The home journal. (Winchester, Tenn.) 1858-188?, 1874-08-27


ever exercised, and topple the wretched,
moldy, ghostly old shell into utter
ruins. 1t was at this crisis that large,
woody head, with protruding eyes, a
display of ivory, and a breadth of lip,
appeared at the door.
"You black scoundrel % / yelled,
do you know how you have frightened
Miss T.. ?'
Gorry, massa Use right sorry"
"Never mind, Sam," interrupted Miss
E., "my wits have returned. | am so
glad it is you." 1t was her favorite SER
want.
We were to hasten back to accompany
party to Anemone vale, beautiful
spot beyond the town limits. / was not
sorry neither did Miss L. regret the
change, nor the assurance that the COB
Inns of the Redwood mansion were not
now likely to molest us. "But did
you find anything?" she eagerly asked.
Wait and see p was my answer.
The breeze was fresh in Amenone
Vale, lovely in its carpet of the soft
flower which gave it its name.
"There is tint of mustiness about
it, and an ancient look" remarked my
friend, as he unrolled a manuscript |
handed him.
"Well, there might be-" replied his
sister. at is snatched from the hauuts
of goblins-but let us hear it !"
A piece of paper huttered to the
ground, as the pages were unrolled.
1t read:
November 10, 1870. Will this
sheet ever mold ? 1t is pleasant to hope
that it may be read when tho writer is
incorporated with mold. Read my
story and learn to guard the heart and
control the passions. r.. S."
Seating ourselves upon bank of wild
flowers the manuscript was begun.
An eye for an eye. A tooth for a
tooth-Holy. | am ansinvalid, waiting
for life's thread to snap. The present
is a mixture Of hope, memory, the
future, and reality. Hope results in
disappointment the future is vague,
while reality is fruition. Imagination
is false, for it garnishes barren hills
with verdure 1; transforms a face of ugli-
ness to one of beauty makes miserly
relative generous donor pictures
Yourself more perfect than the whis pers
of conscience, and causes the hopeful
heart sadness. / will not deal with it.
What write is reality. Failing health
pushed me into travel. 1t is hard to
bid adieu to the old gables and the
arched gateway, in doubt that one may
see them again, not from age, not from
the necessity of long absence, but
from the certainty that you are chased
by disease at which physicians shake
their heads but mutter hope.
81 had been upon the road several
days before anything of interest aroused
me from my depression. Passing a
dwelling, whose neat appearance at
tracted my attention, the notes of n
peculiarly plaintive song attracted me.
! first reined my horse and then, dis
mounting, followed winding walk,
adorned on either side with simple
flowers, to the open door. had been
noticed and was met by young man
who nordially bode me enter.
"'We were singing a song learned at
sea, of which my sister is quite fond.
but we shall be glad for an lnterrup'
ton 1t was the introduction OF an
import sequence, and the story which
follows.
Frank Lavender, the father of my
host and narrator, became, in the earl y
years of his marriage, entangled in wild
dissipation with a nelghbor's son, DICK
Perry. Their recklessness increased
until the murder of wealthy planter
in the township made their fight nee
essary, and neither had ever returned.
The exertions of justice proved futile,
and with the lapse of years the suppo-
sition gathered strength that by some
other means retribution had come upon
the fugitives."
MY friend, who had been reading the
manuscript, exclaimed; 81 well re-
member, my grandfather once related
this very tale to me. His description
of Lavender was that of very hand
some man, of fine figure and of pre-
possessing air. | cannot recall the de-
tails, but the son and daughter here
spoken of were very fortunate in in
heriting large estate quite strangely.
| Nv old sire made a moral, and, while
upon his knee and staring into his
wrinkles, / was warned from evil com
pauy and the haunts of the enemy
The manuscript was resumed:
"There is no silver in my locks
and never will be. The worm has his
mortgage upon them and he is already
after q foreclosure. Recorded pharma-
copeia has not sufficient knowledge to
deter the grim bearer of the hour-glass.
He knows it, and so do l. For months
have been absent from the gables. |
have returned, patched mp merely.
| Quid faciendum ?"
At this point the manuscript had evil
IDENTIFY been lail away, for the remain
der was traced in different ink and by
feebler hand. It opens again with the
same quaint pinings.
"Life has queer findings. The one
who interests you to-day is gone to-
morrow an forever, while the partner
of an old life-game turns up suddenly
to confront you with tedious memories
oftener that with agreeable recollec-
tions. Earnest yearnings are rarely re-
allied, but they have been once with
me. The candor of my host, Lavender,
and his sad experience created an in
terest and sympathy which was, years
later, revived intensely. was again
compelled to seek the north, and had
fixed temporary abode in one OF the
pleasant villages in an eastern state.
Among the few acquaintance5 formed
was that of an eminent judge, who was
at that time presiding at the trial of q
wretch committed for arson and mur'
der. He was particularly noticeable,
commanding in persona deep, rich
voice, fine dark eye, and hair sprinkled
with silver. He lived in elegant style,
as I can attest, at his place called Man.