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[For The Sunny South.1
CROWNED TOO TATE.
BY W. W. HEN DREE.
Long time Ik* stood beneath a cloud of sin,
And wrong, and sorrow, still upheld by pride;
And he grew wasted, hollow-eyed and thin.
With toil without and fighting fierce within;
So he bowed down unto the dust and died.
Long time the fury of the storm he braved,
And 'gainst its rudest peltings bared his breast;
And thrusting from his lips the cup he craved,
lie cast away the joys he might have saved,
Till, weary of the strife, he sank to rest.
Stern and unyielding to the very last,
He hurled defiance to the wintry sky;
And struggling madly with the bitter blast,
lie scorned the future ami ignored the past,
And earing not to live, he dreaded not to die.
No woman’s love was his, no man his friend;
lie stood alone upon the sands "f time.
No other love or life with his did blend,
Sufficing to himself, e’en to the end.
In nature proud, in intellect sublime.
Unloved, unloving, he passed on his way,
Stern, haughty, careless in his mighty strength,
Still working onward to the better day,
Unaided and alone, until all prone he lay.
Stripped of his glory, in the dust at length.
And then the world his mighty genius found,
And all conspired his pean loud to raise;
And his cold brows with deathless bays they crown'd.
And shouted out his name with such a sound
That all the earth re-echoed with his praise.
A ROUNDABOUT ROMANCE.
BY s. M. A. C.
CHAI’TL U NIL—Continued.
From tlio outer gate at Llmridgethe road runs
straight and smooth through the level upland
for little more than a mile, then winds down a
rocky hill into the valley of a tributary creek,
which joins the river some two miles below, just
abreast of Daneville, and not until they reach
the to]) of the hill is there pause or break in the
rapid pace of the fleet, true animals. Then,
instinctively it seems, they slacken speed and
go slowly and steadily, under a slightly tight
ened rein, over the gullies and loose, rolling
stones which make the descent, even with due
care, a sufficiently perilous one. Lyt is a prac
ticed and fearless horsewoman, who could not. if
she would, manifest the pretty tremors that
appeal so irresistibly to the masculine instinct
of protection. The motion, so swift that it
seems almost flight, through the soft scented air,
exhilerates her like strong wine, and she had
almost a sense of disappointment in that they
did not dash at the same reckless rate down to
the lower level. When it is gained and they go
at a rather moderate pace, she says:
••I can hardly say, Colonel, which is the more
admirable, the appearance or the behavior of
your horses: but if they were mine, I should
like them a little less well-trained.”
“Kather a singular objection. Will you please
tell me its particular grounds?”
“Ob ! when we came to the rough road, they
seemed to know as well as you did the right
thing to be done; and I believe, even without
your control, would have taken us down with a
steady sobriety utterly foreign to horse nature.
I like a little more individuality, even if I
thereby pluck the nettle, Danger, instead of the
flower, Safety.”
“Isn’t that a little reckless?” says the Colo
nel, with a grave smile; then, after a minute,
“I fear, Miss Lyt, you think me, as well as my
horses, too completely broken to harness. Is it
not so?”
“Somewhat, I confess; still, I think you both
have spirit enough to get out of the traces upon
proper provocation.”
“Rut you cannot quite ‘ think we will do ?’ ”
“ ihe horses will, most certainly. As to your
self, you had better ask Miss Mercy’s opinion.”
“Which would doubtless be severely unflat
tering. I have been quite out of favor with her
these three days.”
"Has Major lJethel supplanted you?”
“Perhaps so. Is he a friend of yours ?”
“Is he of yours?”
“ No: on the contrary, he is my especial aver
sion. ”
“How can you get up a positive sentiment in
regard to such an utter negation ?”
“That is just what I dislike. A downright
scoundrel would be more endurable.”
1‘nrle da Ion/*’ there he is, find there be
yond is the Bluff Spring.”
Blutl Spring was no misnomer. The hill
crowds in close to the creek, and the earth falls
sharply away, leaving a bare escarpment of grav
rock in the shape of a giant horse-shoe. At the
top nods the heavy upland forest, a few smaller
trees grow on the edges, and spicewooil bushes,
now bright with scarlet berries, spring hero and
there lrom clelts in its face; fit the foot, amid
constellations ot purple-white asters, shine the
vivid cones of the Indian turnip. Half-way up,
the Spring breaks out, a bold stream, t old ang
clear as moonlight over snow, and falls leapind
and flashing over lichen-broidered rocks, over
greenest moss and freshest fern, into tin deeply-
hollowed pool worn in the solid rock, whence'it
runs with eager noise on to the wide, s ill creek.
Here is gathered the party from Daneville.
Wash and Miss Low prominently apart, equally
absorbed in themselves find it game of euchre;
Lila at the foot of a towering “scaly-bark,’ grace
fully eager over the classic sport of “mumble-
peg ’ in which Mr. McLean and her brother
Morton are engaged. Just beyond is the stump |
of a huge, prostrate white-oak, on which sits
Miss Mercy, quite outrivaling ‘Patience on ft
monument;" for at her feet is Mr. Inge, his face
wearing the peculiarly innocent look that al
ways betokens its owner’s being engaged in
some specially enjoyable mischief. On the high,
narrow ledge over which the water bursts to
light, Norah is perched, a crown of fern and
tberries making her seem its guardian naiad,
‘while far in front of all lounged Major Bethel,
The tete-a-tete on the piazza—“ Why do you suppose I came out here ?” said he.
staring vacuously at the sky. the trees, and the
water—oftenest the latter, as it shows in its clear
depth his own prepossessing person. All this
Lyt sees at a giance. and she smiled to herself
over Norahs wisdom in thus avoiding a tete-a-
tete with the Colonel’s “special aversion.” Norah
is grace itself in motion, and as she comes
lightly down from her solitary liight, with eyes
aglow and lips that vie in hue with her ric.lily-
coral crown, Lyt thinks a man might well be
pardoned some jealousy about a creature so
rapturously lovely.
“Here at last,” she says, with a mock tragic
air,; then sot to roc*. “Oh ! Lyt, why didn’t you
tell me to have a chill, too? I am perfectly ex
hausted from the efforts I have made to be
amiable and entertaining to.day.”
“ Never weary in well doing. How came yon
to find it so laborious? 1 manage to get along
admirably with our friends, who, you cannot
fail to know, are all da la cr<nu d> evtte
ter re.”
“ And like other cream, occasionally get sour.
When I got there this morning. Miss Lou
was exaggeratedly stiff, being hurt that Wash
instead of Morton had gone for me, and Morton
was teazing her and his pet terriers with about
equal audacity and success. Randolph, with
tbe usual brotherly consideration, monopolized
Ella: Miss Mercy had full possession of Major
Bethel, while the General and Messrs. Inge and
Windsor went off to a plowing match, which
left me wholly to Mrs. Dane for entertainment.”
“What did you talk about?”
“ Oh ! a little of everything, genealogy largely.
I ouglit to know who is kin to who, in at least
three counties, and chickens, and gardening,
and bedqnilts I made her an interesting new
pattern—and had just got to comparing notes
on ltickling, preserving, etc., when she was
called away to see about dinner.”
•- You will do; I expect to see you in the White
House yet.”
“ Let’s be off.” calls Morton. “The Colonel
got here just in time to start. Go on up the
creek to old Bligh’s, from there it’s a nice four-
mile beat home, and I want to see if any of
your fancy spans can beat my everlastin’ fast
racker.”
“ Agreed !” said Major Bethel. “And I bet,
mine against your terrier that you don’t beat
m e. ”
“Done, done! bnt Windsor’s the one I mainly
want to run against. He’s so precious of them 1
killin’ grays.”
“We .will try that some day, Morton, but not I
when there are ladies along,” the Colonel an
swers, with the grave good humor of some grand
Newfoundland replying to the challenge of a
puppy, scarce steady on its legs.
“Try it now,” says Lyt. “I am just in the j
humor for a race,” while Morton laughs teaz- j
l-.gly, saying:
“I know you’d hate for ’em to see you beat, J
but you needn’t mind, for I’m sure to tell ’em
of it when I do do it."
