The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1876-02-24
@tiaimat. ,.'sturg.
BERKELEY HALL.
BY ala. CAROLINE"
.;.s; II.
CHAPTER VII.

CdAPIEh VII.
"Above, below, In earth, ocean and sky,
Thy fairy worlds Imagination lie."
1t was the second day of the new year,
and the last the Christmas guests would
spend together at. .Berkley Hall. In the
afternoon, they had, with feelings Of sad
regret, taken their fayorite walk to the
old, mill and the. swamp By the mill
they Had fingered, andS listened ID tie
monotonous splash Of the water over the
mill-Yheel;, the echo had been made to
repeat their sad farewell. For how long
and how sad to some were thoss farewells
to be, none of them then, dreamed. AS
they turned to retrace their steps home
ward:sMarion pulled from the bough of
a beautiful oak, which dropped over the
stream "a piece Of moss, and handing it
to Capt. Gray, said: "Keep this in mem
ory of Berkley."
To her 'astonishmept he drew back,
and almost shuddefingly exclaimed !:
'eNot the moss, give me a pebble, leaf,
anything else than the gray moss"
..Whyp she questioned, IN great sur
prise ); II thought you admired our moss
clad trees" ,.-.;i: .
eyes, and so 1 do, they possess q
mournful beauty, whose very sadness
charms and touches me, but from your
hand l cannot take the mossl" Then,
coloring slightly, he related his dream Of
Christmas Eve night, and added: 'Do
you now wonder that I, possessing more
than my lawful ehare of a superstition
which, to'a greater or less degree, holds
each human heart in mysterious thrall,
should refuse to receive from your hand
that. moss of mourning which, in my
dream, you had cast from me as impend-
ing sorrow? No, oh, no I cannot take
the moss, give me something else"
Marion smiled, and answered gayly:
'Drearns go by contraries, you know; /;
but since you will not have my beautiful
moss, the gracing veil of our lowland
bowers, 1 will give you this bay leaf an
evergreen, whose emblem is Honor and
Renown,' and such as these the soldier
Graves"
aWatr talks, of war. Twill not be-
ieye there will be any war, at least any
war of serious importance. But it is
strange you first offer me the moss, which
is grief, and then the bay, which wreaths
WARRIORS b1oI '-Let.me interpret. A
soldier, I may perchance weep evenin
the arms of victory. But will weary
you with my sombre chat" he added, with
a grave smile. 81 feel oppressed by
strangely brooding and sad thoughts this
afternoon"
As Hubert Gray conversed thus sadly
with Marion on their way back to the
Hall, Harry delivered for Jessie's benefit
quite a eulogy on the said Hubert Gray.
eff Capt. Gray is Yankee, I must
confess, Jessie, cannot help liking him
from the very bottom of my heart; and
if we do have war, 1 hope it will not
be my i'll luck to meet him in battle, for
he is a splendid fellow, and it would
grieve me to see him fall! But after all,
Jess, he is not regular Yankee like
those down casters. The first day he
came, I was too sorry, for thought @our
Christmas is going to be spoiled by that
Yank." treated him politely, Of
course, I would have done the same to
the blackest Republican of the ugly black
party, if he claimed himself guest at
Berkley Hall, but I tried to have as little
as possible to do with him, and / was
quite determined not to like him. But
his liberal, frank, genial nature.has fairly
won ME! There isihot one grain Of sneak
in him, and I don't believe there lives a
noblcr, braver- fellow than Hubert Gray |!
And Harry Maham is not so mean as to
deny it, I only wish Hubert had found
his birthplace south of Mason's and Dix
on's line" ..t.t ~
When they had reached the house, the
pedestrians took their seats on the piazza
steps to enjoy the soft, ,halmy air, which,
althoughit was nearly mid winter, was
warm as an early spring afternoon.
Harry went into the house and procured
baskets of nuts, raisins, and candies, to
employ the passing moments, with anus
ing gravity asserting that he was princi-
pied against idling.' >.
"And now, Miss Marion," said Capt.
Gray, "I would like to hear that Indian
story. No time can be more aproposAa
pleasant evening, quiet hour, and the
hoary swamp, (the whilom lurking place
of the savage,) rejecting with such soft
and chastened glow the radiance OF. the
setting sum-"
"What story? 1t must be one of Ma
rion's pretty pictures" )" said Harry. He
then to their eager enquiries told how,
when even a. little child, Marion had
been in the habit of improvising stories,
(making pictures as she called it, and
with pardonable brotherly pride and af-
fection, he declared that to his taste
Marion's pictures were superior to any
thing the library at Berkley could afford.
The party after such warm praise from
Harry became eager for the recital, and
Marion modestly consented.
An expression of dreamy and concen'
trated thought shadowed the face of the
youthful improvisatrice, and her beauti-
full eyes beamed with warm, soul light
as in soft, rich voice she told the story