Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1891-09-10

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know that she is the daughter OF this
man, she is So like him As she bends
over her sewing, her features fall into
their habitual retrospective repose. Her
hair and eyes are black. her nose small
! and straight, her mouth and chin well
formed, her forehead low and broad
They make a strange, dark picture
these two sorrowful looking forms, out
lined against the dull background of the
old mills messy wall They do not seem
to note each others presence The
growing of the mill is enlivened by the
song Of mocking bird up in the mul-
berry tree An ivory billed woodpecker
is cackling merrily on the great oak
yonder by the brook. From some in
definite distance comes the mellow tin
king of a COW bell
Suddenly few strong notes from the
banjo came out of the mill. The man
and woman looked up. half smile
lighting their gloomy faces. They al
ways smiled when they heard the sound
of that banjo, for the player was the life
Of the old mills household
Colonel Chenier ceased reading and
Adelaide, his sad faced daughter, let
fall her sewing as they both gazed upon
lovely apparition now passing out
through the wide doorway of the mill
1t was Rosalie Chenier, the colonels
youngest child. She held in her hand a
banjo of fine workmanship, dark, old,
with Jeweled keys and polished silver
screws She sat down on the stone step
and began to play lively medley, made
up of concordant bits snatched from this
and that familiar old tune, a sort of
mocking bird performance, which threw
together the cheeriest parts Of many
pieces she knew.
She was beautiful, in the best sense of
the word, from head to foot. Without
lacking anything Of a strong, almost
voluptuous development, her form was
slender, 1.-THE and graceful, as 80 many
mountain girls forms are, and her fea-
lures were Of almost Grecian fineness
and regularity The color of her hair
was that pale, sheeny gold, 80 seldom
seen in the south. the true harvest yel-
low, very thick and long, plated into
two heavy braids and bound with scraps
Of blue ribbon. Her eyes were gray
green, specked with amber. full Of ex-
preston, clear, deep and innocent as
babeA There was that in her complex
ion, beyond its extreme fairness, which
is best called bloom, the warm flush of
incompatible purity and health. She
turned her head slightly to one side,
keeping time with slender, high arched
foot as she played The contrast OF
color and expression between her and
the other two whom we have described
were much stronger than mere words
can make 1t appear. 1t was, in fact,
the contrast between the new and the
old, in all the phases Of the two
The big, outside, far away world OF
wealth and fashion and business turmoil
had no immediate relationship to her
life. Its doings had reached her only in
the vaguest and most indefinite way, as
runors from another sphere, or as the
murmur Of battle heard from q great
distance. Unlike her father and her sis
ter Adelaide, she had no war memories,
nor recollections of former wealth and
splendor, to keep her looking back to a
better day. Three years old when the
war ended, scarcely six when brought
here to the mill, she had no distinct no
tion of life beyond the limits of this lit
tie valley. She had entered her eight
eenth year knowing as little of social life
as If she were still a child in the nursery
OF nature, however, she had learned
much, and her father and mother had
carefully taught her the usual routine
lessons of the schools For the rest she
took to the banjo as naturally as does a
mocking bird to singing, mastering its
difficulties with scarcely an effort. She
had found this fine old instrument hid
den away In pile of rubbish in the at
tic of the mill where its owner had left
1t at some distant time. No doubt it had
been hidden there, that it might escape
the fate of everything valuable which
came in the way Of Shermans army As
for it's real owner, he may have fallen in
defense of the lost cause At all events,
he had never returned to claim it.
In the south the banjo during the days
Of slavery was looked upon as rude
and savage instrument, fit only for the
hands and taste of negroes. 1t bore the
brand of everything connected with the
pathetic life Of the slave. The wonder
Is that long ago this fascinating Tyre Of
the cabin was not lifted to its proper
place, which was beside the violin. No
doubt the secret Of Its neglect lay in the
fact that 1t was treated as negro in
strument, and regarded as one Of the
symbols of slave life.
Rosalie Chenier had beautiful hands
white, slender, perfectly formed, and
the act Of playing upon the banjo dis
closed all their suppleness and grace
She was not conscious Of her beauty
however, and was as sincere and out.
right In her actions as were the birds.
There was something in her attitudes
and movements that would have been
bizarre had the element Of utter sim
plicity been wanting. She was dressed
in Inexpensive white muslin, upon
which the -four dust Of the mill would
not show, and around her waist was a
band of pale blue ribbon.
The pure notes of the banjo made
themselves distinctly heard above the
rumbling Of the buhrstones, the creak-
ing Of gudgeons and the bubbling Of the
hume stream.
Colonel Chenier had closed his book