We shall meet in the golden city

- GOLDEN CITY LYRICS

we shall meet in the golden city

We will meet in the Golden City in the New Jerusalem All our pain and all our tears will be no more. We will stand with the hosts of heaven. And cry holy is the. Check out The Golden City by Marty McCall on Amazon Music. Stream ad-free or purchase CD's All I Want for Christmas Is You Mariah Carey 60 · Stream or. When we meet beyond the portals. Of that golden city fair, And around the shining throne of God we stand; Christ will be the first to greet us, At the pearly gate.

Then he swept his arm around him to indicate the surrounding city and pointed to the globe. His host instantly caught his meaning, and indicated the north-eastern corner of the northerly one of the three Pacific continents. Mayhew studied the location. Yes, that would be just about the latitude and longitude of the Alaska when he was last aboard her. He pointed to the island which lay in mid-Atlantic.

Mayhew had never heard of any such place. So he pointed inquiringly to the land of his present location. Mayhew could not be sure how much of that was the name of the place, and how much was description or explanation.

South America, the man designated as "Xibalba. Then Mayhew pointed to himself and to the north Atlantic seacoast, but his host shook his head incredulously. Apparently it was inconceivable to him that any one could live on the continent that had no name.

Their geographical conference was interrupted by the entrance of one of the Negro servants with a message for Mayhew's host, who at once left the room, signaling to his guest to follow him. In the great hallway there stood the beautiful girl of that afternoon's encounter on the pier, now in earnest conversation with the hostess.

As Mayhew entered with his host, the girl looked up, gave a start and blushed, then held her head high and turned away. Mayhew put his arm diagonally across his chest and bowed to the two ladies.

Who sings a christian song called the golden city?

But the girl ignored him. Instead of looking at Mayhew, she turned to the host, addressed him as "Julo," and in an undertone asked him a question which included that ever-present word "porto.

The girl and he disputed for several minutes. Then she bade good-by to Julo and Marta, and left without even a glance at the luckless Adams Mayhew. She had been gone only a few minutes, when there was a commotion at the door, and the ferret-faced young man Mayhew had fought that afternoon at the wharves forced his way in at the head of a squad of rough looking individuals, garbed like him in blue-bordered tunics, and like him armed with broadswords.

As the leader of the intruders saw Mayhew he stopped, and his jaw dropped with surprise at Mayhew's new clothes. Then, pointing his finger, he shouted, "Porto! But Julo, the host, stepped between them. Calmly and authoritatively, but with flashing eyes, he addressed the young centurion, until apologetically the latter withdrew at the head of his cohorts. But, as he left, he flashed a look of hate at Adams Mayhew, and shouted at him a string of words, ending in the mysterious epithet, "porto.

His gesture was met with a sneer. Then the man was gone. Julo turned on Mayhew with an expression of supreme contempt on his handsome aquiline face. It was the first look other than one of courteous gentlemanliness that he had ever given his guest. Then his expression softened and changed to understanding and mild amusement.

Dinner followed soon after, served in elaborate style from utensils of solid gold. Julo at once set about teaching Mayhew the language of Mu. Finally Mayhew was escorted off to bed by the huge Negro who had been assigned to him. His host and hostess accompanied him as far as the courtyard and there bade him goodnight. Sleep came quickly to the tired young man.

And as quickly came a sudden awakening in the middle of the night. His first reaction was to miss the accustomed roll and toss of the barque Alaska. Vaguely he wondered if the vessel had made port, or if it were drifting on an unusually calm sea. Then in a flash he remembered that he was ashore on the mirage-continent of Mu, in the house of the kindly Julo, who had befriended him.

He turned and stretched himself on the luxurious sleeping couch, then stiffened to alertness as he heard a slight scraping sound in the courtyard below. It was not much of a sound.

On board ship, it would have passed as the momentary rattle of a bit of tackle. On shore, back in New Bedford, it might have been an alley-cat, or the scuffing of a pebble by the foot of a late passer-by. But here in this quiet household the sound, slight though it was, was out of place. Springing noiselessly to his feet. Mayhew crept through the doorway of his room out onto the second story balcony which overhung the courtyard.

