2
THE MASONIC JOUHNAl.
IS
.o.i
;
jilf;
1
■'ll ^
■ . 'cM'a
■ ■
k' i
• .* ^■'
• c lli.
I"
^ ’ .l!
Masonic Lodge.
Sliould the ctiances of life ever tempt me to
roam,
lira liOilge of Freemasons I’ll still find a
home,
There the sweet smile of Friendship still wel
comes cacli guest
And Brotherl}^ Love gives that welcome a
aost.
When I’m absent from I.odge pleasure tempts
mo in vain,
As I sigh for the moments of meeting
again;
For Friendship and Harmony only are
there,
Inhere we meet on the level and part on the
square.
I’here tb.e soul-binding union only is
known,
Wliicb unites botli the peasant and prince on
tiie throne.
There tlie rich and the poor on the level do
meet.
And, as brotliers, each otlier most cordially
greet.
On the quicksands of life should a brotiier be
thrown;
It is then tliat the friendsliip of brothers is
siiov n;
For tlie heart points the hand, his distress to
remove.
For our motto is “Kindness and Brotlierly
Love.”
When tlie Master of all, from His star-studded
throne,
f.haU is^ue His mandate to summon us
liorne.
May eaoii brotiier be found to be duly pre
pared,
in the Grand Lodge above us, to meet his re-
wai-d.
The Mason’s Widow.
During the Mexican, war,-a lad of 16,
.a daring young Virginian, leaped a fence
and climbed a parapet some hundred
yards in advance of his company, and
was taken prisoner, but not until lie Lad
killed three Mexicans and mortally
wounded a Colonel. His mother, a poor
widow, heard his fate, and as he was her
only sou, her heart yearned for his re
lease. She wept at the thought, but while
the tears were streaming down her
cheeks, suddenly she recollected she was
a Mason’s widow. Hope lighted up in
her bosom at the thought—she dried her
tears, and exclaimed:
“I will go and test the talismanic pow
er of the Order my husband loved and
levered so much.”
She sold the few articles of furniture
slie possessed, and with the money reach
ed the city of Washington on foot. In
her dusty attire she entered the depart
ment of the Secretary of War, and with
some difficulty obtained an interview.
.As she entered the apartment in which
he was seated, and he saw her dusty at-
•fre, “Well, ma’am,’’ was the salutation
he gave her ; but when she removed her
veil, and he saw the visage of 'the lady,
he half rvay raised himself in Ills chair,
and pointed hei to a seat. She told him
of her son's capture, and her wish to go to
him.
“I can’t help you, ma’am,’’ he replied,
' a very expensive journey to the city of
Mexico. Your son will be released by
and by on exchange of prisoners.”
“Sir, ■will you be so kind as to reoom->
mend me to the care of the officer in com
mand of the regiment which is to sail in
a few days from Baltimore.”
“Impossible, ma’am,” he replied.
“Sir,” raid the widow, “I have one more
question to ask before I leave your office,
and I pray you to answer it. Are you a
Mason ?
“Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“Then, sir, permit me to say that I am
a Mason’s widow, and my son in prison is
a Mason’s son. With this declaration I
leave your office.”
That moment the Secretary’s manner
was changed to that of the mojt courteous
interest. He entreated her to be seated
until he could write a line to the Seoreta
rv of State. In a few minute.she present
ed her with a note to the Secretary of
State recommending her to his sympathy
and friendship. The Secretary of State
received her most kindly, and gave her
a letter to the commandant at New Orl
eans, directing him to procure her a free
passage to Vera Cruz by the first steam
er. Through the agetoy of the two Sec
retaries, the Lodges placed in lier Lands
three hundred dollars, with a talismanic
card from the Grand Master at Washing
ton, and the widow left the city.
