[For The Sunny South.]
“LOVE’S YOtXG DREAM.”
(A Wreath of Rhymes Around the Memory of two Poets.)
BY J. A. STEWART.
When under the pressure of feelings forlorn.
Or sorrow too deep for his feelings to scan.
Burns fWt that man's fate was in sadness to mourn,
Unaided by heaven, uncared lor by man.
His burdens were transient; their visits were brief,
For hope like a star thro* the darkness would burn,
And light in his soul this bright glow of relief—
A feeling that man waa not placed here to mourn.
A shadow may darken, like coming of night.
Yet day will return to him hopeful and bright;
When young and entranced by emotions of love
Or joy, in the moonlight or starlight above.
He feels that his Mary's asleep by the stream.
And charges the lapwing disturb not her dream;
While the rapture of genius shiues out in his face.
And dreams full of tenderness, beauty and grace
Awake in his spirit like stars in the sky.
Or like flowers that unfold when morning is nigh.
Of fill tlie themes that fascinate and charm,
none ever awaken so lively an interest or touch
our sympathies with a power so potent as the
theme of love; and none can so well describe
this witching power as Burns and Moore.
Moore’s sweetest song was:
Of days, then gone, “when beauty bright
His heart’s chain wove;
When his dream of life, from morn till night,
Was love—still love.
New hope may bloom, and days may come
Of brighter, calmer beam;
Yet there's nothing half so sweet in life
Ah love's young dream.”
The morning of life - how unclouded with
cares, how filled with delight and wonder! We
gaze with rapture at the clear sky, the bright
dawn of morning, the gilded east, the sparkling
dew; we love the calm white clouds that float
above us, or, as the day expires, are filled with
the red wine of sunset; we love the birds that
sing amid the foliage of bowers and trees; we
sympathize with the last rose of summer, as its
“mates of the garden lie scentless and dead;”
we watch with delight the blue smoke that so
gracefully curls above the green elms where the
cottage stands, or note the unfolding of the dew-
filled flowers, and the flight of their bright woo
ers, the bees and butterflies!
We love the dark shadows of forest or dell,
The Bunlight that shiues on the nioss-covered well;
And yet in our loves there is nothing so sweet
As the heart's mutual flame when kindred loves meet.
The dawn of the east or the tints of the west
May serve man awhile as a subject or theme;
Yet nought can awaken a feeling so blest
As the tender emotion of love's young dream.
The poet with nature and fancy may sport;
He may count the bright ripples of lakelet or stream,
Or the foam-crested biliows that roll into port,
But none will entrance him like love's young dream.
He may climb the long slopes, and may view from the
Of the mountain's grand summit the morning's first
Y'et nothing of feeling with which man is blest
Compares with the rapture of love’s young dream.
All things human - all human emotions, how
ever witching the charm—are horn to die. Birth,
growth and decay are common to all,—'tis the
story they all tell; and “whilst love, and hope,
and beauty’s bloom,” are blossoms fading, we
find, on looking back, no brighter spot “on
memory’s waste than love’s young dream.”
diun let go of his paddle, drew his tomahawk,
and moved towards her.
Callie had carried out only half her plan when
she cried out. She had a hand on either edge
of the canoe, and swaying her body to the left,
she upset it like a flash.
There was a curse from Laskins and an excla
mation from the Indian. The movement was so
sudden that neither of them could do anything
to prevent As soon as the water closed over
her, C'allie allowed herself to sink to the bottom,
thus escaping the dash of the villains, each of
whom strove to clutch her.
The current was running swift and strong,
and when she was compelled to rise to the sur
face, Laskins and the Indian were forty or fitty
feet below her, swimming here and there, call
ing to each other and seeking to find her.
Callie struggled quietly but vigorously' to pre
vent being carried down too swiftly, and after
two or three minutes, she struck out for the Vir
ginia shore, making no noise and having only
her head above water.