The rays of the moon, coming over the house-wall above him, flooded the opposite side of the court, and thence diffused their light throughout the entire inclosure. Near the middle of the court, shaded from this reflected light by a bush, crouched a black form. As Mayhew watched, the figure slunk forward. There was something indefinably Oriental about it, and in one hand it held a dagger.

It was headed for the doorway through which Mayhew had seen his host and hostess withdraw after bidding him good-night. His first impulse was to warn the household.

But instantly he realized that the only certain effect of a shout for help would be to put the prowler on his guard. Doubtless servants would come running, but the intruder was by now only a few paces from the door of Julo and Marta, and might easily be able to reach his victims before aid could arrive.

So, catlike, Mayhew raced around the balcony to a position just above the assassin, and then as silently clambered over the edge of the railing, and slid down one of the posts. As his feet struck the ground, the man, with hand already on the latch of Julo's door, heard him and wheeled. Then the two of them launched themselves at each other. Mayhew caught the wrist of the upraised dagger-arm of his adversary with both his own hands, and thrust his right elbow beneath the other's chin.

A wrench of his powerful fingers, and the poniard clattered to the tiles. Then the other's free hand was at Mayhew's throat.

Foot-steps sounded on the tiles of the court, and on the balcony above. Then a cloud passed across the face of the moon, and the whole inclosure became suddenly and ominously dark.

Mayhew's assailant was jerked away from him by unseen hands. Other unseen hands seized Mayhew and pinioned his arms. Warm smelly human bodies engulfed him. And over all could be heard the babel of shouts in a strange tongue. Then the clangor of a gong.

Mayhew suddenly found that he was no longer pinned down. He scrambled dazedly to his feet. Silhouetted in the doorway of Julo's sleeping apartment stood Julo himself, with toga hastily draped across his shoulders, and a lantern in his hand.

Six or eight huge Negroes stood about Mayhew, staring at him and at Julo and at each other, with surprise and confusion on their black features. Julo snapped out a question. Several of the servants, with much shrugging of the shoulders, began to explain; but their master silenced them, and pointed a forefinger at Mayhew, with a sadly accusatory expression on his handsome face.

What could Mayhew say, not knowing more than a few words of the language! He could at least try signs and pantomime. So he pointed to the gallery by his own bedroom door, and then to himself.

Then Mayhew pointed to his own eyes, and to the center of the courtyard. Then Mayhew pointed to the bush, by the side of which he had first seen the prowler; and, going over to it, crouched beside it, and began sneaking toward Julo's door.

Julo stopped him with a peremptory gesture, and shot a question at the Negroes. But they shook their heads, and shrugged their shoulders. Back toward Mayhew, Julo turned, with a frown on his handsome face, and moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. But, just as he was about to speak there came a shout from the shadows in a far corner of the courtyard, and every one crowded over with lights to see what it was about.

It was the dead body of one of the Negro servants, lying on its back with a dagger through its heart! And, pinned to the breast by the weapon there was a piece of parchment bearing the sprawled figure of a loathsome black spider!

All stared at it for one long moment. Then Julo set down his lantern, walked over to Adams Mayhew, placed his left palm on the young man's shoulder and warmly shook his right hand.

Of the mob of assailants who had invaded Julo's house, there was not a sign, but for the rest of the night a Negro servant stood guard in the middle of the courtyard, and one slept in front of Julo's door, and one in front of Adams Mayhew's. With daylight, the household took up its usual routine.

Everything seemed so peaceful and serene that Mayhew began to doubt if the events of the night before had not been merely a dream. His language lessons progressed, under the tutoring of his genial host and hostess. But when he sketched upon a piece of paper the rough figure of a spider, and asked the name for it, Marta clutched at her heart and hurriedly left the room; and Julo, with a sudden scowl, seized the paper and tore it into little bits.

Mayhew apologized—in English, of course. Shortly before noon Julo gathered his household together and led them from the house, he and Marta and Mayhew clad in brilliant togas, and the blacks naked to the waist, with baggy pantaloons, and scimitars in their sashes.

