither political nor religious,
but simply Arcadian. It proposes no
re-organization of society, no revision of
fundamental laws. It accepts with per-
; feet contentment
the laws relating to
i , , , r. --i 1.1.,
property and to fanniv life as they exist,
. t . , A, - , . ... '
anil nopes 10 imuits me uu∫ lu iiui
under those laws somewhat easier. The
colonists intend to lay out a pretty town,,
with due provision for parks and gar
dens, and to erect suitable, simple, and
attractive buildings. They mean also to
applv co-operation to the
supply of
- , . ,
many of the fundamental
u " , i n i
J"1 nd abor ana expense, an
, . J M to , "
stock of vigor and rational enjoyment;
5ns?crate tlie coloiiy to l,erfect
, igious lreedom.
1S thf a L. f fP" se. Che
colony will avail itself of the results of
i v
experience elsewhere
mill litf"riti fliA
taste and foresight which
wholly wanting, or which
, ...m
are usually
are entirely
contemned in the
of such
communities. Towns and
villages are
j chance growths. They gather around
I some water-power, or mine, or spring, or
natural advantage, or thev are agricnl-
! turat centres
without purpose
or plan. Ther
e is scarcely a pretty or
pleasant town or
village which
a uttie
; forethought would not have made
i m"ch mo1 charming. Ihe villag
age im
provement societies arc signs of the
wish to remedy congenital defects of rural
! communities. here there is a beauti-
1111 SUU1LU1 " 11 1L
brVHu" v bequebiereu 10 private
anil in-
diyidual use, and is lost to the
nity. If the natural beauty of thousands
of towns had been developed for the
common benefit, it "would be found that
profit and pleasure are different phases of
tho same fact, for property in an at
tractive community is more valuable
than in one which is not so.
But when, as at Bugby, it is proposed
to add to this cheap and easy care for the
common pleasure the lightening of the
common labor by the introduction of a
kind of co-operation whose value is in
contestable, the only question that re
mains is whether the colonists who will
have the taste and intelligence of the
few leaders, or will yield to them the
control. The hope of the colony, as Mr.
Hughes expressed it, is that it will be a
community of natural, not of artificial or
conventional, ladies and gentlemen.
llns is the natural hope ot
enthusiasm. f Harper's Magazine.
A young lady artist married a young
gentleman artist. The uncle of the bride
made a call upon them and found them
sitting in opposite corners of their joint
studio in the sulks, the husband saying
that his wife's waist was out of propor
tion and the wife saying that her hus
band's nose was too small.
"Why said the indignant customer
to his tailor, "you have made this coat
three sizes too small for me." "But,"
said the tailor, "did you not tell me that
you were going to live at the Xenophon
Hotel ? '
1 1 ?.". 1 1 1 .. -
- ' Tvrnn Tim nnmn mnu.v 1 11 Hiiiiit-