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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: