flight from the flames toward the cliff and an accidental fall. And so he waited throughout the long day, that was hardly day at all, but an opaque twilight, through which could be discerned only the stony path leading down the slope from his door, only the blurred outlines of the bushes close at hand, only the great gaunt limbs of a lightning-scathed tree, seeming entirely severed from the unseen trunk, and 10 swinging in the air sixty feet above the earth. Toward night-fall the wind rose and the smoke-curtain lifted, once more revealing to the settlers upon Old Rocky-Top the 15 somber T'other Mounting, with the belated evening light still lurid upon the trees, only a strange, faint resemblance of the sunset radiance, rather the ghost of a dead day. And presently this appari- 20 tion was gone, and the deep purple line of the witched mountain's summit grew darker against the opaline skies, till it was merged in a dusky black, and the shades of the night fell thick on the land- 25 scape. The scenic effects of the drama, that serve to widen the mental vision and cultivate the imagination of even the poor in cities, were denied these primitive, simple 30 people; but that magnificent pageant of the four seasons, wherein was forever presented the imposing splendor of the T'other Mounting in an ever-changing grandeur of aspect, was a gracious recom- 35 pense for the spectacular privileges of civilization. And this evening the humble family party on Nathan White's porch beheld a scene of unique impressiveness. The moon had not yet risen; the winds 40 were awhirl: the darkness draped the earth as with a pall. Out from the impenetrable gloom of the woods on the T'other Mounting there started, suddenly, a scarlet globe of fire; one long moment it was motion-45 less, but near it the spectral outline of a hand appeared beckoning, or warning, or raised in horror.- only a leafless tree, catching in the distance a semblance of humanity. Then from the still ball of 50 fire there streamed upward a long, slender plume of golden light, waving back and forth against the pale horizon. Across the dark slope of the mountain below, flashes of lightning were shooting in zig- 55 zag lines, and wherever they gleamed were seen those frantic skeleton hands raised and wrung in anguish. It was cruel sport for the cruel winds; they maddened over gorge and cliff and along the wooded steeps, carrying far upon their wings the sparks of desolation. From the summit, myriads of jets of flame reached up to the placid stars; about the base of the mountain lurked a lake of liquid fire, with wreaths of blue smoke hovering over it; ever and anon, athwart the slope darted the sudden lightning, widening into sheets of flame as it conquered new ground. The astonishment on the faces grouped about Nathan White's door was succeeded by a startled anxiety. After the first incoherent exclamations of surprise came the pertinent inquiry from his wife, Ef Old Rocky-Top war ter ketch too, whar would we-uns run ter?' Nathan White's countenance had in its expression more of astounded excitement than of bodily fear. Why, bless my soul!' he said at length, the woods away over yander, what hev been burnin' all day, ain't nigh enough ter the T'other Mounting ter ketch it,- nuthin' like it.' 'The T'other Mounting would burn, though, ef fire war put ter it,' said his son. The two men exchanged a glance of deep significance. 'Do ye mean ter say,' exclaimed Mrs. White, her fire-lit face agitated by a sudden superstitious terror, that that thar T'other Mounting is fired by witches an' sech?' 'Don't talk so loud, Matildy,' said her husband. Them knows best ez done it.' 'Thar's one thing sure,' quavered the old man: that thar fire will never tech a leaf on Old Rocky-Top. Thar's a church on this hyar mounting,- bless the Lord fur it!-an' we lives in the fear o' God.' There was a pause, all watching with distended eyes the progress of the flames. 'It looks like it mought hev been kindled in torment,' said the young daughter-inlaw. Nathan White had few neighbors, but above the crackling of the timber and the roar of the flames there rose the quick beat of running footsteps; the undergrowth of the forest near at hand was in strange commotion; and at last, the figure of a man burst forth, the light of the fire showing the startling pallor of his face as he staggered to the little porch and sank, exhausted, into a chair. like some onsettled crazy critter. It 'peared like 't would take a bar'l o' hop tea ter git me quiet. An' now look yander!' and he pointed tremulously to the blazing 5 mountain. There was an expression of conviction on the women's faces. All their lives afterward it was there whenever Caleb Hoxie's name was mentioned; no more to be 10 moved or changed than the stern, set faces of the crags among the fiery woods. 