Chapter 15

And though the laws are yet unknown That guide them in their path, They are the agents of thy throne For mercy, or for wrath.

Thus I behold thy wondrous arm And own thy works divine: Then what in life or death can harm So long as thou art mine?

TOBIAS RUDULPH.

Tobias Rudulph, the subject of this sketch, was the third person of that name and was the grandson of the Tobias Rudulph, who was one of four brothers who emigrated from Prussia and settled in Cecil county early in the eighteenth century. For many years the family took a conspicuous part in public affairs.

Tobias Rudulph's uncle and his uncle's cousin Michael, the son of Jacob, and the uncle of Mrs. Lucretia Garfield, very early in the Revolutionary war joined a company of Light Horsemen, which was recruited in this county and served with great bravery and distinction in Light Horse Harry Lee's Legion in his Southern campaigns. They were called the Lions of the Legion.

John Rudulph won the title of "Fighting Jack" by his courage and audacity, both of which essential requisites of a good soldier he seems to have possessed in a superabundant degree.

Tobias, the subject of this sketch, was born in Elkton, in the old brick mansion two doors east of the court house, on December 8, 1787. He was the oldest of four children, namely: Zebulon, a sketch of whose life appears in this volume; Anna Maria, who married James Sewell; and Martha, who married the Reverend William Torbert.

Anna Maria is said to have been a poetess of no mean ability, but owing to the state of literature in this county at the time she wrote, none of her poetry, so far as we have been able to learn was published, and after diligent search we have been unable to find any of her manuscript.

Tobias studied law with his mother's brother, James Milner, who resided in Philadelphia, where he practiced law,--but who subsequently became a distinguished Presbyterian minister and Doctor of Divinity--and was admitted to the Elkton Bar and practiced his profession successfully until the time of his death which occurred in the Fall of 1828. He was a man of fine ability and amused himself when he had leisure in courting the Muses, but owing to his excessive modesty published nothing now extant except "Tancred, or The Siege of Antioch," a drama in three acts, which was printed in Philadelphia, in 1827. Owing to the fact that simultaneously with its publication, a drama of the same name by another author appeared as a candidate for literary favor, Mr. Rudulph--though his work was highly commended by Joseph Jefferson the elder, then in the height of his dramatic career, through the foolish fear that he might he accused of plagiarism--suppressed his drama and never allowed it to be introduced upon the stage.

Mr. Rudulph married Maria Hayes. They were the parents of four children, Amelia, James, Anna Maria and Tobias. The two first mentioned are dead, the others reside in Elkton. Until a very recent period the family spelled the name Rudulph, which spelling has been followed in this work, though the name is now generally spelled Rudolph.

SELECTION FROM TANCRED.

Tancred was the son of the Marquis of Odo, surnamed the good, and Emma, the sister of Robert Guiscard who figured conspicuously in the wars which distracted Europe just previous to the first Crusade, which occurred under the leadership of Peter, the Hermit, and Walter, the Penniless, in A.D. 1096. The scene of the drama is laid at Antioch in 1097. A historian of the Crusades in speaking of the siege of Antioch, says that the wealth of the harvest and the vintage spread before them its irresistible temptations, and the herds feeding in the rich pastures seemed to promise an endless feast. The cattle, the corn and the wine were alike wasted with besotted folly, while the Turks within the walls received tidings of all that passed in the crusading camps from some Greek and Armenian christians to whom they allowed free egress and ingress. Of this knowledge they availed themselves in planing sallies by which they caused great distress to the Crusaders. The following extract comprises the third scene of the first act and is laid in the camp of the Crusaders--the chiefs being in council.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

_Godfrey_ of Bouillon, Duke of Lorraine. _Alexius_, Emperor of Greece. _Bohemond_, Prince of Tarentum. _Tancred_. _Raymond_, Count of Thoulouse.

Alex. The truce being ended, I propose, my friends, To-morrow we should storm the walls of Antioch-- What say my worthy allies?--

Boh. If any here so base and cowardly, As to give other counsel, let him speak.--

Ray. I have known those, who foremost to advise, Were yet the last to venture on the battle.--

Boh. What means the Count of Thoulouse?--

Ray. Simply this;-- That some men thoughtlessly sit down to eat, Without having first obtained an appetite.--

Boh. By the Holy Sepulchre I swear, That knight must have some stomach who maintains, What you have just now utter'd--

[Throws down his gauntlet.] There lays my guage-- If you will wear my glove, choose with what arms We shall decide this quarrel.--

[Raymond advances to take up the glove.]

God. Hold, Thoulouse, let it lay.-- I do impeach Bohemond of Tarentum of base wiles, And treachery most foul, to knighthood's cause--

Boh. Why then take you the glove.--

God. In mine own cause I do accept the challenge.--

[Takes up the glove.]

Alex. Is our league dissolv'd, and shall the holy cause For which embattled Europe is in arms, Be idly given to the scorn of men, To gratify our passions and vile feuds?-- But speak Lorraine, for you have heretofore Been held the mediator in these jars-- Upon what quarrel do you thus arraign Bohemond of Tarentum?--

God. A gorgeous canopy, a present from The gov'nor of Armenia I have lost-- By what base means, Bohemond best can tell.--

Boh. True he can tell--and briefly thus it is-- I won the silken bauble in a fight, And claim it as my spoil.--

God. You basely stole The treasure of a friend--Pancrates had The conduct of the present to my camp; You coward-like surprised him on the way, And robb'd him of my prize.--

Boh. (Contemptuously) Well be it so-- I stole it, and will keep it-- You may keep the glove.--

Alex. Christians, forbear, the Infidels will laugh, To know a silken toy has broke our league, And sav'd the Sepulchre--It must not be, My friends, that private discord shall cut short The work we have begun--Bohemond, no-- Restore the treasure to its rightful Lord, And my pavilion shall replace the spoil.--

Boh. I do consent--provided Godfrey will Return my glove to the brave Count of Thoulouse--

Alex. That's nobly done Bohemond--but the war 'Twixt you and Thoulouse, is a war of words-- Like two pert game cocks picking at a straw, You doubt each other's courage--then make proof Upon the Paynim forces if you please, Which is the braver man--To-morrow's field Will afford ample scope to try your blades Upon the common enemy of each, And leave unscathed his ally--I propose, That he who first shall scale the citadel, And plant the Red-Cross banner on the walls, Shall be rewarded with the victor's prize, And hold the government of Antioch-- What says the council?--

All the Chiefs. We are all agreed.--

(Bohemond and Raymond advance and shake hands in apparent token of agreement.)

[Enter a Greek Messenger.]

Mes. The Persian succors are but one day's march, Beyond the Orontes.--

God. Why let them come and help to bury then, Their Paynim brothers.--Friends, I give you joy-- Curse on my fortune, I do much regret The iv'ry tushes of that ruthless boar, Will keep me from the contest for fair fame.-- Bohemond, you shall lead my Frisons on-- And doubt not but you'll win the prize from Thoulouse.--

Boh. I thank your grace.

ZEBULON RUDULPH.

Zebulon Rudulph was the second son of Tobias Rudulph, an account of whose family is given elsewhere in this volume. He was born in Elkton, June 28, 1794. Though well remembered by some of the older residents of the place of his nativity who knew him when they were young, but little is known of his early life except that he was possessed of a kind heart and an affable disposition; and appears to have been more given to the cultivation of his literary tastes, than to the practice of those utilitarian traits which had they been more highly developed, would have enabled him to have reaped a richer pecuniary harvest than fell to his lot from the cultivation of the others.

For a time in early manhood Mr. Rudulph was engaged in merchandising in Elkton, and subsequently became the first agent of the Philadelphia, Wilmington and Baltimore Railroad Company in that town, which office he held from the time the company commenced business in 1837, until 1840 or '41, when he removed to Memphis, Tennessee, where in 1847 he published a small volume of 247 pages entitled "Every Man's Book; or, the Road to Heaven Staked Out; being a Collection of Holy Proofs Alphabetically Arranged as a Text Book for Preachers and Laymen of all Denominations." Mr. Rudulph was a Universalist, and the object of the book was to inculcate the tenets of that denomination.