When she reached Pittsburg, the stage
agent, seeing the letter she bore from the
Grand Master, would receive nothing for
her passage—the captain of the steamer
on wbrch she embarked for New Orleans
no sooner deciphered it than he gave to
her the best state room he had, and when
she reached the Crescent City she had
two hundred and ninety dollars left of
her three hundred. She there waited on
the General in command of the station,
w'ith the letter of the Secretary of Slate,
who immediately instructed the Colonel
in command of the forwarding troops to
see that she had a free passage to \ era
Cruz by the first steamer. By all the of
ficers she was treated with the greatest
politeness and delicacy, for they were all
Masons, and felt bound to her by ties as
strong and delicate as those which bind a
brother to a sister, and rejoiced in the
opportunity afforded them of evincing
the benign and noble principles of the
Craft.
After a pass.rge of five days she reached
A’^era Cruz, and having a letter from the
commandant at New Crleans to the Am
erican Governor, she sent it to him, en-
clo.sing the talismanic card she received
from the Grand Master at Washington,
The Governor immediately waited on her
at the hotel, and offered her a transport
to the city of Mexico by a train that was
to start the next morning. The .colonel
commanding the train kindly took her in
charge and afforded her every facility
and comfort on her journey, provided her
with a carriage when the country was
level, and with mule.sand palanquins
over the mountains. AVithin ninoty
miles of the city they were overtaken by
a detachment of dragoons escorting a
Government official to the general in
command. Anxioustoget on faster, site
asked permission of the colonel to join
the detachment, and though informed of
the danger and fatigue of hard rides day
and night on horseback, she was willing
to brave all, that she might sooiiei see
her son. The colonel then provideil her
with a fleet and gentle gair-ed Mexican
pony, and she assumed her place with
the troops, escorted by the officers, and
never flagged until the towers of Mexico
were in sight.
She reached the city on the second
day’s battle, and in the heat of it attempt
ed to enter the gates. An officer instant
ly seized her bridle and told her she
i must wait until the city was taken.
“Oh, sir !’’ she exclaimed, “I cannot
“The citj' must first be taken, madam,”
he again replied, with much emphasis.
“I cannot wait, sir,” she replieil; “my
son—ray only son—may be ill—dying—
in chains—in a dungeon. One hour’s
delay may remove him from me. Oh !
I must goto him—I will enter the citv.”
“Madam,” said the officer, “you cannot
reach it but by crossing the battle field.
Yon will surely be killed.”
“Sir,” said the lady. “I have not trav
eled from Virginia to the gates of this
city to fear to enter them. Thanks for
your kindness—a thousand heartfelt
thanks for you and the officers who have
been so kind to me. I .sliaU always re
member these officers with the most
grateful feelings of my heart—but do
not detain me longer. A^onder is a gate
that leads to the city. I will enter it in
search of my dear boy.”
And on she sped, but ere she reached
the gate another officer roue up 'ey her
side and admonished her of her danger
and imprudence.
“Sir,” she replied, “this is no time to
talk of prudence and fear. My son—my
only son—is a prisoner in chains. lam
told that Santa Anna is in the midst of
yon glittering group, I will seek him
and place in his hand this talismanic
card I bear. He is a Mason, and will
heed me,”
“AA’ar destroys all Brotherhood,’’ said
the officer, who was not a Mason.
She made no reply, but struck her po»
ny and darted across the field of death.
At that moment the masked battery that
mowed down one half the Palmetto regi
ment, opened—yet right across the gory
field she was seen galloping on her white
ponv, avoiding the retreating platoons
by a semi-circle around their flank—the
next moment she was seen coursing over
the ground in the rear, the baltery in
full play.
Hundreds seeing her, stopped, forget
ful of the storm of iron balls that howled
around them, to follow with tlieir eyes
what seemed to be an apparirion. All
expected to see her fall every moment,
but on she went with a fearless air,
“The woman’s love for her son has
made her wild,” said the officer who at
tempted to arrest her flight.
“She will surely be killed,” said an
other soldier.
“The God of battle will protect her,”
exclaimed a Tennesseean ; “she will reach
Santa Anna as sound as a rock.”
The soldier was right—she went over
the field of death and reached Santa An
na unhurt. He received her politely,
and when she told him her errand and
presented her talismanic card, "Aladam,”
said be, 'Tama Mason,and know the
obligations of the Order in peace and in
war. When your son was taken prison
er he mortally wounded my maternal
nephew, who is now dead. But he shall
be restored ; for I will not refuse your
request in the face of the letter that you
bear.”