“Callie! Callie! where are you!” called her
father; but she dared not reply. Her two cap-
tors could be Heard splashing around a few
yards below, and she would have betrayed her
position by a return shout.
Going down slowly in spite of her struggles,
but still working toward the shore, she was out
of the channel in ten minutes, and found bottom
with her feet. As soon as she could get a foot
hold and brace against the current, she halted.
The Indian swam up the stream near the point
where the canoe had been upset, but finding no
signs of the girl, he rejoined the renegade. See
ing nothing of her after the canoe went over,
they were forced to the conclusion that she had
been drowned, and by and by she heard them
making for the sliore.
The girl was a hundred and fifty yards below
the flat-boat, and in her confusion she could not
say whether it was on that side of the channel
or the other. She started up the river, but had
not progressed far when the Indians opened fire
on the boat, and the pioneers replied. The
flashes of their guns showed her that they were
on the other side of the channel. Her wet cloth
ing weighed her down, and she dared not at
tempt to swim across. Tue battle might last for
hours, and it was quite likely that the canoes
would be hovering around.
Callie turned and made for the Virginia shore,
planning to reach the bank and get above the
flat-boat and float down, as she was about to do
when captured. The Indians seemed to have
congregated on the shore opposite the boat, j
and they fired with such rapidity that the forest I
echoed and roared with the reports.
Once or twice before reaching the shore the
girl had to swim a short distance, and she was \
nearly exhausted when she rested on the bank.
If any one was moving in the forest, the noise of [
the battle drowned their footsteps. She listened
closely, and finally rose and moved up the river, j
She was nearly opposite the boat, when a cruel
laugh broke on her ear, and Boyce Laskins and j
three or four savages confronted her again.
“I am glad to see you—indeed I am,” he
laughed, as he laid his hand on her shoulder.
“ I see you are determined to rejoin your ]
More Indians came crowding up, and she saw
ond cry!” whispered old Carson, his face look
ing ghastly white in the darkness. “But we
can do nothing.”
They listened a long time, but eye and ear
alike fail d to make out anything further.
Half an hour after the cry, the Indians opened
a hot fire on the boat, and it was only then that
the men discovered M ill Ross’ absence. The
wounded man was below, and there were but
four of them on deck.
“ I fear lie has thrown his life away," said Car-
son. “We did not see him. but I know he went
over the side when he heard that cry, and has
been on shore this quarter of an hour.”
During the afternoon the men had bored port
holes along the bulwarks, so that they could use
their rifles without exposing their heads above
the planks, and now, as the Indians opened tire,
two or three rifles returned a few shots to show
the red-skins that the boat’s crew were on the
alert. By and by, firing commenced on the other
shore, and the boat was every instant struck by
three or four bullets. This was, however, only
a waste of powder and lead. The boat was bul
let-proof from bottom to rail, and so long as the
men did not expose themselves they were safe.
“They are making all this noise to cover some
infernal scheme!” whispered old Carson, when
the double fusilade had been maintained for
nearly half an hour.
Creeping along the deck, he found that the
fire of the Indians had been concentrated on the
stern and the down-stream side of the boat. All
the weapons were carried to the other side, five
or six axes passed up from the cabin, and raising
his head above the rail, despite the great risk, the
old man betrayed the plan.
Twelve or fifteen Indians were on the bar,
close to the boat, ready to board ! The boat had
careened over a little, so that it would be easy
work for them to clamber up her side.
“Wait for the signal,” whispered Carson, as
the three others :rept to his side. “They’ll
make a rush when the firing ceases, but we can
beat them off. Give ’em all the bullets you have
and then use the axes.”
In two or three minutes the firing commenced
to slacken, and all at once there was dead silence.
Then, uttering a wild, fierce yell, the dozen red
skins on the bar made a rush up the side of the
boat, believing that they woul 1 make a complete
surprise. The pioneers sent back the yell as
they rose up, rifles in hand, and the flash of
their guns dashed into the faces of the first sav
ages. The empty rifles were exchanged in a sec
ond for extra ones, and the fight was over in two
minutes. A third volley was fired at the half
dozen red-skins wading and swimming away,
and then forest and river were as silent as death.
