The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1893-11-08

.-@TT ~ August sun and
fertile prairie lands.
80 Dorothea grew in the forests OF the
new world, not very warm, not with
flaming colors, or lu1urlance OF pas
sion, but in her face and in her soul were
the tints of heaven. Her eyes were
clear brown, innocent and trusting, and
ON her lips lowered q perpetual summer
calm. Right as to heart and brain, she
won her way among the stern Purltans
with an extreme gentleness, and yet early
she learned to endure and to obey. Even
while girl, one could see that she would
be q queen in marriage and most per-
feet wife. Unconsciously, in her eyes
were depths clear and full of love for her
parents and for her lover. And yet she
had ever one black shadow at her feet
the memory of her father and the sus-
picion that she herself was following IN
his footsteps. And as the years passed,
the shadow not only lay at her feet, but
rose and foated over her. In these days
she sometimes murmured to herself q
passage from an old book which she had
found in her fathers chest:
Mother Mary. hear me and give me
grace to bear my heavy lead"
y, She meant it as cry to her own moth
or, and did no: know that the words were
. prayer to the mother of God.
Nevertheless, perhaps the Blessed
Virgin heard her.
Traces Of her early life with her father
were never efaced. In fact there were
tinges in her character which were ever
appearing like the recurring colors of the
evening twilight, and DR.. Lennox never
strove to blot them out. When mingling
with the pioneers or their staid, young
old children, she could tie as digni6ed and
prosaic as they. But when they were
gone and she was alone, or with her
adopted father, all the influences and les
sons of her early life appeared. She
looked upon the trees of the forest and
the flowers growing at their feet, at the
running brook and the stars and tho
clouds overhead as the real things Of the
world, and hence nearer and dearer to
her than men.
So ofttimes she was content to sit for
hours beneath some tall oak tree, which,
thick-leayed, sighed over her little head
with an ancient melody as old as trees or
the hills or nature. At such times there
appeared in her soul those characteristics
which were like golden tints in the sky,
coming at the close Of the day, as the
hustle and worry Of the world we're dying
away and the peace Of the evening twi-
light reigned.
glorious child dreaming alone
In silken folds, on yielding down,
With the hum Of swarmlng bees,
Into drearnful slumbers lul'd.
Soae warm summer days she would
wander knee deep through the meadow
grass, along the little brook which cir
cled half around the town. No bird
would sing on these dsys, nor would any
cloud pass across the sky, and the day
would increase from heat to heat. Those
we're dreamy days, which poet or "a
painter would love, and at such times all
Of Dorothea's early lessons in nature
would come back to her. She would bend
over little struggling flower, hidden by
the tall grass, and speak TO it as if it
were o friend. Even the coarse weeds,
in which none else, unless it may have
been the Doctor, could see aught but
ugliness and Adams curse, appealed to
her. The broad meadow was great bed,
and she drew the tops of the e1ass ten.
derly between her fingers and dreamed
oh! who knows of what child dreams at
such q timer On days when there were
clouds in the sky and a breeze was
blowing the shadow of the former
fell upon and fioated over the bending
grass and she imagined the field to be
miniature sea.
And to sit there, half hidden by the
grass, and look out at the tall treetops
which surrounded the village, and out
into the sky beyond and overhead. Ah!
what quiet happiness that brought, ane
what fancies. quiet and dreamful, hlleo
the child's mind. There was lonesome
ness in it, too. that wSs not altogether
unpleasant. FOR somewhere beyon d
those woods she believed her father lived
and the same sky was over them botn.
There was little poem, or rather the
fragment Of > poem. which her father hao
cnce taught her, ana although shs did
not at first probably understand it, the
rhythm was pleasing and she often re-
peated it to herself:
The shadows on the Western slopes,
The sky tints at the set OF sun,
May thrill US all alike with Joy,
But he who PAINTS them Will be one
Among thousand II be catch
And mirror back tho be eAuties show-
In glowing sky and shadowing hills.
And His. the master hand alone
Somotimes como floating thro' the mind
Or surging thro' the human breast
A thought feeling rich and rare,
A gift to man. if but expressed.
And when one CON, with rhythmic WORDS,
Move in our breasts sensations deep.
And strike the chord our own soul wept,
-. For him the poets aame we Keep.