Mr. Rudulph remained in Memphis for a few years and subsequently removed to Izard county, Arkansas, where he died a short time before the commencement of the war of the rebellion. He was a voluminous writer, and the author of a large number of fugitive poems, many of which are said to have been quite humorous and possessed of much literary merit. Very few of his poems have been preserved, which is much regretted for the reason that it is highly probable that those extant do not fully set forth the poetical ability of their author. The following poems except the one entitled "Thoughts on the Death of his grandchild Fanny," were published in _The Elkton Courier_ nearly half a century ago.

THE SURPRISE.

At twilight one ev'ning, a poor old man, Whose tattered cloak had once seen better days, (That now were dwindled to the shortest span:) Whose rimless, crownless hat provoked the gaze Of saucy urchins and of grown-up boys: Whose hoary locks should e'er protect from scorn, One who had ceased to court earth's fading joys,-- Knock'd at a door, thus lonely and forlorn.

A pilgrim's staff supported his frail form, Whilst tremblingly he waited at the door; And feeble tho' he seemed, he feared not harm, For 'neath his cloak a trusty sword he bore. A menial came, and thus he spoke:--'Away! Old man, away! seek not to enter here: We feed none such as you: so hence! I say:-- Perhaps across the street you'll better fare.'

In broken accents now the pilgrim plead-- 'Friend, I have journeyed far; from lands abroad; And bear a message from the absent dead, To one who dwells in this august abode. Thy mistress,--fair Beatrice,--dwells she here? If so, quick, bring me to her instantly; For I have speech that fits her private ear Forthwith: none else my words shall hear but she.'

Now, ushered thro' the spacious hall, he passed Into a gorgeous room, where sat alone, Beatrice fair; who, on the pilgrim cast Inquiring looks, and scarce suppressed a groan. 'Be seated, aged father;' thus she said: 'And tell me whence you are, and why you seek A private conf'rence with a lonely maid Whose sorrows chase the color from her cheek.

'If true it is, from distant lands you come, Mayhap from Palestine you wend your way; If so, be silent, be forever dumb, Or else, in joyful accents, quickly say, That all is well with one most dear to me, Who, two long years ago, forsook his home, And now forgets his vows of constancy, For bloody wars in distant lands to roam.'

As if to dash a tear, he bends his head, And sighing, thus the weary pilgrim speaks: 'Alas! my words are few,--thy friend is dead!'-- As monumental marble pale, she shrieks, And falls into the aged pilgrim's arms; Who, justly filled with terror and dismay, In speechless wonder, gazed upon her charms, As, inwardly he seemed to curse the day.

But, slowly she revives--when, quick as light, His cloak and wig are instantly thrown by-- And what is that that greets her 'wildered sight? Ah! whose fond gaze now meets her longing eye?-- Her own dear Alfred, from the wars returned, Had chosen thus to steal upon his love:-- And whilst his kisses on her cheek now burned, He vow'd to her, he never more would rove.

THOUGHTS,

ON THE DEATH OF MY GRANDCHILD FANNY.

And all wept and bewailed her: but He said, weep not; she is not dead, but sleepeth.

--Luke 8:52.

Oh true, "she is not dead, but sleepeth--" Her dust alone is here; The spirit pure that Heavenward leapeth, Hath gone to bliss fore'er.

'Twas but a fragile flower that lent Its sweets to earth a day; From Heaven's parterre 'twas kindly sent, But 'twas not here to stay.

Weep not, fond mother, that lost one; 'Tis clasped in angel's arms-- From earth's dread trials passed and gone, 'Tis decked in seraph's charms.

See how it beckons thee to come, And taste its rapture there;-- No longer linger o'er that tomb-- To join it let's prepare.

THE DECREE.

And the king said, bring me a sword. And they brought a sword before the king. And the king said, divide the living child in two, and give half to the one, and half to the other. Then spake the woman whose the living child was unto the king, for her bowels yearned upon her son, and she said, O my lord give her the living child, and in no wise slay it.

--I Kings 3:24-36.

Hark! did you not hear that loud shriek? Ah! do you not see that wild eye? List--do you hear that mother speak For her son that is doom'd to die?

Behold the eloquence of love! A mother for her child distress'd: A gush of feeling from above Invades and fills her yearning breast.