“They won’t try that again !” said old Carson,
as he peered down upon the six or seven bullet-
riddled corpses on the bar.
It was expected that the Indians would reopen
the tire from the banks, but they did not. Not
a shot was fired or a yell heard after the fight on
While the pioneers were elated at their easy
victory, they did not forget their situation The
night was not yet half gone, and the demons on
shore would doubtless invent something else be
“It’s my opinion that they’ll try floating tire
on us,” replied old Carson, as one of the men
that the band had separated, and that there was i questioned him. “I only wonder that they
[Written for The Sunny South.]
Callie Carson’s Lovers;
FLAT-BOAT, RIVER AND RIFLE.
BY M. <tlTAI>.
The sleuth-hounds had followed the gild’s
trail here nnd there, on shore and river, until
they had at last captured her. The renegade
had hardly spoken when half a dozen Indians
stepped out from behind the trees which con
There seemed to be a great satisfaction over
Cnllie’s capture, and none of them offered her
any violence. Surprise made her dumb for a
moment, and alter that she would not speak, be
cause she felt such a contempt for the white man
who had turned liis rifle against his own race
nnd linked his fortunes to those of the murder
“ You are pretty sharp,” said the renegade, as
the Indians gathered around, “but you could
not throw ns off the trail. What made you leave
She treated the inquiry with silent contempt,
and he asked:
“Why did they send you ashore? Are you
braver than all the men?"
She still maintained silence, and he contin
•• I shall take great pleasure in letting them
know that we have found you !”
Tue Indians began talking among themselves,
drawing away so that the girl could not catch
their words, and she was left alone for two or
three minutes. She had no chance to escape
them by dashing into the woods, and the water
at her feet was too shallow to permit her leaping
into the river and seeking to outwit them in that
The renegade finally came hack, and laughing
coarsely, he said:
“Now, then, my dear girl. I am going to treat
you to an excursion on the river. Please come
this way to the canoe.”
Resistance would only enrage the savages.
Three orfour of their number had fallen beneath
her aim, and the living could not but feel ma
licious and revengeful. Flinging the renegade’s
hand oft' her arm. she followed him down the
bank a few rods to where a canoe was drawn
upon shore. One of the Indians accompanied
t.iem, and as they were readj to enter the canoe,
“.See here, now, I want to give you a word of
warning. I am going to take you down the river
about two miles, and leave you until we have
captured the flat-boat. We shall pass the boat,
which is fast aground, and if you cry out or at
tempt to give them any warning, thelndian will
sink his tomahawk into your skull! They have
no love for you; even now t.iey are threatening
to burn you at the stake !"
She entered the boat without making any
reply. Death would be no worse than remain
ing a prisoner in the hands of the renegade and
his fiendish friends, anil before the canoe left
the bank she had her mind made up what to do.
Laskins took the bow of the craft, thelndian the
stern, and she sat near the centre. The paddles
sent the light craft spinning along easily and
rapidly for five minutes, and were then lifted
from the water, and the canoe was allowed to
float with the current.
Peering through the darkness, Callie made
out a great black object on the water, and she
knew that it was the flat-boat. Her father and
lover would be watching and listening, and now
was her time. Drawing in a full breath, she
“ Father—Will—I am here. The Indians have
Her voice could have been heard clear across
the river on such a still night. The words were
hardly out of her mouth when a shout was raised
on the flat-boat, showing that her friends had
heard and understood.
Curse you,—curse you!” growled the rene-
and with an exclamation of anger, the In-
a party on each side of the river to prevent the
pioneers from escaping to either shore.
