The Continental Monthly, Vol. 2, No. 2, August, 1862 | Page 5

have looked down, have seen that act, and have forgiven him?
* * * * *
In the first moments of grief the sympathy of friends and the words of consolation bring no relief. How much more harshly do such words grate on the ear when the soul is bowed down by remorse and unavailing regret! Then the wounded spirit finds peace nowhere but with God.
I saw that the Colonel would be alone, and turning to him, as he prepared to follow the strange vehicle which, with its load of death, was already jolting its way over the rough forest road, I said:
'Will you pardon me, if I remain with your friend here for a while? I will be at the mansion before dark.'
'Oh! certainly, my friend; come when you feel disposed,' he replied, and mounting his horse, he was soon out of sight among the trees.
'Now, Barnes,' I said, shaking off the gloomy feelings that had oppressed me; 'come, I must see that wife of yours, and get a glimpse of how you live.'
'Sartin, stranger; come in. I'll give ye th' tallest dinner my 'oman can scare up, an' she's sum pumkins in th' cookin' line;' and he led the way to the farm-house.
As I turned to follow, I slipped a half-dollar into the hand of the darky who was holding my horse, and asked him to put her again into the stable.
'I'll do dat, sar; but I karn't take dis; massa doan't 'low it nohow,' he replied, tendering me back the money.
'Barnes, your negroes have strange ways; I never met one before who'd refuse money.'
'Wal, stranger,'tan't hosspetality to take money on yer friends, and Bill gets all he wants from me.'
I took the silver and gave it to the first darky I met, who happened to be an old centenarian belonging to the Colonel. As I tossed it to him, he grinned out: 'Ah! massa, I'll git sum 'backer wid dis; 'pears like I hadn't nary a chaw in furty yar.' With more than one leg in the grave, the old negro had not lost his appetite for the weed: in fact, that and whisky are the only 'luxuries' ever known to the plantation black.
As we went nearer, I took a closer survey of the farm-house. It was, as I have said, a low, unpainted, wooden building, located in the middle of a ten-acre lot. It was approached by a straight walk, paved with a mixture of sand and tar, similar to that which the reader may have seen in the Champs Elys��es. I do not know whether my backwoods friend or the Parisian pavior was the first inventor of this composition; but I am satisfied the corn-cracker had not stolen it from the stone-cracker. The walk was lined with fruit-bearing shrubs, and directly in front of the house were two small flower-beds.
The dwelling itself, though of a dingy-brown wood-color, was neat and inviting. It may have been forty feet square on the ground, and was only a story and a half high; but a projecting roof and a front dormer-window relieved it from the appearance of disproportion. Its gable ends were surmounted by two enormous brick chimneys, carried up on the outside, in the fashion of the South, and its high, broad windows were ornamented with Venetian blinds. Its front door opened directly into the 'living-room,' and at the threshold we met its mistress. As the image of that lady has still a warm place in a pleasant corner of my memory, I will describe her. She was about thirty years of age, and had a fresh, cheerful face. To say that she was handsome, would not be strictly true; though she had that pleasant, gentle, kindly expression that sometimes makes even a homely person seem beautiful. But she was not homely. Her features were regular, her hair glossy and brown, and her eyes black and brilliant, and for their color, the mildest and softest I had ever seen. Her figure was tall, and in its outline somewhat sharp and angular; but she had an ease and grace about her that made one forget she was not molded as softly and roundly as others. She seemed just the woman on whose bosom a tired, worn, over-burdened man might lay his weary head, and find rest and forgetfulness.
She wore a neat calico dress, fitting closely to the neck, and an apron of spotless white muslin. A little lace cap perched cosily on the back of her head, hiding a portion of her wavy, dark hair, and on her feet--a miracle, reader, in one of her class--were stockings and shoes! Giving me her hand--which, at the risk of making her husband jealous, I held for a moment--she said, making a gentle courtesy:
'Ye ar welcome, stranger.'
'I sincerely thank you, madam; I am