An air of alert tenseness pervaded the group, but they reached the public square without any untoward event. Ascending the steps of one of the buildings with his retinue, Julo knocked on the door. It was opened by a white-bearded old man in a flowing yellow robe, with a flaming red swastika emblazoned upon its left breast. He and Julo exchanged a few sentences, and the party was admitted.

Never had Mayhew seen so much gold; the entire interior of the building was literally encrusted with it. The party passed through rooms of increasing brilliance, until they came out into a huge amphitheater.

The whole was made of white marble, every inch of which was covered with ingeniously carved gold fretwork. Around the walls ran tier after tier of marble seats, surmounted by a canopy of fluted gold, supported on spiral golden pillars. But beyond this canopy the room had no roof, being completely open to the sky. In the exact center of the amphitheater stood a square altar of unadorned white marble.

Some of the seats were already occupied. Julo and his party were shown to places, and seated themselves. Other persons came in, until the place was nearly filled. A few minutes before noon a bell sounded, and all conversation ceased.

Then, through a doorway beneath the stands, a procession of yellow-robed priests entered the arena. They filed once around the circuit, then the leaders advanced to the center with golden baskets containing wood and tinder and incense, which they piled upon the altar. Then all except the high priest ranged themselves along the wall at the foot of the stands.

The high priest, kneeling beside the altar and raising his hands aloft toward the sun, began to intone a chant. Mayhew could make out none of the words, except the oft-repeated syllable, "Ra," which he had learned was the name of the sun.

As the priest ceased his chant, an even deeper hush settled over the audience. Then there came a flash, like lightning from the cloudless sky, and the pile on the altar blazed up.

A sigh, as of relief, passed through the crowd. The hilt of a dagger protruded from his back, pinning to him a small piece of parchment, bearing the dread insigne of the spider! That, and nothing more. Yet no one had been standing behind the stricken priest! For an instant the near-by throng recoiled from their dead comrade. Then, at the command from the high priest, they picked up the body and hurried it to the altar.

Sweeping aside the now smoldering sacrificial fire, the officiating prelate directed the gentle removal of the knife, and the placing of the dead body, face up, upon the altar. The sign of the spider he tore into small pieces and trod under foot. Then began a second chant to Ra, the sun, who by now had reappeared from the cloud.

To Adams Mayhew the entire performance was merely a part of the temple ritual, the worship of the sun god of these people, culminating in human sacrifice. He marveled that a person of the evident intelligence and culture of Julo, his host, who had exhibited such repugnance at the spider-topped poster in the public square, and at the spider-marked piece of parchment plastered on his own front door, should nevertheless be driven by his superstitions or his religious fanaticism to attend temple services dedicated to the thing which he abhorred.

Mayhew glanced apprehensively about him and noted that Marta's face was white and quivering, and that Julo's black-bearded jaw was firm and set, and that the black guards, with drawn scimitars, were standing around the three of them in hollow-square formation, facing protectively outward. But perhaps this, too, was all a part of the ritual. Then Mayhew remembered last night's fighting in the courtyard, and the Negro who had been found dead there, with the mark of the spider upon him.

Surely a man's own religion would not creep into his household in the dead of night to commit assassination. Much perplexed, Adams Mayhew turned his attention back to the arena below him. The high priest was still praying to Ra, the sun; and he seemed to be putting into his words much more sincerity and depth of feeling than he had put into the original chant which had accompanied the lighting of the sacrificial fire.

As the aged prelate prayed, the body on the altar stirred slightly; whereupon all the priests burst into a joyous hymn of praise, and two of their number rushed forward to the center and bore their stricken comrade tenderly away. Then every one, including the audience, knelt in silent prayer.

The tension appeared to have been greatly relaxed. If this was all mere ritual, it was well acted! On the return of the party to the house of Julo, Mayhew's language lessons were resumed. Nothing further of excitement happened, although—or perhaps because—guards were posted every night in the courtyard, and no member of the household ever went out in the streets unescorted. Moorfi, the huge black man who had been assigned to Mayhew on the day of his arrival, always slept on the balcony just outside his door.

Marta became increasingly nervous in Mayhew's presence, and treated him as though he were an insane person who must be carefully coddled, lest he break loose and do violent damage.