“I wanted to tomahawk you an hourago, "con
tinued the renegade, “but now I'm rather glad
that you called out and informed your friends
of your situation. I’m thinking the knowledge
of your position won't encourage them any. We
thought you at the bottom of the river, and I
thank you for coming back to us. It shows that
you do love me a little. If you did not, you
would not seek my society as you do.”
The Indians muttered and threatened, seeming
desirous of securing revenge then and there;
but the renegade took them aside and made some
appeal which quieted them. Coming back to
Callie, he said:
“There’s an Indian encampment about a mile
below here, and I’m going to send you there.
Two of the warriors will accompany you, and I
need not warn you that they will murder you
on the slightest provocation. I can save your
life if yon mind me, but every soul aboard of the
flat-boat will be dead before sunrise ! They are
fast aground, and the Indians are preparing to
float down upon the boat and capture or burn
The two Indians stepped out and signified
that they were ready, and with one on either
side, she moved down the bank. .She was
hardly clear of the crowd before they also
opened fire on the boat, and then forty or fifty
rifles were blazing away and sending their bul
lets at the little band" of brave pioneers, who
kept up a slow fire in answer, showing that they
were neither discouraged nor appalled. The
woods shook with the sharp reports, and the
frightened birds left their roosts and flew scream
“Every soul aboard of the flat-boat will be
dead before morning," Royce Laskins had said.
Old Carson remembered that his daughter was
standing near him when the flat-boat struck the
snag, and having heard no cry from her. it was
believed that she was thrown overboard by the
shock and drowned.
This theory was accepted by all, and no one
had the least idea when daylight broke that she
was surveying the boat from the Ohio shore.
The situation of the boat was perilous, and
soon after daylight the old man made another
effort to float her. But for the Indians the craft
could have been worked into the channel in half
an hour. As soon as the pioneers showed them
selves over the side, the red-skins on the shore
opened fire, and one of the men was wounded
in the left arm before he could regain the shelter
of the bulwarks.
It was plain that they could not get the boat
afloat as long as the Indians were vigilant, an 1
old Carson called the people around him and
told them that they could only wait and hope.
All the fire-arms were put in good order, the en
trance to the cabin so fixed that it could be bet
ter defended, and then the men had nothing to
do but watch for and be prepared to checkmate
any plan which their wily foes might invent for
the destruction of the boat.
There was grief in every heart at Callie's un
fortunate accident. The women and children
wept and sorrowed, and father and lover carried
pale faces and heavy hearts.
“They shall pay for her death!” whispered
the old man to Wiil. •• Let me see the boat out
of this, and I'll take the trail, and they shall find
me drinking blood every day !”
After the fusilades of the morning, the Indians
were very quiet ail day. It was to be expecied
that they would make a night attack, and the
pioneers were as ready for it as they could be
when darkness came. They were standing to
gether. exchanging whispered words, when Cal-
lie’s voice, as she was being taken past in the
canoe, reached their ears. Her words explained
her situation, and while some of the men re
turned an answering shout, other- ran up and
down, as if there was a way to " i w.
All was quiet after her call, and the men al
most wondered if she had really cried out. The
voice had come from the river, and each man
understood that she was passing up or down.
They would have tired a volley but for fear of
wounding her. and as silence ame ipon boat,
forest and river, the men leaned .".ir out over the
bulwarks and strained their eyes to pierce the
“ They may have killed her to prevent a see- ,
have not yet been smart enough to see that
He at once had all pails and utensils which
would hold water brought on deck, and by means
of a pail and rope cast over the side, everything
was soon full. The last pail was being drawn,
when the Indians on shore set up a great yelling
and whooping, and reopened their fire. The pio
neers had to crouch down to avoid the bullets,
but all were watching and listening to catch the
first developments of the new plan which was to
It suddenly commenced to grow light. The
men knew that it was not an hour past midnight,
and for a moment they rubbed their eyes in
astonishment. Then tire glare of fire was re
flected on the black sky, and river and forest
were lighted up as with the rising sun. The
fire-rafts were coming ! Looking from a port
hole, old Carson counted ten great blazing heaps
of logs and brush bearing down upon them.
