The Sumter banner. [volume] (Sumterville, S.C.) 1846-1855, 1849-09-12
:IMlAcelln,ITDstS.
ANNIE GRAY.

She was winsomc girl. Never
I was one moro so. Her home was iii
the opening ola gorge of the mountain
where the ravinc spreads out into y val
ley, not very wide, watcrcd by the
stream that dashed wildly over the rock
alittlc farther up. The broad low cot
stage Of tho widow Gray Gas will call
3 her by your leave, although I need not
say i usea fictitious namc) was con-
cealed from view in the day time by a
dense mass Of trees and shrubbcry, cN-
ccpt on one side where the lawn slopcd
down TO the bank at the creek. Here
were usually moorcd two or three light
skiffs which might easily be forced up
the rapids quite into the mountain gorge
and which were often seen bearing An
mic and her brother down the current,
returning from some expedition on the
hills. Had you passed along the road
which crossed the mouth of the ravinc
below the cottage, you would not have
suspected that house was in the thick.
ct above you, unless it had been in the
evening and you saw the CLEAN Of the
light, or paused, as I often have pauscd,'
toilet your horse drink at the edge Of
the broad creek: and then perhaps you
might have heard song floating out Of
the dark wood, and if you rode on till
midnight it would linger in your ears,
and you would fancy you had heard a
spirit
That man must have a hard heart
that did not love Annie. She was the
impersonation of lovclincss. ! never
could describe face or form. | do not
rcmember friends by their features, and
| have not the rcmo.cst idea of the
color Of their eyes or lair i'll nine cases
out of ten. But.I do remember her
with distinct memory. She was toll,
that is, rather above the medium height,
and slender but graceful and beautiful
ly shaped. Every motion was natural
and unaffected, and her footstcp was as
light as her heart and that had not a
hcaviness. Sweet Annie Gray! The
music of her laughter rings from ont
the lonesome years like the melodious
carol of bird in the arches of a ruined
temple! Her eye was dark; quick as
sunshine in its changes; and full of un.
spoken poetry. You might read all
manner Of beautiful fancics and holy
thoughts there. But lingcr too long
on this description Of her. Her broth.
CT was a fine fellow, a year or two older
than she, and one of the merriest boys
in all the country. He loved his sister
too, and as | have before remarked love
has a reflective force which makes the
D lover lovely.
/ am completely lost in a whirlwind
ofimemories now that return to those
days and scenes. There were q thou.
sand incidents Of my early life that arc
brought wildly before me the moment |
recall the old cottage in thce glen and
its beloved inmates. How slartingly
does the tritc remark that 'wc live in a
changing world recur to our thoughts
every day. In fact it cannot become
trite.
The very stars that we worship as
changeless sometimes fall, and the cvcs
that we Worship moro of devotion
than tie stars, grow dim, and the hearts
thatswe fancy as immutablc, change
mournfnlly! There is nothing immuta.
bic busGod. It is attribute Of Deity
which includes all others, and to which
mortals do homage because they cannot
comprehendit
a score Of years has removed that
cottage from the face, and its inhabi-
tants having separated here, have met
again up yonder! One by one with
theiTlips murmuring hymns and pray