'Waal, Caleb Hoxie!' exclaimed Nathan White, in good-natured raillery; 'ye 're skeered, fur true! What ails ye, ter think Old Rocky-Top air a-goin' ter ketch too? 'T ain't nigh dry enough, I'm 15 a-thinkin'.' 'Fire kindled that thar way can't tech a leaf on Old Rocky-Top,' sleepily piped out the old man, nodding in his chair, the glare of the flames which rioted over the 20 T'other Mounting gilding his long white hair and peaceful, slumberous face. 'Thar's a church on Old Rocky-Top,bless the The sentence drifted away with his dreams. 'Does ye believe them - them '— Caleb Hoxie's trembling white lips could not frame the word them-done it?' 'But 25 'Like ez not,' said Nathan White. that ain't a-troublin' of ye an' me. I ain't 30 never hearn o' them witches a-tormentin' of honest folks what ain't done nuthin' hurtful ter nobody,' he added, in cordial reassurance. His son was half hidden behind one of 35 the rough cedar posts, that his mirth at the guest's display of cowardice might not be observed. But the women, always quick to suspect, glanced meaningly at each other with widening eyes, as they 40 stood together in the door-way. 'I dunno,- I dunno,' Caleb Hoxie declared huskily. 'I ain't never done nuthin' ter nobody, an' what do ye s'pose them witches an' sech done ter me las' 45 night, on that T'other Mounting? I war a-goin' over yander to Gideon Croft's fur ter physic him, ez he air mortal low with the fever; an' ez I war a-comin' alongside o' that thar high bluff — it was very 50 distinct, with the flames wreathing fantastically about its gray, rigid features 'they throwed a boulder ez big ez this hyar porch down on ter me. It jes' grazed me, an' knocked me down, an' kivered me 55 with dirt. An' I run home a-hollerin'; an' it seemed ter me ter-day ez I war a-goin' ter screech an' screech all my life, 'Thar's a church on this hyar mounting,' said the old man feebly, waking for a moment, and falling asleep the next. Nathan White was perplexed and doubtful, and a superstitious awe had checked the laughing youngster behind the cedar. post. A great cloud of flame came rolling through the sky toward them, golden, pellucid, spangled through and through with fiery red stars; poising itself for one moment high above the valley, then breaking into myriads of sparks, and showering down upon the dark abysses below. 'Look-a-hyah!' said the elder woman in a frightened under-tone to her daughter-in-law; this hyah wicked critter air too onlucky ter be a-sittin' 'longside of us; we 'll all be burnt up afore he gits hisself away from hyar. An' who is that a-comin' yander?' For from the encompassing woods another dark figure had emerged, and was slowly approaching the porch. The wary eyes near Caleb Hoxie saw that he fell to trembling, and that he clutched at a post for support. But the hand pointing at him was shaken as with a palsy, and the voice hardly seemed Tony Britt's as it cried out, in an agony of terror, 'What air ye a-doin' hyar, a-sittin' 'longside o' livin' folks? Yer bones air under a boulder on the T'other Mounting, an' ye air a dead man!' They said ever afterward that Tony Britt had lost his mind through goin' a-huntin' jes' one time on the T'other Mounting. His spirit air all broke, an' he's a mighty tame critter nowadays.' Through his persistent endeavor he and Caleb Hoxie became quite friendly, and he was even reported to ''low that he war sati'fied that Caleb never gin his wife nuthin' ter hurt.' Though,' said the gossips of Old Rocky-Top, them women up ter White's will hev it no other way but that Caleb pizened her, an' they would n't take no yerbs from him no more 'n he war a rattlesnake. But Caleb always 'pears sorter skittish when he an' Tony air together, like he did n't know when Tony war a-goin' ter fotch him a lick. But law! Tony air that changed that ye can't make him mad 'thout ye remind him o' the time he called Caleb a ghost.' A dark, gloomy, deserted place was the charred T' other Mounting through all the 10 long winter. And when spring came, and Old Rocky-Top was green with delicate fresh verdure, and melodious with singing birds and chorusing breezes, and bedecked as for some great festival with violets and 15 azaleas and laurel-blooms, the T'other Mounting was stark and wintry and black with its desolate, leafless trees. But after a while the spring came for it, too: the buds swelled and burst; flowering vines 20 festooned the grim gray crags; and the dainty freshness of the vernal season reigned upon its summit, while all the world below was growing into heat and dust. The circuit-rider said it reminded 25 him of a tardy change in a sinner's heart: though it come at the eleventh hour, the glorious summer is before it, and a full fruition; though it work but an hour in the Lord's vineyard, it receives the same 5 reward as those who labored through all the day. 