They covered half the river, and one or more
could not fail to strike the boat.
It was quickly arranged that two of the four
men should guard the down-river side of the
boat to prevent a surprise, and the vessels hold
ing the water were all moved to the threatened
point. The Indians cheered and yelled like lu
natics, and their rifles rang out every instant.
They were determined that the pioneers should
have no chance against the rafts.
Slowly the burning heaps drifted down. Some
turned into the channel and passed the boat
yards distant, but the largest raft of all floated
as straight down upon the grounded craft as if
guided by human hand. It struck the boat
amidships, ami the dame leaped three feet over
the rail, while the smoke was so dense that the
men could not see each other - .
Old Carson raised his head up among the fly
ing bullets, poised a five-pail kettle of water on
the rail for an instant, then sent its contents
down upon the centre of the burning mass. The
flame fell to nothing in an instant, and with the
remaining three or four pails at his leet. he
quickly destroyed the burning heap and sank
down untouched and unharmed. All the other
rafts floated to right or left, hissing, snapping
and tossing waves of flame into the darkness,
and the red-skins had failed again. They ceased
wasting ammunition when they saw their failure,
and after a few yells of Risappintment the forest
was quiet again.
It was another victory for the pioneers, but
there was no exulting over it. One of their num
ber was in the cabin badly wounded, Will was
gone, and the boat was still fast on the bar.
one hundred lodges in the village, and women,
children, horses and dogs were greatly excited
over the firing up the river. All the adult males,
with the exception of half a dozen old men, were
absent from the village, but the women and chil
dren were running about, and Will saw that he
could not ent-r the village without being discov
ered. He crept as near the lodges as the bushes
would shelter him. and settled down and lis
tened to the excited words of the old men and
the squaws. They seemed sanguine that the,
flat-boat would be captured before morning, and
stakes had already been driven and fagots gath
ered to torture the prisoners.
The scout was impatient to discover the where
abouts of Callie, and although failing to catch a
word to prove that she was in the village, he
waited and hoped. When she entered the vil
lage. accompanied by the two Indians sent by
the renegade, the trio passed within twenty feet
of where the scout was hiding. The arrival of
the prisoner added fuel to the excitement. All
gathered around her, and but for the old men,
the squaws would have fiercely attacked her.
“Wait! wait!” they shouted; “we will have
others here before morning, and all shall be put
to the torture
Will restrained his desire to rush in on the
villagers and fight them single-handed only be
cause he knew that Callie would likely be mur
dered before his eyes. With bated breath he
waited to see if the two Indians would go back
to their companions rip the river. They seemed
in no hurry to do so until the firing meant to
detract attention from the Indians wading out
to the boat commenced. Then they became ex
cited and hurried away. When they had gone,
Will crept closer and discovered that the girl
was a prisoner in one of the lodges, and that
three of the old men were acting as sentinels,
each having a rifle. There were a dozen boys of
from fifteen to eighteen years old around the
lodge, and the scout found the odds so heavily
against him that he gave up his plan of a bold
There was hope that the excitement in the
village would soon abate, and that the women
and children would seek their lodges; but the
firing up the river continued, and finally the re
ports became a grand roar. This was when old
Carson and his men repulsed the attack of the
Indians on the bar, anil recognizing the echoes
of their rifles, Will trembled as he waited for
the tiring to cease. If the Indians won a victory
they would cheer. The firing finally ceased,
and when three or four minutes had passed
without bringing any shouts, the scout knew
that his friends had repulsed the attack. The
villagers seemed to understand it as well, and
their shouts of exultation changed to wails of
sorrow, as the firing had been so heavy that con
siderable loss of life might be expected.