Of which speech the Colonel takes no notice,
only saying to Lyt:
“1 am almost s.,rry to refuse you this glimpse
of your favorite nettle, Danger, but so it must j
be." I
When the hill-top is gained, he draws rein ,
and file others go to the front, Mr. Dane’s white- j
stockinged sorrels, half-blown from the steep
ascent, abreast of Mr. luge’s browns, who, with
cinnamon muzzles well in air, and easy, power
ful strides, seem as dillettante as their master, in ,
strong contrast to Major Bethel’s fiery, showily- j
harnessed blacks, rucking, pulling on the bit, !
snatching for their heads at the least shaking of j
the rein, behind whom is Morton on a really i
; splendid chestnut, a much more inbdligent
j creature than his rider.
“ You see, I give ’em the start; can afford to do
it. Good-bye, Colonel; we won’t wait supper for
you.” lie calls in passing.
“ I am sorry for that horse. He must feel that
an inferior controls him,” Lyt says, looking
after the flushed swaggerer.
“The boy is gentlemanly enough when
sober,” Colonel Winds,.r answers. “Get away,
lads. Though noi in the race, 1 don’t mean to
be distanced.”
Nor evidently do the grays. Though they
stood as it carved of granite at the master’s
word, there were quivers of intense excitement
in the delicate pointed ears, an emulous fire in
the dark bright eyes, and when their beads are
once more i:i the road, they take the bits fairly
between their teeth and go in good earnest. The
others are some hundred yards ahead, envel
oped in thick dust-clouds, anil going at a ship
ping pace, and for the first mile they do not
gain much. Their blood and training begin to
tell. The interval shortened rapidly. At Elm-
ridge gate, they pass the now hindmost sorrels:
a little further on, the foaming, panting blacks,
whose condition is not equal to tluir spirit,
away in front of whom the gallant chestnut
strives vainly to recover the start from the
browns, whose steadily supported speed seems
to proclaim them easy winners. The grays have
almost locked them, when clear and shrill
through tho late sunlight comes a railway whis
tle.
“The six o’clock train,” said Mr. Inge, pull
ing up. “ Is Windsor mad, I wonder? He will
meet it at the crossing. Good God ! Those gray
devils are running away !”
They are, indeed. For once, instinct over
masters training. The blood that had drunk
tire from eastern suns through long generations
now altogether defied control. Colonel Windsor
knows it, but he holds the reins coolly and firm
ly, as though more than master. The train is
in full view, the only chance of safety—it may
be, life—is to cross before it. He leans forward,
urging the maddened horses to yet madder
speed, then turned to Lyt. She knows and un
derstands to the full their peril, but sits quiet
and untreuibliug, with no trace of excitement
save a starry brilliance in the wide brown eyes,
and a bard clasp of one hand over the other.
Neither speaks a word, yet that movement brings
them nearer each other than the acquaintance
ship of weeks. On thundered the train -for
ward go the grays, the speed and the distance of
each nearly equal. The crossing is at right
angles, and the gleaming, demoniac engine
seems right upon them as the horse-hoofs strike
tire from the rails. < Inc terrific plunge as sharp
blows rain on the horses one little, long instant
of agonized suspense; the air quivers with tic-
jar and thud of the engine, but it is behind
them; ahead is the clear road to Daneville, and
the engineer thinks “That fellow is surely crazy.
That was closer than touch-aiul-go.” Colonel
Windsor feels as though a strong hand had been
unclutched from his throat. Lyt draws a long,
almost sobbing breath. The horses, conscious
of no further rivalry, fall into a rapid, square
trot, and draw up at the Daneville gate as
quietly and obedient as though they had
not and never could have so endangered them
selves and their master. Presently the rest
came in Norah and Major Bethel last of all.
One who hail chosen to look, might have seen
that he held her liaml in a close clasp, turning
to her the while a face flushed, passionate, eager,
very different to the languid, immobile coun
tenance which the world knows. Some com
pact is evidently just made between them, for
Norah said, making a motion as though she
would withdraw her hand: “ You will certainly
do it. if yon love me.” for answer to which the
Major raised the soft, rosy-fingered band to his
lip*-
In the dressing-room Lyt sits quietly, watch
ing the rest who are washing away dust, renew
ing powder, brushing into order wind-tangled
tresses. Miss Mercy, with great content in her
I pink gown and rainbow sash, drops presently
on tin rear lounge and says:
“I reckon you think it’s mighty nice, Miss
Lyt, to be having so many walks and talks, and
rides with the Cnrn’l like I used to have, but
you’d better look out. Presently it will be some
body else, and then it won’t be so nice.”
