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|r * ' ■ 4 1 > Vus vO '*■ », / _j> *V 4 i"' - W fa}* M If v> ,»U- *v . > *; - , .S *n • f.. i f- tfV. « ' l r ■< f 1f ■ V»« I*V..«; 4■ I PI BLraBBP BY JAMBS ftABPfdH, KEW SERIES.] THE STORY TELLER, = flft* Southern Field and Fireside.] *\, BELLMONT. BT mbs. BUI K. HIMT, How the whole picture of s ohlldhood lies Oft 'midst your bough* fonrottcn buried deep! Til! razing through them up thfc summer skies As hashed we stsuA, * breeze perchance may creep, And old sweet leaf-sounds reach the inner world Where memory ooila—and 10l at once unfurl d Hie past a glowing scroll, before our eirt t. Spreads clear 1 ’ ' [1 Inman*. IN traveling along oue of tbe principal roads leading from the thriving and busy town of D——, one cannot but be impressed with tbe quiet beauty of the surrounding country, with its ample, home-like farm-houses, almost? flen cealed from view by extensive lawne, which are bordered by fields of luxuriant corn and cotton. The spacious hill-side pastures, wa tered by small streams, over which droops the graceful weeping willow,whose pliant braucbes keep time to the music of every passing breeze; Ihe low, irregular rail fences, which form a support for the twuiiug branches of the Cherokee rose, whose pure, white blossoms bp* pee# in anowwtekes ufi«r the dark green f*JT* isbed leaves, diversify tbe rich and productive plantations which adorn the vicinity. The ri der will involuutarily check hie borees 1 reins as on gaining a alight emiuence in the road, he beholds stretched before hie view a lawn of ex tensive magnitude, where tbe huge old oaks cross and recross each other at every imagina ble angle, aDd from whose brawny arms sweep long and dark festoons of gray moss, which seem to hang as a drapery of mourning over tbe long avenues, which bad once been pressed . by gay and happy feet, but now grown over with weeds and grass; as still and sombre looking as are tbe’greves of that once happy household. Upon the highest part of tbe emi nence are tbe remains of what was once the noble mansion of a wealthy Englishman, who owned tbe place while our country was mill ia possession of the British. It had been occu pied for several generations by hie descendants, but twenty-five years previous, and soon after tbe death of its owner it was partly destroyed by fire. The remainder bed been allowed to stand without repairs, and finally, with tbe sur rounding plantation, was sold. This lawn, or pleasure ground occupied a considerable space in front of the building, end extended some < distance in the rear, where it was terminated by a high bluff on the river. The old gran ite steps, leading down to the water’s edge, though grey and crumbling, still remain, but the light pleasure boats, which formed a promi nent feature in the amusements of Bellmont hall, were no where visible. v To the old hall we will turn, where an inde scribable awe will seize the beholder as he passes through its stately corridors, and indeed, could voice be given to those carved ceilings, and frescoed walls, they would reveal tales of love; the festivities of the bridal hour; the blissful days of quiet happiness; the sweet music of childhood’s joyous laugh, and the kind accents of friendship’s soothing words.— Or they might tell sadder tales of tbe wretched victim, as he wrung his bands in agony,and then applied the unerring ball, or quaffed the fatal draught; or it might be the keen, slow an guish that was cutting asunder tbe sensitive chords of woman’s bleeding heart. Within those walls the living had heard that time to them should be no more, and thftjrouM spirit first beheld the light of an earthly existence. Many incidents of thrilling interest could be called from its time-worn pages, but it is not vuh these we propose to linger, for Bellmont, w.th its proud old name had passed into other hard®, and its ancient glory buried with things of tbi past. It was now in possession of Mr. Ralst i, a wealthy planter, whose residence > was abfat half a mile from Bellmont, as it still D continued to be called. Years before he bad c. -■' ji ; , £jjp* Sp \ 1 • i9r |bHF| WMRsBHRrv B^ v a V:V\|\uL IMMWwI/ ‘ Wl'Mry sj '.^b;. JHißgßHwj<i t y, I S. v »SRL Ejr s *ss r ' m . . - - ———-—^——^—^l. AUGUSTA. GA., SATURDAY, JANUARY 3, 1863. purchased the spacious plantation of which it formed a part, and left the ruins undisturbed, considering tbe new building site more eligi ble. Mr. Ralston was a man several years past the prime of life, but was one of those persons too rarily met with, who had not outlived the sympathies and enthusiasm, of youth, and al though time bad left its furrows on his brow, it bad not congealed, or even rendered more sluggish the milk of human kindness in his breast. He found ample scope for the exercise of his benevolent feelings towards his fellow beings who pore less favored than himselt. In him tbe feeble and aged found a friend and com forter, the young and thoughtless a counsel lor, ever ready to lend a listening ear, aud with a kind look and cheering word, to help them, whether their troubles wore real or imaginary. His genial, hospitable disposition, drew around him a boat of frieuds,and no gathering of young people was considered complete without Mr. Ralston,and hiselegaut house and grounds were often the scene of festive gaitr. 