But Julo still displayed confidence in him, and regarded him with an amused and whimsical tolerance. Naturally Mayhew was most anxious to return to America at the earliest possible moment, but in this desire he was unable to evoke any cooperation or even sympathy from his otherwise kind and considerate host, who absolutely refused to believe that any civilized people inhabited that barren and desolate continent, although he accepted Mayhew's announcement of his name.

Mayhew finally gave up the attempt to interest his host in the proposition of return, merely resolving that at some later date he would try to find passage home on some one of the many trading vessels which made port at this Golden City. And perhaps the presence here of the yellow-haired Eleria may have had something to do with dimming his eagerness to return home. As the young American rapidly mastered the language of Mu, many of the matters which had puzzled him were cleared up.

But many more were not. For example, he learned that the island, or continent, on which he was located was known as "Mu" or "Ra Mu," "Ra" being the name of the sun, or sun-god, whom these people worshipped. Mu claimed to rule the entire world, which was known as "Ulu-umil Ra"; that is to say, the empire of the Sun. Also he learned a little, but not much, about "the spider. None of his followers had ever been apprehended. His whereabouts were unknown.

Whoever attempted to thwart him was marked for slaughter. The spider's demand for tentative recognition and a parley, posted in public squares on the day of Mayhew's coming, had been the culmination of a series of acts of terrorism. Julo had been leading and directing the investigation of the spider's activities. Hence the marking of Julo's door, and the midnight attempt to assassinate him.

In spite of the rapid progress Mayhew made in learning the language of Mu, there was one word the meaning of which kept eluding him, namely the word "porto. Also, because the mention of it always appeared to embarrass his hostess, he deduced that it was an uncomplimentary epithet; and so at a very early stage of his language lessons he gave up asking even his host about the word.

This was most unfortunate, as events later turned out; for a knowledge of the meaning of that word "porto" might have saved him considerable discomfort and even danger.

But, although many matters appeared inexplicable, he did learn something about his host and his enemy, and the positions which they occupied in the community. Julo was a magistrate of some sort, a person high in the councils of the city. Tirio was a centurion of the police, rather dissolute, and quite a leader among the younger set.

Also suspected of plotting against the government. A trouble maker and discontent-spreader. Although he did not come directly under the jurisdiction of the magistrate Julo, he stood in considerable awe of him.

Tirio hated and feared Julo, much as a jackal hates and fears a lion. Most of this, Mayhew learned from the faithful Moorfi. In fact, Mayhew learned a great deal from Moorfi, who was a most garrulous and entertaining Negro, with an effervescent sense of humor and doglike loyalty. Not all of Mayhew's time was spent indoors, nor even in the courtyard of Julo's house.

Once or twice each day he explored the Golden City, sometimes accompanied by his host. Always, regardless whether or not Julo was with him, he was followed by Moorfi and one or two other blacks. Moorfi had been assigned as his personal body-servant, and had developed quite an attachment for him. On these walks Mayhew never happened to run across the ferret-faced Tirio; but twice he met the beautiful golden-haired girl, Eleria, and each time she ignored him completely.

Just why she acted this way, he could not imagine. Her coolness and disdain were even more inexplicable than Tirio's hatred. One afternoon, Mayhew and Moorfi were strolling along together through an unfrequented part of the city, followed by another huge black, a new-comer in the household of Julo.

Moorfi was in the midst of telling Adams Mayhew a rather long and involved funny story about two traveling merchants, when suddenly a door was flung open just abreast of them, and four burly ruffians, garbed in the blue-bordered white tunics of the police swarmed out upon them, with broadswords in their hands.

With one sweep of his left hand he thrust his master behind him, at the same instant drawing his scimitar and barring the way to the aggressors.

The muscles of his bare brawny back and shoulders rippled with alert excitement. Here, then, at last was the menace for which Mayhew had been tensely awaiting all these weeks. Here was the justification for the vigilance with which he and the other members of Julo's household had been guarded. The Spider had struck again. Mayhew itched to get into the fight himself, for these thugs were evidently minions of that public enemy, the Spider; but unfortunately he was unarmed.

So he turned, to urge the other black into the fray. But, to his surprise, he saw that he was standing irresolute, with his scimitar still in the sash of his pantaloons.

Moorfi, warding off the attack of four blades, was falling back toward Mayhew and the other Negro. But, with a quick and unexpected movement, the Negro suddenly clouted him on the side of the head with one huge hand, sending him reeling against the building. Then the black man drew his scimitar and leaped at Moorfi's unprotected back.

we shall meet in the golden city

With the lithe grace of a black panther, Moorfi wheeled, and met the descending blade with a sweep of his own. Mayhew staggered to his feet. But his view of the fight between Moorfi and the other Negro was now cut off by the four thugs, who all pounced on him as he rose. He drove out his fist at the foremost and then went down again, with the four on top of him. For a few moments he struggled, but his adversaries proved too much for him.

His striped toga was yanked off of him, torn into strips and used to bind him. When the four thugs finally arose, Mayhew's ankles had been strapped together, his elbows bound behind his back, and his mouth gagged. In the street in front of him lay the slashed and carved carcass of a huge Negro.

Over the prostrate form stood Moorfi, his broad back gleaming with perspiration, and a red and dripping scimitar in one clenched fist. Unconcernedly he stooped and wiped his blade on the baggy pantaloons of his fallen victim, then picked up the other's scimitar from where it lay unreddened on the paving stones of the street and turned majestically, with a weapon in each hand, to face the four thugs.

Flashing one brief glance at Adams Mayhew, he addressed them, saying, "Well, I have disposed of his guard, and am at your service, gentlemen. Even the four bruisers appeared to be a bit flabbergasted at this latest development.

we shall meet in the golden city

They shifted their feet uncertainly. One said, "But isn't this fellow the one who tried to defend this 'porto' from us, when we first attacked him? Let's not take any chance of his being the wrong one.

And didn't this black man lead our victim right here to the appointed spot at the appointed hour? He had thought that the attackers had represented the mythical Spider, and now they turned out to be merely minions of Tirio. Then a new idea occurred to him; perhaps they represented both Tirio and the Spider; perhaps those two were allies!

Meanwhile one of the thugs was asking Moorfi, "What is your name, fellow? Here you, guard the corpse. I go to headquarters to report finding it. The rest of you, into the house with the prisoner! As they passed into the house through the still open door with two of their captors, he whispered hurriedly in the ear of the young American, "Courage, master; it is all for the best.

We may learn something by getting inside their house; and I could not attack them while you were bound. They stood in a dimly lit corridor. Then as the departing man paused and turned expectantly, Moorfi leaped, and swung at him with his scimitar.

The blade caught the man on the side of his neck and he went down with a gurgling groan. But, no coward, the other drew his short broadsword and rushed in, too close to be reached by the longer weapon of the Negro, at the same time calling loudly for help. The noise of many approaching footsteps could be heard. Moorfi dropped his scimitar, seized the wrist of the sword-hand of his assailant, and closed with him. The scimitar thudded point downward to the floor and stuck there humming, within a few inches of Mayhew's feet, its edge toward him.

In an instant he had thrust his feet against it, thus severing the strip of cloth which bound his ankles. Then backing around, he freed his elbows. Without waiting to untie the gag about his mouth he snatched up the scimitar and drove it into the body of the man who was grappling with the Negro.

As the man collapsed, Mayhew tried to shout, "Quick, Moorfi, the door! Then a throng of armed men bore down upon them from the corridor. Moorfi drew his remaining scimitar and side by side the two friends, black man and white, with their backs against the door, fought against the oncoming horde.

As Mayhew battled in the dimly lit corridor, he heard a familiar voice beyond and behind the throng of enemies, shouting, "Don't injure the prisoner. He must be captured unscathed. When he regained consciousness he was being carried hurriedly through the house. His ankles had again been tied together, and his elbows again were securely pinioned behind his back.

His head ached terribly, and his ears hummed. Through the confusion of his senses, he heard the voice of Tirio exclaiming, "The curse of Ra upon you! Why did you let the black man escape? Now he will warn Julo, and we'll have the whole town upon us! Adams Mayhew heaved a sigh of relief. Then his head swam and a black fog engulfed him.

we shall meet in the golden city

When he awoke it was night. He was lying, still bound and gagged, on a rough mattress which swayed gently up and down. His head throbbed dully. Around him he could hear the hum of voices, the lap-lapping of water and the rhythmic dip of oars. Overhead the stars shone. An intermittent warm breeze brought to his nostrils the sweet exotic scent of some pungent flower.