'An' it always did 'pear ter me ez thar war mighty little jestice in that,' was Mrs. White's comment. But at the meeting when that sermon was preached Tony Britt told his ' experience.' It seemed a confession, for according to the gossips he 'lowed that he had flung that boulder down on Caleb Hoxie, - what the witches flung, ye know, 'kase he believed then that Caleb hed killed his wife with pizenous yerbs; an' he went back the nex' night an' fired the woods, ter make folks think when they fund Caleb's bones that he war a-runnin' from the blaze an' fell off'n the bluff.' everybody on Old Rocky-Top said incredulously, Pore Tony Britt! He hev los' his mind through goin' a-huntin' jes' one time on the T' other Mounting.' And Atlantic Monthly, June, 1881. GEORGE WASHINGTON CABLE (1844 ) The life of George W. Cable, like that of Lanier, is a record of repression, of success won iate despite great discouragements. He was only fourteen when his father died, leaving the support of his mother and the family chiefly upon him. Three years later, in 1861, he enlisted in the Fourth Mississippi Cavalry to serve to the end of the war. Returning to his native city, New Orleans, in 1865, he had to begin as he could. He secured work first as a surveyor, but failing in health, was employed for a time on the Picayune, and then took a position as a clerk in a cotton factor's office and remained there until he was thirty-five. The education denied him in the schools he secured laboriously through his own efforts. He spent all of his leisure time in study. His reading covered a most unusual range and variety, not only in English but in French and other languages as well. He became greatly interested in the romantic history of the old city, found old records in Spanish and French in the municipal archives, and began to be dominated with the idea that the old material should not be lost, but should be presented attractively for modern readers. His opportunity came in 1872 when Edward King, who was touring the South for a series of papers for Scribner's Monthly, visited New Orleans and discovered him at work on his studies and on a series of stories of his own for which he had little hopes of ever finding a publisher. Through the influence of King, Dr. Holland became interested, published the first of the stories, 'Sieur George in Scribner's in October, 1873, and others at infrequent intervals. Six years later, in 1879, the issue of the collection Old Creole Days gave Cable an assured literary standing and enabled him to devote himself wholly to literary work. For a time he worked steadily. He published The Grandissimes, a romance, in 1880, The Creoles of Louisiana, a series of historical sketches in 1884, Doctor Sevier in 1885, and Bonnaventure, in 1888. These unquestionably are his best works; the rest of his output as compared with these is distinctly inferior. His treatment of Southern themes, as in The Silent South, a book which centers about the negro problem, proved offensive to his native region. Soon after his first literary success he removed to the North and settled permanently in Northampton, Massachusetts. In later years he has given much time and effort to philanthropic work, especially to the promotion of societies for social uplift. The style of Cable is peculiarly his own. It is French in its effect, in its brilliancy, its elisions, its subtle suggestiveness. The emphasis is always upon characterization rather than upon plot or incident. One may forget the story but seldom does one forget the chief characters. Madame Delphine, for instance,- quaint exotic, picturesque survival at first excites credulity in the reader, but as one proceeds she begins to become more and more alive, more and more convincing until at the end she dominates the story and remains in the memory like an actual experience of tragedy. Cable is best as a short story writer: he is a maker of exquisite miniatures, a portrayer of the strange and the exotic in small compass, a recorder of unusual crises in picturesque lives. As a maker of long plots he failed. His Old Creole Days is his masterpiece. Even while its author is still living it has taken a secure place as an American classic. NO!'1 If M. Grandissime had believed that he was prepared for the supreme bitterness of that moment, he had sadly erred. He could not speak. He extended his hand in a dumb farewell, when, all unsanctioned by his will, the voice of despair escaped him in a low groan. At the same moment, a tinkling sound drew near, and to 1 Copyright by Charles Scribner's Sors. the room, which had grown dark with the fall of night, began to brighten with the softly widening light of an evening lamp. as a servant approached to place it in the 5 front drawing-room. Aurora gave her hand and withdrew it. In the act the two somewhat changed position, and the rays of the lamp, as the maid passed the door, falling upon Aurora's face, betrayed the again upturned eyes. 'Sieur Grandissime —' They fell. The lover paused. You thing I'm crool.' She was the statue of meekness. companiment of small sounds, the fair speaker resumed with more energy, as befitting the approach to an incredible cli max: Hope has been crhuel to me,' replied 5 Some day', 'Sieur Grandissime,- id M. Grandissime, not you; that I cannot say. Adieu.' He was turning. "'Sieur Grandissime -' She seemed to tremble. He stood still. "Sieur Grandissime,'- her voice was very tender, wad you' horry?' There was a great silence. 'Sieur Grandissime, you know - teg a chair.' mague me fo'gid my hage! I thing I'm young!' She lifted her eyes with the evident determination to meet his own squarely, but 10 it was too much; they fell as before; yet she went on speaking: He hesitated a moment and then both sat down. The servant repassed the door; yet when Aurora broke the silence, she spoke in English - having such hazardous 20 things to say. It would conceal possible stammerings. "Sieur Grandissime - you know dad riz'n I-' 'An' w'en someboddie git'n' ti'ed livin' wid 'imsev an' big'n' to fill ole, an' wan' someboddie to teg de care of 'im an' wan' 15 me to gid marri'd wid 'im-I thing 'e's in love to me.' Her fingers kept up a little shuffling with the fan. I thing I'm crezzy. I thing I muz be go'n' to die torecklie.' She looked up to the ceiling with large eyes, and then again at the fan in her lap, which continued its spreading and shutting. An' daz de riz'n, 'Sieur Grandissime.' She waited until it was certain he was about to answer, and then interrupted him nervously: You know, 'Sieur Grandissime, id woon be righd! Id woon be de justiz to you! An' you de bez man I evva know in my life, 'Sieur Grandissime!' Her hands shook. 'A 30 man w'at nevva wan' to gid marri'd wid noboddie in 'is life, and now trine to gid marri'd juz only to ripose de soul of 'is oncl'-' She slightly opened her fan, looking 25 down upon it, and was still. I have no rhight to ask the rheason,' said M. Grandissime. It is yo's - not mine.' Her head went lower. 'Well, you know,'- she dropped it meditatively to one side, with her eyes on the floor, 't is bick-ause 't is bickause I thing in a few days I'm goin' to die.' M. Grandissime said never a word. He was not alarmed. M. Grandissime uttered an exclamation 35 of protest, and she ceased. She looked up suddenly and took a quick breath, as if to resume, but her eyes fell before his, and she said, in a tone of half-40 soliloquy : 'I've so mudge troub' wit dad hawt.' She lifted one little hand feebly to the cardiac region, and sighed softly, with a dying languor. 45 M. Grandissime gave no response. A vehicle rumbled by in the street below, and passed away. At the bottom of the room, where a gilded Mars was driving into battle, a soft note told the half-hour. 50 The lady spoke again. 'Id mague - she sighed once more 'so strange, sometime' I thing I'm git'n' crezzy.' Still he to whom these fearful disclos- 55 ures were being made remained as silent and motionless as an Indian captive, and, after another pause, with its painful ac 'I asked you,' continued he, with lowtoned emphasis, fo' the single and only rheason that I want you fo' my wife!' 'Yez,' she quickly replied; 'daz all. Daz wid I thing. An' I thing daz de rad weh to say, 'Sieur Grandissime. Bickause, you know, you an' me is too hole to talg aboud dad lovin', you know. An' you godd dad grade rizpeg fo' me, an' me I godd dad 'ighez rispeg fo' you; bud-' she clutched the fan and her face sank lower still-Bud' she swallowedshook her head-Bud' She bit her lip; she could not go on. Aurora,' said her lover, bending forward and taking one of her hands. I do love you with all my soul.' She made a poor attempt to withdraw her hand, abandoned the effort, and looked up savagely through a pair of overflowing eyes, demanding: Mais, fo' w'y you di' n' wan' to sesso?' M. Grandissime smiled argumentatively. |