When the village grew quiet, Will changed
his position, calculating that daylight was not
far off. He would remain around the village
until he had found some way to rescue Callie,
or until discovered and obliged to share her cap
In making a half circle to strike around the
village into the heavy timber on the other side,
a footstep alarmed him. It was so dark in the
woods that he could hardly avoid the trees, and
he stopped in his tracks to listen. The foot
steps came nearer, and he made out a dark form
before him. There could be no white men in
the forest. Drawing his knife, the scout struck
the unknown foe without moving out of his
tracks. It was an Indian, returning from the
hank of the river on some errand or with some
message. The knife struck him in the throat,
half severing his head from his body, and he
sank down without a cry or groan.
“One less!” whispered Will, as he bent over
his victim and passed his hand over the body to
identify it by its dress.
The warrior’s life poured out of the ghastly
wound in the throat, and working with great
swiftness, the scout soon had the body disrobed,
even removing the moccasins. Like a flash of
lightning a plan had come to him. Leaving the
naked body on the leaves, where it would cer
tainly be stumbled over before noon, he contin
ued his way. The earth was covered with a
heavy bed of leaves and deer-grass, and being so
near camp, the red-skins could not follow his
trail even if they struck it at all.
Day was dawning as the scout approached the
village from either side.' Creeping down within
ten rods of the first lodges, he forced his way into
a dense mass of briars and vines at the foot of a
tree, and in a few minutes he had removed his
own clothing and donned those of the dead war
rior. There had been no tiring up the .ri ver for
the past two hours, and it was likely that a con
siderable number of the red-skins would return
during the day.
The hiding-place was dangerously near, espe
cially as the village was overrun with dogs; but
Will wanted to be where he could post himself
by ear and eye. After making the change of
clothing, he crept back and straightened the
bushes to blind any signs of his passage. The
squaws and children had not slept any during
the night, and were still in a state of great ex
About eight o'clock, several Indians entered
the camp. The scout heard a low buzz of voices,
and caught words enough to inform him that the
crew of the flat-boat still held out, and that quite
a number of tae attacking party had been killed
during the night. Some of the women and chil
dren began howling and lamenting, but their
wails were interrupted by a fierce shout from the
woods beyond the village.
“ That means they have found the bod}' of that
Indian!” muttered the scout; and he listened
with bounding heart to hear what would follow.
Some of the Indians, coming or going, had
stumbled over the body, and the cry had been
one of horror and indignation.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
It was true that Will Ross left the boat in an
swer to the call from Callie. He had mourned
her as dead, and when her voice reached him.
his amazement and anxiety were about equal.
Without stopping to think or waiting to consult,
he lifted his rifle up and dropped over the side
of the boat into the shallow water.
He had no means of following the girl on the
river, but he headed for the shore and had
reached it before he realized his danger. Shouts
from Indians above and below proved that his
situation was full of peril, and his natural craft
took the place of his impatience and anxiety.
He reasoned that Callie was passng down the
river when she called out, and he climbed the
bank and turned that way.
The Indians were traveling up and down, mak
ing ready to surprise the boat, and Will had to
use the utmost caution to prevent an encounter
with some of them. Unknown to him, of course,
he passed the girl as she sat on the bank after
wading to the shore, and keeping his course
down the river, he at length discovered, by the
barking of dogs, that he was near an Indian en
^nly three or four of the Indians planning
ttie c;..>iure of the boat were of the party attack
ing the settlement at Ahe Landing. The rene
gade had determined to follow the flat-boat to the
mouth of the river if he could not sooner secure
revenge, and two or three of his Indian friends
had accompanied him thus far. War had been
declared all along the river, and every Indian
was anxious to shed blood.
As soon as he discovered the presence of a vil
lage. Will felt certain that Callie had been taken
there. It was situated about half a mile back
from the river, and the continued barking of the
dogs made the route plain. He found about
[For The Sonny South.]
A NIGHT OF TERROR.
I was visiting an old school friend for the first
time since her marriage. Her home was the an
cestral mansion that had been inherited by her
husband—a picturesque building slightly out of
repair, but encircled by beautiful grounds and
commanding a fine view of the rolling country'
around, with the domes and steeples of the
pretty neighboring town peeping over the pur
ple rim of the hills.
We had driven out that afternoon beyond the
fields and ronn 1 through the town, returning
late; had taken seats in the portico to enjoy
the cool breeze and await the mail, which reached
us between ten an l eleven o'clock.
Ma-1-dogs and the cause of their affliction were
freely discussed, one having bitten several hogs
anjd a milch cow that afternoon, and escaped un
harmed, as was believed, from the many shots
tired at him, taking shelter back of the premises
in a briar and plum thicket.
The mail having come, we bid good-night to
the family and sought our room. It was a large
chamber to the right of the entrance, with win
dows reaching nearly to the floor, and to our
dismay, only the front windows had blinds.
We were parleying whether we would risk the
windows up without any protection from outside
intrusion, or put them down and envelop our
self in a furnace heat, when the kind hostess
“You found your room quite ready. It is
“Delightful, rnon cher madame; but we are
afraid of those windows. A half-grown child
can step in from the ground—yea, an ox can
come through them !”
“Nonsense ! there is not the least danger. Be
sides. I thought you were brave. I have heard
often of your exploits with fire-arms, and there
lies your own seven-shooter upon the mantle,
and I will bring you another if yon desire it.”
“Well enough said; but I don't want to be
throttled in my sleep, or scared to death on
awakening to find some one standing over me
with a knife at my throat! The very thought of
it, here in the light and in your presence, almost
takes my breath away. Ugh ! only think of the
poor maniac that slept under the cedars on the
tan-bark walk just one week age !” and down I
put the windows. “ She might come again, and
think it better to sleep under a roof and in a
bed next time.”
“Well.” said the hostess, laughingly, “ I hope
you will not find a worse enemy in the heat than
in the poor, harmless, love-stricken Mota, and
that I shall not find you in the morning suffoca
ted, glaring at me from your pillow with sight
“Better risk the heat, uton ami. Your words
suggest such thoughts as ‘ make us rather bear
these ills we have, than fly to others that we know
not of.’” * -
The au revoir was said, and in our haste to
read the letters upon our table, we retired, for
getting to place the pistol under our pillow. It
was the first neglect for many years.
Drawing the table to the bedside, I opened
first my letters and read them, some of them
twice; then opened the newspapers, read th£
locals and the general news. Long before I
was through, everything was silent in the
house and the hall clock was pealing out the
hour of twelve.
Feeling my eyes drooping, I turned out the
light, and lulled by the katydids, had scarcely’
fallen in “tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy
sleep,” ere I was as fully aroused as if seven
thunders had pealed above the roof.
My heart gave a leap as if it would burst from
its embodiment. My flesh felt as though it were
creeping and shrinking into a mere nothing
Audibly and acutely came to my ears the
breathing of a living being, and close to me. I
was powerless to move, and soon returning
sense admonished me not to attempt it, for fear
I should arouse what seemed from the sound to
be a snoring, sleeping Hercules.
For oyce in my life, I had omitted, nay, for
gotten, to look under the bed for the man all
women look for (seldom finding) before retiring,
and now a dire calamity for this neglect had
overtaken me. The family were sleeping in a
distant room, and the pistol lay upon the mantle.
Thoughts the most ghastly flashed through my
brain like lightning. I tried to pray, but the
awful terror crouched so close to me the words
faded from my memory before they fairly as
sumed shape. The hours, leaden-footed, crept
by, and the clock struck two.
I opened my eyes upon blackest darkness,
and imagination conjured up a blacker hand,
more hideous with its threatening grasp near my
throat than the fearful and portentous one which
superstition saw rising from out the “Sea of
Darkness,” sending lightnings, thunders and
shipwrecks to the mariners.
My poor, tortured body—tortured by the one
immovable position—felt as if lying upon a bed
of rocks, and sinking each moment deeper upon
their ragged edge. Yet I dare not move or
scarcely breathe, lest I rouse the sleeper.
My throat became parched and dry as the des-.
ert over which the simoon had swept with its
scorching breath, and years seemed to come and
go, marking their passage each with a gravestone
set upon my dying body.
The clock struck the hour of three. A slight
move, the tossing of an arm, a low murmur as
of one muttering in their sleep, comes from the
occupant under the bed, and a stream of ice
seems to flow through my veins.
The parting words of the hostess came in that
hour of darkness and terror luminously, like the
‘prophetic handwriting upon the wall,’—“Shall
find you in the morning suffocated, glaring at
me with sightless eyes !”
Four o’clock! As the strokes echo through
the house, there is a movement of the thing
under my bed—a low growl, a short, gurgling
bark—unmistakable canine.sounds. The thought
flashes over me, it is the wounded mad-dog who
yesterday escaped from his pursuers, and has
without doubt found ingress throngh the win
dow and taken refuge.
I have escaped from Scylla to fall upon Cha-
rybdis. I dare not step from the bed to fly from
the room, lest he seize upon me before I can un
lock the door.
It grows lighter. My tormenter stirs, stretches
and growls. Evidently, he is bent upon recon-
noitering his surroundings.
Good heavens! Perhaps he has scented me!
! He will spring upon the bed ! And in an instant
' a horrible vision of frothing madness, lingering
death and bound limbs twitching in convulsions
makes me shiver with dread. Death from hy
drophobia—most fearful of human exits !
With these dark thoughts came strength and
determination to save myself from such a fate.
There was a chair standing at the corner of the
mantle, just where the pistol lay, with its back
against an old-fashioned bureau that was placed
triangularly across the corner. I took in its po
sition at a glance, and rose slowly and stealthily
to a standing posture. Gathering my drapery
in one hand, I made a leap to the middle of the
floor, then another to the chair, and from the
chair to the top of the bufean, every limb quak
ing with fear and horror. Seizing my pistol, I
determined, if need be, “to die with harness
on my back!” And now, oh ! ye gods, he comes
from under his cover to face me! Quick my
trembling arm is raised, and click goes the pis
tol, ready for the bloody work.
Am I prepared, in my tremor and distressed
nervous condition, to look upon the greenish,
blood-shot eyes, the half-opened mouth, with
the foam and blood mingling dropping to the
floor from the mad monster? No ! and he wasn’t
there, but a placid, good-for-nothing little black-
and-tan terrier, hardly as big as a cat, stood
looking up into my wan and terror-stricken
He stared a second in wonder, and then
sniffed contemptuously. Without douht, he
concluded that the ghastly-white scarecrow on
the mantle had been perched up there by the
mistress to frighten him from taking up his com
fortable quarters in the spare bed-room with the
best carpet. Wagging his tail scornfully, he
trotted off' to the door.
“Not yet, my tine fellow !”and the white scare
crow swooped upon him, cuffed his ears, and
sent him whirling through the window (opened
for the purpose) before he could yelp forth his
indignant amazement. So much by way of re
venge for the night of terror the little beast had
cost me. Then, mortified and chagrined, I crept
back to bed and.evolved from my uncomfortable
experience this bit of moral: Never cross the
river before you get to it.
A stoey is told of a Catholic woman who used
her tongue freely to the scandal of others, and
made confession of it to her priest. He gave her
a ripe thistle, and bade her go in various direc
tions and scatter the seed one by one. She re
turned to her confessor after having done so.
“Now go back,” said he, “and gather up the
scattered seed.” And when she objected that
this would be impossible, he replied: “It will
be still more impossible to destroy all the evil
reports you have circulated about others.”
Moral: Beware of sowing thistle seed.
Educate bees. Every time they are disturbed,
give them food. They will learn when they get
a puff of smoke or feel a jar of the gum to expect