Mayhew felt unutterably tired, and drifted off to sleep. The next thing he knew, he was lying on the stone floor of a small stone-walled room. He felt dizzy and bruised and battered. For a few moments he just lay and stared dully about him. Then he vaguely tried to remember who he was and how he had gotten here. He was Adams Mayhew, of the crew of the whaling barque Alaska. That much was clear. Then events began slowly to piece themselves together in his mind.

His fall overboard from the Alaska. The fight on the wharves. The kindly Julo, and his wife Marta. The various manifestations of the Spider, whoever that might be.

As his mind cleared, events came back to him more rapidly. He was the guest of Julo, magistrate of one of the seven cities of Mu. There had been a fight in the streets and he had been kidnaped. He stretched his arms and felt of his bruised muscles; thus he noticed that he was no longer bound.

He ran his fingers perplexedly through his sandy hair. He coughed, and noticed that he was no longer gagged. Then he got unsteadily to his feet. His striped toga was gone and he was clad only in undershirt, waist-cloth, and sandals. He felt stiff and cold. When he had stretched his cramped limbs and had slapped himself warm again he began to examine his surroundings. Although still somewhat dazed, there was growing in him a resentful realization that the rat-faced Tirio was responsible for his present predicament.

The room was about twenty feet square. On two sides were window openings, through which he could see blue sky and white clouds. He limped over to one of the windows and looked out and down. The room where he stood was in the second story of a stone castle. Green meadows stretched away to a wide river. Beyond the river were more fields, and then woods.

Just this side of the woods a herd of large, stocky, russet-colored animals was browsing; but they were too far away for Mayhew to make out what they were. He turned to the other window. Nothing there but rolling meadows, with blue hills beyond.

the Golden City

He turned back to the room. It was bare of all furnishings. One of the walls held a massive wooden door. In the fourth wall there was a small arched opening into another room, similar to the one he was in. In fact, so exactly alike were the two rooms, perhaps this supposed opening was merely a mirror.

Mayhew stepped over to investigate; sure enough, a replica of himself approached him from the other side. Mayhew paused and surveyed his image. Not so battered up as he had thought! His image grinned back at him. Then he noticed that the reflection wore a striped toga, whereas he had thought that his toga was gone. He glanced down at himself; he had nothing on but his underwear, dirty and bedraggled underwear at that. He glanced back at the mirror, with a puzzled expression on his face; but the face in the mirror continued to grin.

Then the man in the mirror spoke. The reply astonished him even more. It was a single word: But here at last was the chance to solve the mystery of its meaning. That awful word 'porto'! Do you mean to say that you've been doubling for me all these weeks and have never heard my name? I thought that it was some sort of insulting epithet, and so I always felt reluctant to inquire about it. If I had inquired the explanation would probably have solved a lot of questions which have been puzzling me.

Then she believes me a coward! I credited her with more trustfulness than that. I'll give you only the high spots of my story.

Tirio hates me—never mind why—partly because of a girl, and partly because he fears my interference in certain schemes in which he has secretly engaged. So he publicly challenged me to a blood feud, although he knows that I am more than a match for him.

For, instead of facing me personally, he caused me to be shanghaied aboard a trading vessel, and then gave out the story that I had run away for fear of him. But," bitterly, "I never expected Eleria to believe any such yarn about me. Well, anyway, I escaped from the ship one night, swam to another ship, and eventually landed in disguise at a small port on this island. Imagine my surprise at learning that I had already returned several weeks before, and had had a fight with Tirio on the wharves, but since then had remained in hiding in the house of Julo, afraid to meet Tirio again.

Knowing his habits, and his hangouts, I came directly here with quite a crowd of choice friends, whom I had hurriedly gathered, though I had some difficulty—thanks to you—to persuade them that I hadn't turned coward.