He immediately gave her an escort to
the city, with an order to restore her son
to her arms. The order was promptly
obeyed, and that very day, as she prom
ised, she embraced her long lost boy.
So much for a mother’s love, and so
much for the protecting arm and noble
sympathetic heart which Masonry ever
extends to lonely, hapless woman. Oh,
if widowhood be the doom of women,
who would not be a Mason’s rvidow?—
What I Lost.
“I have been thinking, since I came in
to the meeting to-niijht, about the losses
I have met with sines I signed the total
abstinence pledge. I tell you, there isn’t
a man in the society has lost more by
stopping the drink than I have. Wait®
bit till I tell you what I mean. There
was a nice job of work to be done in the
shop to day, and the boss called for me,
“Give it to Law.’’ ha"s he, ‘he’s the best
hand in the shop.’ Well, I told my wife
at supper time, and ears she, ‘Why Laa-
rie, he used to call you the worst. You've
lost your bad name, iiavent you.?’ ‘That’s
a fact, wife says I, and it aint all Iv'e lost
in the last sixteen months, either. I had
poverty and wretchedness, and I’ve lost
them. I had an old ragged coat, ami a
‘shockin bad hat.’ and some waterproof
boots that let the wet out of the toe as
fast as they took it in at the heel. I’ve
lost them. I had a red face and a tremb
ling hand and a pair of shaky legs, that
gave me an awkward tiimb.e now and
then. I had a habit of cursinr and .swear
ing, and I have got rid of that. I had
an aching head sometimes, and a heavy
heart, and worse than all the'rest a guil
ty consffieiice. I thank God I've lost
them all / Then I told my wife what .sue
had lost. ‘You had an old ragged gown,
Mary,’ says I. ‘and you had trouble and
sorrow and a poor wretoheU home, and
pledty of heart aches, for yon had a mis
erable drudkard for a husband. Marv .?
Mary ! thank the lord for all you and I
have lost since I signed the pledge,^
There is no Place like Home.
wait one hour in sight of the city that ! Who would not be a Mason’s wife moth-
holds my son a prisoner-I must see | daughter or sister in the hour of peril
hinr.” ! and need ?—Canadian Teacher.
This poetic phrase is no less beautifnl
than true. AVe find I hat the fond at
tachment of home pervades all ranks and
classes of society. The wandering Scyth
ians, with no abiding habitation, main
tained great reg^ard and veneration for
the place where the bones of their fore-
falhersslumbeied. Even the rude and
untutored denizen of the great Ameri
can forests, whose dauntless spirit never
quails before a foe, lias, nevertheless, a
heart which beats high -with the warmest
love toward his friends and for the spot
where stands his wigwam. But, in civil
ized society, what is it that binds every
sympathizing feeling of the heart around
the cottage where our fathers dw elt? Is
it because there is more intrinsic worth
attached to it, or is it those heaven born
associations which connect each brook or
rill, each hill and dale, with some joyful
recollection of happy hours spent in the
company of a youthful friend, who now,
perh.aps, sleeps beneath the cold sod of
the valley? A." os, it tends more firmly
to rivet the ties of affection, to point to
the imagination scenes which occurred at
home, and to call up, from the wrecks of
the past, hours sacred to memory. Yet
these associations, joyous as they are,
would sink into comparative nothingness
if, from that circle, where we spent our
youthful days in the sunshine of pleasure,
was removed—a mother I Aet home,
sweet as it is, would belike a temple
stripped of its garlands, were it not for
the sacred name of mother to consecrate
its portals. Like the evening dew, whic’n
scatters its fragrance wliile all else is
wrapped in the slumber of night, the
mother, while every other ear is deaf, is
attentive to our griefs, mingles her tears
in the enp of our misfortune and soothes
our dying agony.
AVhat a solemn place for contemplation
is the grave of our mother I
’•'’g ( '
A** A '