That flood of tears,--those wringing hands, Mark her abandonment of soul, As, list'ning to the king's commands, Her grief refuses all control.

My child! my child!--(tho' she betray it,) "The living child" give to my foe! 'Where is my child?--Oh! do not slay it! Let me my arms around it throw!'

Thus nature's impulse bursting forth, Reveals the mother's kindred blood, And stamps upon her claim the truth: Whilst foil'd the guilty claimant stood.

Such love breathes not in courts, where meet Soft, studied ease and pamper'd vice: As soon you'll find the genial heat Of nature's sun in fields of ice!

And that fond soul was one like she Who bathed the Saviour's feet with tears: And hers, like Mary's ecstasy, Flows from the influence of prayers:

For, Solomon had sought of God Not hoards of wealth, nor "length of days:" But holy unction from His rod, The bright indwelling of Truth's rays.

A VIEW FROM MOUNT CARMEL.

And Elijah went up to the top of Carmel; and he cast himself down upon the earth, and put his face between his knees. And said to his servant, 'Go up now, look towards the sea.' And he went up, and looked, and said, 'There is nothing.' And he said, Go again seven times. And it came to pass at the seventh time, that he said, behold, there ariseth a little cloud out of the sea, like a man's hand.

--I Kings 18:42,41.

Up Carmel's wood-clad height an aged prophet slowly creeps, And sadly drags his weary limbs o'er rocks and mossgrown steeps. He bows himself upon the earth, "his face between his knees," And thus he to his servant speaks, beneath the lofty trees.

"Go further up this craggy steep, and seaward look, I pray--" His faithful servant goes, and strains his vision towards that way, But says "there's nothing."--"Go sev'n times," the prophet says "for me,--" And on the seventh time, behold! arising from the sea,

A little cloud, as 'twere, no bigger than a human hand,-- But swiftly, darkly spreading o'er the parched, thirsty land, It widely displays its threatening armies thro' the sky, Its lurid lightnings flash in forked streaks upon the eye.

Like countless fiery serpents thro' the troubled air, Whilst loud the roaring thunder bursts amid the flaming glare; And rage the winds, uprooting mountain oaks before the view,-- Refreshing show'rs descend, and quick the fainting earth renew.

Scarcely could Israel's monarch in his chariot reach his court, Ere nature's pent up elements broke forth in airy sport, And to earth (which for three long years had known nor rain nor dew,) The long desired drops, their welcome downward course pursue.

Once more Samaria's people gladly tune their harps and sing The praises of Jehovah, God, the everlasting King:-- Once more, the voice of gladness sounds where naught but anguish dwelt; There, once again, the gush of rapture, absent long, is felt!

MRS. ALICE COALE SIMPERS.

Mrs. Alice Coale Simpers was born in the old brick mansion known as "Traveler's Repose," a short distance south of Harrisville, in the Sixth district of Cecil county, on the first day of December, 1843.

The Coale family of which Mrs. Simpers is a member, trace their descent from Sir Philip Blodgett, a distinguished Englishman, who settled in Baltimore shortly after its foundation, and are related to the Matthews, Worthingtons, Jewetts, and other leading families of Harford county. On her mother's side she is related to the Jacksons, Puseys, and other well-known Friends of Chester county, Pennsylvania, and Wilmington, Delaware.

Mrs. Simpers' early education was received at Waring's Friends' School, near the village of Colora, which was kept up by a few families of Friends in the neighborhood. She also attended the State Normal School in Baltimore, and qualified herself for teaching in the public schools of the State, in which she taught for about ten years in Cecil county, and also in Dorchester county. She also taught school in the State of Illinois with great acceptability and success.

When Mrs. Simpers was quite young her father removed his family to the banks of the romantic Octoraro, near Rowlandville, and within less than two miles of the birth-place of the two poetic Ewings and the late John Cooley, and the romantic spot where Mrs. Hall lived when she wrote the poems which are published in this volume. The soul-inspiring beauty of this romantic region seems to have had the same effect upon her mind as it had upon the other persons composing the illustrious quintette, of which she is a distinguished member, and when only seventeen years of age she began to write poetry. At the solicitation of her friend, E.E. Ewing, she sent the first poem she published to him, who gave it a place in _The Cecil Whig_, of which he was the editor and proprietor.

In 1875 Mrs. Simpers began to write for the New York _Mercury_, which then numbered among its contributors Ned Buntline, Harriet Prescott, George Marshall, George Arnold, Bayard Taylor, W. Scott Way, and many other distinguished writers with whom she ranked as an equal in many respects, and many of whom she excelled as a brilliant satirist and pathetic painter of the quaint and the beautiful.

For ten years she continued to contribute letters, essays, stories and poems to the _Mercury_, and to advocate the claims of her sex to the right of suffrage, in which she still continues to be a firm believer. Mrs. Simpers has also contributed largely to the _Woman's Journal_ and other periodicals.

Though possessed of a brilliant poetic genius, Mrs. Simpers is best known as a writer of prose; and, in addition to the large quantity of matter she has contributed to the newspaper press, is the author of a story of about two hundred pages illustrative of the principles and practices and exemplifying the social life of the Friends, for which she received a prize of two hundred dollars. This story was highly spoken of by Dr. Shelton McKenzie, with whom she was on terms of intimacy for some years immediately before his death, and also by many other distinguished writers.

On the 22d of February, 1879, the subject of this sketch married Captain John G. Simpers, who served with distinction in the Second Regiment Delaware Volunteers in the war of the rebellion. They, at the time of writing this sketch, reside near the summit of Mount Pleasant, and within a short distance of the birth-place of Emma Alice Browne.

THE MILLER'S ROMANCE.

The miller leaned o'er the oaken door, Quaint shadows swung on the dusty floor, The spider toiled in the dust o'erhead, With restless haste, and noiseless speed, Like one who toils for sorest need-- Like one who toils for bread. "Ha!" says the miller, "does he pause to hark-- Hark! Hark! Hark! To the voice of the waters, down in the dark-- Dark! Dark! Dark! Turning the lumbering, mumbling wheel; Which moans and groans as tho't could feel?" "Ha!" laughed the miller, "he pauses not and why-- In the sunshine pausing and musing I? When the spiteful waves seem to repeat-- Repeat! Repeat! Repeat! The hateful word deceit-- Deceit! Deceit! Deceit" "Nay," mused the miller, "their musical drip-- Drip! Drip! Drip! Is like to naught but the trip-- Trip! Trip! Trip! In the dance of her fairy feet, Or her rippling-laughter cool and sweet!"

* * * * *

Once more, The miller leans o'er the oaken door. Still play the shadows upon the floor, Still toils the spider overhead; Like one who toils for daily bread-- "Since the red lips unto me have lied The spell hath lost its power, For never a false heart brings my bride Whatever else her dower!" And louder yet the waves repeat Their burthen old, deceit, deceit!

* * * * *

In flocks of brown, the leaves haste down, And floods, in the wild March weather; While the mill, the miller, and the miller's love dream, Have all grown old together!

THE LAST TIME.

We shall see the daylight breaking, Watch the rosy dawn awaking; We shall see the twilight fading-- Adown the path the elms are shading, For the last, last time.

We shall see the blossoms swelling, Watch the spring-bird build his dwelling, See the dead leaves downward sailing, While the Autumn winds are wailing, For the last, last time.

We shall hear the song of pleasure, Join the dance's merry measure; Shrink and dread the form of sorrow, Which may meet us on the morrow, For the last, last time.

We shall feel hates' venomed dart Aimed to pierce the inmost heart; We shall know love's sweet caressing, Breathed from lips our own are pressing, For the last, last time.

But in that land where we are going, Where the skies are ever glowing; In that fair and fadeless clime, Never comes the last, last time.

ONLY A SIMPLE MAID!

And this is the end of it all! It rounds the years completeness, Though only a walk to the stile Through fields a-foam with sweetness. Only the sunset light, Purple and red on the river, Only a calm "good night," That means good bye forever!

I can only go back to my simple ways-- To my homely household cares; And yet,--and yet--in after days I shall think of you in my prayers. We can bear so much in youth; Who cares for a swift sharp pain? The two-edged sword of truth Cuts deep, but leaves no stain, And over the ways we have trod together, My foot shall fall as lightly, As though my heart were a feather.