This castle is now surrounded, but of course my friends won't interfere, so long as Tirio fights fairly and doesn't call in any of his thugs. Of course, no one knows who belongs to that sinister organization. And yet I rather think that Tirio does not. One of his own best friends was recently marked for slaughter.

I want that rat-faced Tirio to get the surprise of his life when he comes here to badger you, or me, or whichever of us he thinks you are. Then asked, "How did you get in? And how am I to get out? I'll get the rope now. Let's one of us fight him and pretend to get knocked out by him, and then have the other one of us step into the room and carry on.

He'll think he is seeing a ghost. Come on, change clothes with me, and let me lower you out the window; the guards will be here any moment with your breakfast.

Sit down and look weak and dazed. I'll step into the next room and await developments. Striding truculently over to where Mayhew lay on the floor, Tirio addressed him, "Well, fellow, do you still claim that you are not Porto? Come, stand up and let me take a look at you. Tirio's face went red. I am unarmed, as you have doubtless noticed; so it wouldn't be exactly ethical, would it, for you to cut a hole in me, as you so naively suggest? Instead of flaring up again, he met sneer with sneer, and coolly announced, "You think so?

Well, you will never carry back to the city any word of my chivalry; and there is no one else here to note whether or not I observe all the exact niceties of the blood-feud code. Tirio wheeled to confront a man standing in the archway to the adjoining room, a man toga-clad and calm, with arms folded. Quite a different person from the dirty, disheveled, toga-less man whom he had just been baiting; and yet strangely the same. Then, whipping out his sword, "Prepare to defend yourself.

There's two of me, you know. I'll do my own fighting, and Mayho will keep out of it. Come on and fight. In the second place, you have my word of honor. In the third place, you have his. The stout wooden bar which sometimes served to lock it from the outside was leaning against the door-casing.

Porto glanced around at the opening and quick as a flash the centurion lunged at him with his sword. But Porto turned in time and deflected the blow with his toga-wrapped left arm, then lunged back at his opponent. Tirio, being clad in a tunic rather than in a toga, parried the blow with his sword; but was forced to fall back away from the door. Meanwhile Mayhew leaped past the two contending men, snatched up the bar, slammed the door shut, and wedged the bar slantwise against it, with the bottom of the bar in a crack between two of the stones of the floor.

And just in time! For several heavy bodies immediately crashed against the portal from the outside. Mayhew threw his weight downward upon the bar, thus wedging it more tightly in place, then turned to watch the fighting. Mayhew's double was driving the centurion slowly backward around the room; and, even as Mayhew looked, dealt the man a cut across the left shoulder, and then recoiled just enough to avoid a vicious swipe in return. Tirio felt gingerly of his wound with his left hand, and shouted, "Help!

I've a whistle here. If you try any trickery, or if your thugs succeed in breaking down that door, I shall blow the whistle, and you'll never live to tell that you defeated me.

The thudding of shoulders against the door changed to sharp blows as of a battering ram. The door quivered and shook at each impact, but the wedged bar held. Porto continued to drive Tirio backward around the room. Again his blade flashed out, nicking the centurion's arm. Porto's face wore a grim smile. He had established his supremacy over his enemy and was now playing with him. But suddenly Tirio's yells for help ceased. A sly look of cunning crept into his evil face and his eyes narrowed dangerously as he edged toward a certain portion of the wall of the room.

The pounding on the door increased in violence. At last Tirio threw up his hands and stumbled backward. Porto lunged forward at him, sword extended at full arm's length. The stroke almost reached the unprotected breast of its intended victim. But the rat-faced Tirio had gauged exactly his own backward leap. And now, as Porto recovered from his lunge, Tirio, instead of sweeping in on him, stepped sidewise and flung his weight against one of the stones of the wall. The stone yielded slightly, and at the same instant the section of floor on which Porto was standing gave way and Porto dropped into a yawning black abyss.

A stifled scream of surprise. The clatter of a sword on a metal chute. The swish of a sliding body. Tirio straightened and turned, broadsword in hand, to face the unarmed Adams Mayhew. For a moment the young American stood dazed by this sudden turn of events. Then he cringed backward in apparent fear against the wall.

