Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1893-01-31

new or good 20 Rlve me. For yean
had toiled, when the frst apostle caine
out and began 10 make proselytes 10 th<
faith In our country. They have neve,
disdained the mean and the lowly.
tell you, sir, that We In our coal pit, and
our brothers In the factories, listened te
apostles who came across seas and II,
bored among ~ a. II they loved our
souls. The false religions and outgrowu
religions left us In the dark; but the trus
light came TO rs. Ny mates In the Lam.
cashire mine Joined the church by hun.
dreds. was still blind and careless II
was not until long afterwsrd that the
time for my conversion came.
"As my daughter grew up I felt that
ought to be by her. Ihsd worked . long
time In the mine, and was known to have
some education. The company gave ms
. clerkship In their office. and there !
drudged again for years, asking no help
or favor. II was In another part Of the
county from my old residence, where
nobody knew me. Ny dear child-she
has always been . good child TO me, ex.
cept that she sometimes wishes to rule q
little too much-my dear Ellen became
almost o woman, and all ! lacked was
the means Of giving her the position Of
her rank. Education she got herself.
We were not unhappy, she and I together.
lonely a. we might be and out OF place.
The old gentleman had been talking Of
himself In such . cheerful, healthy way
and shown that he had borne such q
brave heart through his troubles that
began to puzzle myself what could have
again changed his character and made
him the weakling ! had recognized In
the interview with Sizzum.
"It 10 very kind Of you," he said, "to
listen to q garrulus old fellow. Your
sympathy Is very pleasant, but I must
not test 1t too far. I win end my long
story presently.
II supposed myself entirely forgotten,
- I was quite willing to be. BY and by
was remembered and sought. A far
away kinsinan had left me legacy. II
was enough for O quiet subsistence for
as two, for Ellen and me. Ireturned to
the neighborhood Of my old home. !
found o little cottage on the banks Of
Ribble within sight Of my old friend,
Pendle hill. There we lived"
From this point Mr.. Clitheroe's man.
ner totally changed. His voice grew
peevish and complaining. All the man.
ly feeling he had showed In briefly de-
scribing his day laborer's life passed
away. He detailed to me how the new
proprietor at Clitheroe Hall patroniEed
him insuffersbly; how his old neighbors
turned up their noses ut him, and In.
suited him by condescsnsion. How mis-.
srabls he found II 70 cramp himself and
ave shillings In cottage, with the
house In sight where he had lavished
pounds as lord Of the manorl How he
ionged to have his daugher as well
dressed as any Of the young ladies about
her interiors In blood-for no one there
could rival the Clitheroes' lineage. How
he wished himself back In his mine, In
his industrious clerkship, and how time
hung drearily on his hands. with nothing
10 do except to dream Of bygons giories.
I saw that he had sighed to DO . great
man again and had morbid sense OF
bis insigniHcance, and that this had
made him touchy, and alienated well
meaning people about him. He spoke
with some triumph Of his arguments
with the rector Of his parish, who en-.
deavored to check him when he lent
what influence he had as q gentleman to
get the Mormons hearing about Clith.
eroe. He did not, as he said, as yet feel
any great interest In their doctrines;
but he remembered them with good will
from his coal pit days, and whenever an
emissary of the faith came by he always
found friend in Hugh Clitheroe. They
had evidently aattered him. II was
rare, OF course, to fnda protector among
the gentry, and they made the most OF
the chance.
Poor old mani I could trace the prog.
ress Of his disappointment, and his hnal
fall into that miserable superstition. He
had been a free thinker; never indus.
trious or self possessed enough to be-
come fundamental thinker. No man
can stand long on nothing-he must
think out religion or accept q the
ology. Now that busy days were over.
and careless youth gone by, Mr.. Clithe.
roe began to be uneasy and was ready
to listen to any scheme which promised
peace. II q Jesuit had happened to find
him at this period, Rome would have got
Q recruit without difficulty.
Instead OF Jesuit Sizzum arrived.
Sizzum was far abler than any OF his
Mormon compeers. He was proselyting
about Clitheroe, where he found 1t not
difficult to persuade the poor slaves mp
In the mill and down In the mine to &C.
cept faith that offered at once broad
range ON earth and, In good time, high
seat In heaven.
Sizzum was the guest Of the discon.
tented and decayed gentleman. He saw
the opportunity. There was an old name
and man Of gentle birth to rally fol.
lowers about. II would be q triumph
for the Latter-day Saints to march away
from Clitheroe. q thousand strong, head
ed by the representative Of the family
who named the place and had once been
In parliament for 1t. Here was prose.
lyte In q class which no Mormon had
dreamed Of approaching. Here, too, was
was some little property. And here was
Q beautiful daughter.
could divine the astute Sizzum's
method and success with his victim, en-.
feebled In body and spirit. .
BY the light Of that afternoons scene,
over the tea. I could comprehend tho
close Of Mr.. Clitheroe's dreary story and
zee how at last Sixzum had got him In
his gripe, property, person and soul.
Did he wish to escapef
No. Oni onl he must 60 on. Only
some force without himself, interposed,
could turn him aside.