Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1891-09-17
CHAPTER Ill
A LETTER FROM AUNT MARGUERITE

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"It Is O letter from AUnt Marguerite"
What is called the hill country of
north Georgia consists Of network of
mountain chains running in every di-
rection, with fertile valleys between.
Formerly it was the home of the Chero-
kee tribe of Indians, and for that reason
is sometimes designated as Cherokee
Georgia Some great travellers, among
them Bayard Taylor, have compared
this region to the most picturesque parts
of Italy as regards both climate and
scenery In many places the landscape
is broken into the grandest alpine
masses Notably this is SO in the more
mountainous parts lying west of the
Western and Atlantic railroad.
The little pocket, in which for the
present we linger with the slender be-
ginnings of our history, lies in the very
thickest of the hilly network, many hun
dred feet above the sea level, protected
from great storms-a dreamy little eden
of quietude and peace. The people of
the region are, for the most part, simple
ignorant mountaineers, fifty years be-
hind the age, independent, hardy, reti-
cent, peculiar in dress and manner, but
brave, honest and true to their tradi-
tions; in many respects not unlike the
peasantry of the south of France. The
men are great hunters, and you may see
them stalking through the woods with
the long flintlock rifles of a century past
flung across their bony shoulders. They
take to nothing new With them prog
ress is an unknown word. A few fami-
lies here and there are cultured folk
whom adversely or the pursuit Of health
has thrown into these primitive valleys,
The lives of these cultured exiles is dry,
lonely and eventless. The Chenier fam.
lily is a good example. From months
end to months end their existence is
merely negative-that is, they are not
dead. The old mill is not more hum
drum in its rumbling and creaking than
is the daily round through which they
turn. The elder members have the sad
satisfaction Of remembering some days
of glory, and they often talk over that
happy time. Rosalie hears them; but it
is like reading romance. It charms
her without rendering her discontented
She is imaginative, and often nurses
that roseate dream, indefinite though it
be, of one day roaming away, beyond
the circling mountains, into the great
outside, the strong joyous, rushing
world.
IF a letter Is fascinating Of itself, indie
pendent of anything it may contain, to
us who live in the full tide of modern
progress, what must it be to one in the
deep seclusion of place like the
"pocket?" 1t is, until the seal is broken,
q mysterious messenger from an un-
known country.
Rosalie came down from her perch
upon the broken wall, and approached
her father as he began to tear open the
envelope which had been thrown to him
by the young horseman. 1t was as if she
expected great tidings, message oi
charming import from some benign and
powerful parsonage far away some
where, anywhere, in that romantic
world beyond the mountains. The stil
in her blood was of that obscurely ten
der sort which barely tinges content
ment with longing or hope or indefinite
desire.
"It is from Marguerite" said Colonel
Chenier, as he slowly unfolded the heavy
white unruled sheet covered over witt
small, cramped writing.
"Aunt Marguerite" quickly inquired
Adelaide, her face taking on a look O.
immediate rest.
Colonel Chenier's hand trembled as h
adjusted his spectacles A sort of asher
gravity momentarily deepened in hi
cheeks.
"Read 1t aloud, papa," cried Rosalie
"but wait, I'll call mamma" she added
and without a seconds pause she raj
into the mill and soon returned LEADING
pale, thin, fair faced woman, whose al
was that of an energetic invalid.
"It is letter from Aunt Marguerite,
exclaimed Adelaide, as her mother sa
down beside her. Rosalie remained
standing, still holding the banjo in he
left hand, her sweet lips slightly parted
her eyes beaming with all a child's sir
cere curiosity,
'She is coming to see u.s." said Colone
Chenier, lifting his eyes from the lette
and looking into his wife's pale face, a
If asking what she thought of the stal
ting announcement.
"Oh, obi" cried Rosalie, coming here
rs she really coming here?"
Coming here!" echoed Adelaide.
A little color rose into the Transporter
cheeks of Mrs. Chenier. but she r
manned silent
"What can we ever do with he
papaP said Adelaide almost petulantly
"Oh. I'm SO very glad" exclaimed r