THE GOLDEN CITY CHORDS by Mal Pope @ az-links.info

The centurion, his evil little eyes, snapping hate, strode over toward him, sword aloft. But Mayhew's terror had been only pretended. His apparent cringe was really a crouch. As the sword was about to sweep down upon his unarmed form, he suddenly launched himself catlike upon his adversary.

His left hand caught the sword-wrist of the centurion. The fingers of his right hand seized the other's throat. His face he buried in the other's breast, to shield it from the blows which Tirio's left hand now showered upon Mayhew's head. For a moment they swayed together thus, then crashed down in a heap upon the stone flagging, close by the edge of the yawning hole through which Porto had disappeared.

The pounding on the door continued. Mayhew dug the fingers of his left hand into his adversary's wrist until the sword dropped and went clattering down the chute. Then he transferred this hand, too, to Tirio's throat and squeezed mightily, oblivious of the blows now rained upon him by both fists of the latter. The centurion's eyes bulged. His face became purple. His lips were flecked with foam.

His blows gradually weakened. Then his entire body went limp. At the same instant one upper corner of the door gave way with a crash. There was no time to lose. If Mayhew would save his friend and double, Porto, he must get out of here before the minions of his enemy got in. Heaving the body down the chute, to the accompaniment of shouts of baffled rage from the faces which showed through the splintered aperture of the door, he leaped across to one of the windows, and shouted, "Help!

There was no sign of the friends of Porto. A knife, hurled through the hole in the door, struck the side of the window casing, glanced off, and dropped to the ground below.

The men at the door of the room were now rapidly enlarging the opening with axes. Seizing Porto's rope which lay in a heap on the floor, Mayhew tied one end to an iron hook which projected from the wall beside the window, threw the other end out, and lowered himself over the edge. A sword whizzed by his head. His last view of the room, as his face disappeared below the sill, disclosed one of the thugs of Tirio clambering through the now enlarged hole in the door.

Down the rope scuttled the young American. The rope parted above him, tumbling him to the ground in a heap. A sword dropped point-down beside him, missing him by a fraction of an inch. Then he quickly regained his feet and stumbled off through the tall grass toward the grove of trees which was supposed to conceal the friends of Porto. Once he glanced back, and saw the window which he had quitted, framing a half-dozen evil men in blue-bordered tunics, shaking their fists and shouting maledictions after him.

The grass of the meadow was waist high. As Mayhew was striding along through it a man suddenly rose from its concealment, and confronted him with the question, "Where are you going, Porto? Porto is in trouble.

we shall meet in the golden city

He was winning the blood-feud, when Tirio suddenly opened a chute in the floor, and Porto disappeared. Where are his friends? We must hurry back and rescue him! You've been defeated by Tirio. He has stripped your clothes from you. And you are now running away. You look pretty much of a wreck, if you'd ask me. Porto is in danger. Whirling around to face the new-comer, Mayhew exclaimed, "You look as though you had brains. Will you take a chance that I'm telling the truth when I say that I'm not Porto, and that Porto is in danger due to Tirio's trickery?

When the Sabbath was declining, just at twilight's mystic hour, Left the " Upper Courts" an angel, sent to cull our sweetest flower, Not in judgment, not in anger, did this white-winged seraph come, But to lead a little Pilgrim through Death's Portal to her home. And our angel child was ready, aye, and anxious to depart— Not the slightest doubt o'ershadowed her trusting little heart; But with a brow as radiant as rainbow in the sky, She whispered softly "Mother, I'm not afraid to die.

She is not dead, but sleepeth;— Soon, soon will the ransomed sing O! So, I, though bowed in anguish, yield her spirit to its God, And meekly clasp the smiting hand, and kiss the chast'ning rod; May I, when time is over, greet thee on the other shore, To live and love for aye and aye, where partings are no more.

With her death a link is severed which bound two centuries together. The venerable subject of this notice was born inof parents who were both exiles from their native land; one being born in Morocco, Barbary States, the other in Marseilles, France. During her eventful life she passed through three wars; that of in her girlhood, after the Mexican and the late Civil Wars. Possessed of a loving heart and cheerful disposition, charity was the guiding star of her life.

Her widow's mite was never found wanting. In her the distressed and the needy met always a ready response.