'His family consisted of his wife, an adopted son of fifteen years, and a little daughter of ten sum mers. All a mother’s love was centered in these #wg dft * tot the tnoiWfs prayer orealhed Torch, an earnest petitioa went with it, that they might not en gross that love, even to idolatry, for her heart had often been bereft of its treasures, and in the church yard might be seen five little! mounds, the tablet of each inscribed with ‘some sweet pet name and aged two.’ Tne evening of which we speak, Mr. and Mrs. Ralston were seated in the trout piazza, eujoying the gentle and balmy air, the former in bis comfortable arm chair of white oak, the workmanship of old uncle Mark, who consid ered himself the personage of most importance (hia master only excepted) on the plantation. Mra. Ralston, with her bright knitting need ’ les plying rapidly through the meshes of a lit tle pair of gloves—‘Jennie’s school gloves’ she would tell you—which, by the way, were more rarely found on Jennie's hands than in the bot tom of her school satchel. She teld Masay confidentially that she did despise gloves, and did wish that mother and aunt Elsy would'nt knit to many for her. A merry little laugh on the steps leading from the piazza, caused Mrs. Ralston to look up from her work, to see Jennie seated there with her lap full of flowers, and large bay leaves, which she, and a little negro girl of her own age were industriously pinning together with long sharp thorns. 4 Making a fancy cap for Wellington,’ was Jennie's reply to her mother’s question of what she was doing, and the aforesaid Well ington, a little darkey, whoae nether limbs Werp not remarkable for their resemblance to an arrow, sat a few steps below, bolding a half grown yellow cat, and watching the movements of his young mistress, with no ordinary degree of interest, for when that was completed, iheir usual afternoon drill was to come off in tbe back yard, where Miss Jennie officiated as cap tain and drummer on an old tin pan. ‘ Jennie,’ said Mrs. Ralston, ‘lam aatonisbed at you, after all that I have said to you about playing so much with tbe little negroes. Send them out of the flower garden immediately, and come in and get your lessonq.jbr to-mor row.’, 1 4 1 have got them, already,’ soid Jennie, quickly glancing at her fattier, as if expecting him to plead her cause, but be was too much engrossed with his paper, and Jennie arose slowly, emptying her flowers into Massy’s apron. 4 Well, if yon know your lessons, go and bring your quilt scrap? here, and make a square before supper time.’ . ; ‘Mother,’ and Jennie looked as if she was struck with a bright idea, * please let me make an apron for Charity's baby ?’ 4 Jennie,’ replied Mrs. Ralston, with a grieves look,, I told you to get your quilt,’ and without any mot* partying, Jennie flair away to obey. ‘The child seems to be growing perfectly wild’ said Mrs. Ralston with a aigb, and turn ing to her husband with a troubled look. ‘ Oh, noaseose, Annie, he exclaimed, ‘ wild flowers are more hardy than your little hot house plants; she has no companion of her own age, and with her lively, frolicsome dispo sition, it is natural for her to enjoy compauy wherever it may be found. She reminds me of an active little humming bird, darting from Sower toJfcrwer, extracting sweats from every one. Let her run wild if she will, abe has time enough tame.’ ‘ She has uo companion—no sister,’ and the moisture gathered in tha eyes of Mrs. Ralston, as she thought of the little dimpled hands that lay so quietly crossed above the little beans that were' stilled forever. Jouuirsoon returned, very demurely carry ing her work-basket in one band, and a small rocking-chair in the other, and placing them by her mothers aide, wsb about to begin her task. * - .v-' t.-\ • Your father, as usual, has been pleading for you, said her mother, 4 but I am afraid that you will grow up to be a very ignorant young fedy ’ 4 Oh, l a 1 sew lots to-morrow,’and almost turned fcs its usual place in her mother's room. 4 Mother, liaven’t you tdrgotten to have the plants you rot out yesterday, watered ? Can’t I run and led John to get the watering pot; and mayn't I help him ?’ An assenting nod at the end of this speech, and Jennie was soon seen following the gar dener down one of the circular carriage drives, running from flower to flower, and asking all manner of questions, feeling very important, for as she told the ecbool girls, abe helped •John every evening to water mother's flowers. An exclamation of 4 my Bakes alive I’ caused John to look up, and enquire what was the matter. 4 Do look at that little funny old womau com ing down the road,’ said Jennie. 4 1 do think she must look like a fchost.’ 4 La missy,’ chuckled John, ‘ you uever seed a ghost; they don’t come iu day time, but only 'pears at uigbt, aud then in long white gowns, and kinder sails along. I guess dat old wo man ia made of fleah and blood by the way she can step along.’ Jennie stood for some moments watching the approach of what was indeed a strange looking piece of humanity, then turning and darting to w arda the house, was soon in the presence of her parents. Her father put aside bis paper, and looked enquiringly at her, for he knew, from her dila ting eyes .hat there was something on her mind, which was too much for her to keep. 4 There’! the funniest—looking—woman, and Jennie caight her breath between every word, and Ido believe abe is coming right here; she walks just so,’—and Jennie started acroas the piazza, in that peculiar style which ladies of the old school so much admire, and think can only be acquired by tbe careful training of an accompiisied dancing master; but glancing over her stoulder Jennie perceived that the ex pected viator had already entered the gate,and was fast ipproaching '.he house, when s,he very quicky exchanged her 4 limping’ for longer strides tofards her father, where she seated herself, tailing the precaution to keep him be tween herijeif and tbe entrance. Mr. Raljton, with his usual polite and gentle manly manner arose to receive an old lady who was alreaiw on his threshold, and in return to bis kind ' good evening’ received a short nod without a aocompanying word. Mrs. R« ston looked up to see what she sup posed to b i an extremely old and peculiar look ing femal, attired in a dresa of very gaudy hue, reac ing scarcely to her ankle; a oape thrown ovfer her shoulders, though differing in design of pattern irom her dress, was not be hind it in fyiug with tbe rainbow hues. Oa her head was a prodigious bonnet of black calico, I * % AT IrKMffi^oSußTPeTAwilllll. • • toe cape of which descended below her waist. | 4 Wopder where she got the pattern of it,’ thought Jennie. 4 1 know Miss Patsy would like to have it, it beats anything she’s got.’ Mrs. Ralston bad given her a chair, upon which she seated herself, and taking off her bonnet, loosened a large old fashioned comb from her head, at the same time giving it a little shake, which seut the hair in a wavy mass to the floor. It was almost entirely white, but here and there might be seen a dark strand, remind ing one of what it once had been; then rnnahig the comb several times through it, drawing all the hair back from her face, she Commenced winding it slowly around her hand, and at length had it in one massive coil, at the back of her delicately shaped head, which she sur rounded by tbe high-lop comb, and deliberately replacing hpr bonnet, turned to Mr. Ralston. ‘Are you, air, the owner of Belltnont?’ she enquired, fixing his black, piercing eyes upou his face. 4 Yes, madam.’ . , _ ‘1 have come then,’ she continued, ‘to know upon what terms you would rent the place.’ An amused look played about the corners of Mr. Ralston's mouth, as bo thought of how long the bets had claimed it, as their owu; and how often the owis, with their dismal, midnight screeches, had made its solitary chambers echo to their sounds. F u ~farwrpsr ine the house and grounds, before making a bargain ; it may not fill the idea its name sug gests.’ I have already been there, and am acquainted with all of its defects; and now, if you will iet me have the place, state tbe terms. Verv business like thought Mr. Ralstou, and scarcely knowing how to reply to her direct question, glanoed at his wife. ‘Have you a family?’ queried Mrs. Ralston before her husband coaid reply. ‘No.’ '. ‘Where bare you been living?’ ‘ln various places—sometimes here, and sometimes there.’ ‘You look as if you have traveled a good die tanoe,’ continued Mrs. Ralston. Are you not tired ?’ ‘No,’ waa again the laconic answer. Mrs. Ralston, still not discouraged in eliciting some thing of her history, remarked 'that Bellmont was a very lonely place for a woman to live without company.’ A short, hollow laugh was all the answer, and all sat iu silence for some minutes. At length, Mr. Ralston, turning to his visitor, said: ‘suppose I let you have place, there is no ground immediately around it flt foe cultivation; what was dbee a garden ia now only a thick growth of trees; how could you support your self?’ ‘Honestly.’ Satisfactory, thought Mr. Balaton, as lar as it goes, and, being rather amused than vexed at her taciturnity, told hot that she had liberty to take possession of tbe plaoe, and, after trying it a while, might make her own terms. A quick glance from hia wife assured him that this agreement did not meet with her ap probation ; but, just at this moment, a servant entered bearing a package of letters and papers which he handed to bis master. My dear, here is one for you, said Mr. Ralston handing his wife, one of the letters. ‘From Reinhold, the dear boy,’ she exclaimed, as she glanoed at the bold and free looking su perscription. Tbeir visitor arose saying, 'her business was through, and she would go.’ ‘You surely don’t intend to take possession to-night, sara Mr. Ralston in an enquiring tone.’ ‘Why not ?’ ‘I should think the place required a little at tention before being habitable ; and have you furniture, or provision* there ?’ ‘No, but I can stay without’ 4 I should think, Annie, said Mr. Ralston, turning to his wife, and wondering at her unu sual silence where she thought there was an object on which sho could exercise her charity, that yon could find a room, and some refresh- IVOL. I.—NUMBER 1.