•• You’re very right, Miss Mercy,"addsNorah.
••The Colonel is a terrible flirt. He used to
wait on me before he saw you, and just as Lyt is
avenging my wrong on you, some one else will
avenge yours on Li r ” - giving Lyt as she speaks
; a side-glance of intense mischief.
“ Ob ! I don’t mean—there ain’t nothing wrong
i about it only I was going to tell her that I’ve
taken Mr. Inge away from her to pay for it.”
“How well you manage! I should never have
thought of that. ”
“Oh! the Danes are sharp folks. You don't
S get ahead of them easy.”
•• I see that, so shall give it]) Mr. Inge to you,
though I’ve been trying all this year to captivate
him.”
* ‘ AY ell! I don’t think lie’s so hard to catch.
I'm going with him to camp-meetin”'- a plan
i which, it may be mentioned, that gentleman
only frustrated by exchanging hi;; buggy and
; span with Randolph McLean, for the gaily-
| caparisoned saddle-horse which General Dane !
j had placed at the latter’s disposal.
Who are you going with, Lyt?” asks Norah,
nestling a magnificent bud of Grant d>s UntaiHes
smothered in geranium, just where its rich reflec
tion will be most effective against her clear
forehead.
“ I don’t know. Mrs. Marcy, most likely, as
she is so resolved on my going.”
“ That’s satisfactory,” and Norah nods as she
speaks, to her flower in the glass, whose arrange
ment may or may not be the tiling which pleases
her. However that may be, I only know that
Lyt went to bed thinking discontentedly:
"I wish it was Monday, or I might have an
other chill, anything rather than a ride of fifteen
miles with Major Bethel.
CHAPTER XIII.
IN' WHICH WE GO TO CAMP-MEETING.
Hurricane Camp-Ground was fifteen miles
from E! in ridge, consequently it behooved our
friends who purposed going thither to take an
early start; and accordingly, at half-past eight
they were all in motion for that spot, which
was so named, some averred, from having been
denuded of timber by a hurricane in the days
of the earlier settlers, and to this derivation
numberless rotten tree-trunks, half-buried in
the rich black mould where the woods yet stood,
gave a color of probability, while the irrever
ently-minded declared that it was thus called
with reference to the very tempestuous demon
strations of saints and sinners for which it was
famed throughout the country. It was equally
and deservedly famed for the social eminence ot
its tenters, the orderly hospitality they showed
all comers, and the greatness of the crowds and
preachers always present at its Sunday services.
This particular Sunday, Dr. Show, one of the
chiefest men of the Conference in whose bounds
it lay, was to preach; and as the fact had been
widely advertised, five thousand was the lowest
1 estimate of the. number who would be there—to
hear him, or for some other purpose.
The Llmridge party were becomingly deco
rous. As they wound along under a sky that
had been overcast, but now showed here and
there between tlie clouds, the intense brilliance
of color only worn at summer s close, Mr
Inge’s rein grew slack and nis bead drooped
thoughtfully forward. Norah talked to t ol.
Windsor with a sweet, sensible gravity that .sat
wonderfully well upon her. Lyt grew kindly
tolerant of Major Bethel s platitudes in watch
ing, now tlie trees in tlieir green pride ot fullest
leafage, lit tip once or twice with a torch ot
flaming scarlet; now the miracles ol dewy gossa
mer, hanging in the hedgerows; anon a field ot
tall corn, overrun with morning-glories, which
hung a million dewy bells, blue, purple, rose,
white, crimson, many-spotted, to a sun as yet
without strength to close them. Iho lover-,
talked, as such couples always will, fragmentary
snatches—to them everything, to the world they
quite forgot or ignored, nothing—and had great
content and much happy laughter in so doing.
Even Miss Mercy, in the carriage with Mesilames
Dane and Marcy, grew into a happy forgetful
ness of her thwarted plan, anil chattered with
just the same artless amiability, as though Mr.
Inge had been her escort and most devoted cav
alier. Good Miss Mercy! When nature en
dowed you with that admirable sensibility, and
ivy-like proneness to cling always to the nearest
oak, how well she gave you, too, that lacility of
heart and of temper which admitted ol and
indeed insured blissfully easy consolation tor
every pang of disappointment. If she had not.
how would you have leaned from the window,
mile after mile, to converse with Mr. Carroll
Mayhew, who, attired in the very tip ot latest
fashion, and bestriding a gaily-prancing steed,
presently came up with our friends and held
them the rest of the way. Nor was he the only
one whom they thus encountered. A bird or n
balloonist might have seen a picturesquely bro
ken procession—bevies of young and laughing
riders, horse or mule-back, like Gilpin, all agog
to dash through thick and thin: handsome, sink
ing carriages full of well-dressed people, the
like vehicles, in all stages of dilapidation, but
full to overflowing; stout farm-wagon-, crammed
with chairs, that threatened to spill tlieir occu
pants at every hill; other wagons carrying dark
ies and watermelons, the former bent on making
this an occasion of temporal if not of spiritual
profit. All these our friends saw, and I regret
to say, passed, in equal breach of the courtesy ol
the road, and expressions ol the common na
tional propensity to get beyond the station in
1 which we find ourselves, without regard u> the
vested or traditional rights of others. Arrived
at the camp-ground, the scene was anything but
devotional. A cloud of horses and vehicle-
filled the woods about the wide, square enclo
sure, inside which stood an irregular paralleio-
: gram of tents, made of rough plank set upright.
They were built originally with two square rooms
of moderate size, separated by a wide-open
passage with sheds in the rear across the whole
length, but all sorts of queer additions had been
made from year to year, at front, side and back,
till they were now unequaled specimens of
jumbled picturesqueness. Light anu air were
supplied equally by foot-square apertures just
beneath the eaves and the wide cracks in the
outer walls. The interior arrangements showed
them emphatically places of preparation, not to
be abided in, save in sleep, for around the walls
the floor held ranges of sweltering feather-beds,
above which, midway to the roof, were yet other
ranges, supported on often tremulous uprights.
Villainous, cheap looking-glasses, tin pans and
pine buckets represented the conveniences of
the toilet —for it was axiomatic that you must
carry nothing to the camp-ground save what
could not. or you could afford to break, and
even the most elegant soberly subscribed to the
creed—and in the passages were chairs and
benches. Within, trunks, crammed with the
belongings of tenters and visitors, standing at
every possible angle to each other, served to seat
such as grew tired ot standing. Meals were
taken at the long table in the rear shed, which
adjoined tlie pantry, and beyond which was a
cooking tire that reddened almost to blistering
the face of many a troubled Martha, while it
only brightened into shinier good humor those
of her ebonv handmaidens. About midway the
square of tents was the shelter, high-centered,
low-winged, with seats for twelve hundred hear
ers; carpet of bright, new'straw, and “ stand
capacious enough for a conference. The earth
was inches deep in dust, which the constantly
moving multitude stirred perpetually into
clouds, stifling, yet almost impalpable, while the
buzzing strife of tongues was like the noise ot
many waters.
By a lucky chance. Mrs. Marcy and her party •
found seats close at the left of the pulpit, where
the chances of hearing the sermon, and inspect
ing, without rudeness, the rest of the crowd,
and spying out who was there, were incompara-
ably good. The last-mentioned. Miss Mercy, at
least, was by no means inclined to neglect. Al
most every minute she touched Lyt’s arm with
“There’s Sally Hearn,” “I wonder who
brought Mary Allen here,” “Well, I declare! if
there don’t come Alice Wynne, with Tom Daw
son, and she used to wouldn’t speak to him,”
etc., etc., etc.
Miss Mercy was in high feather. She lmd
walked the length of tlie main aisle in full view
of the whole assembly, with Messrs. Inge and
Mayhew each stde, and had informed Lyt in a
loud, sibillant whisper almost ere the gentle
men left them —for at camp-meeting jilace a»x
ilaao s is rigidly the rule, and the man who there
takes a seat on Sunday does so only to resign
it—that she “ blieved it was nicer not to have
any special beau, as that sorter kep’ oft’ tlie
rest, and that she wouldn't be a bit surprised if
she had half a dozen when she went to start
home.”
Mrs. Dane was engrossed with a long unseen
cousin; Mrs. Marcy talked in low undertones to
Norah, pointing out county notabilities, whose
faces and toilettes the latter scanned with much
outward decorum and inward amusement. Lyt
alone sat quiet and motionless, as became the
place and the hour. Presently Norah leaned
toward her with a slight, mischievous laugh,
saving behind her fan: