The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1884-12-18

lea by its Westt IN way, and marked his
march along the Pacific slope not by
forts, but churches, with which their
shrines and alters yet stand in decaying
grandeur amid gardens of olive and palm.
From these outposts, guarded by tho
sacred cross, missionary fathers in the
robes and sandals of the Franciscans,
penetrated inland. carrying good will to
tile savages of the New World. It is
said that one of those devoted brothers,
seeing on the white summit of q noun
tain the red w-fower of the Sierras,
sprinkling the snowy field like drops of
blood, fell on his knees in wondering
alteration, and called the mountain
"Sangre de Cristo," the Mount of the
Blood of Christ. This brother died in
the wilderness, and it is told that the
crucifix which dropped from his lifeless
hand was Transformed into q marvel
among the clouds. For, far lifted above
mortal, or wing of bird, towers . great
cross of snow against mountain side
known as the "Mount of the Holy Cross"
The most careless tourist feels q
thrill of awe, when. from mid-air, ap-
pears the isolated mount of the Holy
Cross" Long ago the splendors Of
Mount Sinai faded into the gray of tho
past; long ago the priceless drops of the
Savior's blood were shed on Mount
Calvary; yet on the wondrous stretches
of our mountain ranges, red drops crinl-
son the pale wastes, and, in splendor of
diamonds and pearls, CLEANS the eternal
SHOWS in form of the blessed Cross,
lifted up, that all, on height or low
land, can see the symbol of Divine and
universal love.
In a cabin that had long been roof
.ess and freless, q mockery of comfort
upon the windy summit of the range,
there lived, once on q time, my guide
told me, q maiden, dazzling and pure as
the stars.
It was July when we stood there, but
the SHOWS that had drifted over the
hearth were unmelted, and the wind
roared through the crevices with an
angry grief. What the place must have
been when winter buried it could scarce
~ be imagined.
The father of the beautiful girl whose
home this had been, had perched his
habitation on this crag, not altogether
by chance, for in summer he acted as
guide to tourists in the Yosemite, and
in winter, on his snow shoes, carried
mail and messages to scattered cabins
and settlements. Silent Jack-so he
was known-was q mystery, even
among those hidden and mysterious
men who find arefuge in the mountain
gulches. He was misanthrope, who
had taken the youngest of his four chill
dren and fled, leaving their mother and
her complainings and struck out, in
vindictive sulleness, for the wilderness
and peace. The child, he swore,
should grow up IN quiet, If nothing
more. II from the glance of the little
girls dark eyes he turned in thought,
sometimes to other dark eyes like them,
which in his early manhood had been
lode-stars of destiny; if the fond name,
father, !" brought to his remembrance
other children who had lsped the
same dear word, none knew. He
mentioned his old life to no one. He
spoke of his wife and children but once
during the years Of his stay on the
mountain.
Silent Jack was not IN unlettered or
vicious man. He taught and cared for
the child of his love with morose and
pathetic devotion. He taught the lit
lie one of God-strange teacher
of the word. The Bible was her spell
lng-book, her geography and storJ-