LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1573, 5 March 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

BELLES DEMOISELLES PLANTATION.

( Concluded.)

‘My God 1’ he sobbed aloud— ‘ My God 1’ and even while he called, his God answered ; the tough Bermuda grass stretched and sna :ped the crevice slowly became a gape and softly, gradually, with no sound but the closing of the water at last, a ton or more of earth settled into the boiling eddy and dis appeared. At the same instant a pulse of the breeze brought from the garden behind the joyous, thoughtless l.ughier of iha fair mistresses of Bedes Demoiselles.

The old Colonel sprang up and clambered over the levee Then forcing himself to a more composed movement, he hastened into the house a d ordered his horse

* Tell my children to make merry while I am gone,’ he left word. ‘ I shall be b *ck tonight.’ and the big horse’s hoofs clattered down by a by-road leading to the city. * Charlie,’ said the planter, riding up to a window, from which the old man’s night-cap was thrust out, ‘ Whac you say, Charlie — my house for yours, eh, Charlie, what you say ?’ ‘ Elio !’ said Charlie ; ‘ from where you come from dis time of to n’ght ?’ ‘ J come from the Exchange.’ (A small fraction’© f the truth), * What do you want ?’ said matter of fact Charlie. ‘ I come to trade. ’

The low-down relative drew the worsted off his ears ‘Oh! yass,’ he said with an uncertain air.

‘ Weil, old man Charley, what you say ; my house for yours —like you said—eh, Charlie ?’

‘ I dunno,’ said Charlie, ‘ it’s nearly mine now. Why you don’t stay dare youtse’f ?’

‘ Because 1 don’t want!’ said the Colonel savagely ; ‘ is dat reason enough for you ? Y u better taka me in de notion, old man, I tall you —yes !’ Charlie never winced ; but how his answer delighted the Colonel ! quo'h Charlie—- ‘ I don’t care— l take him ! — mais possession give right off.’ ‘Not the whole plantation, Charlie; only—’ ‘ I don’t care,’ said Charlie, ‘ wo easy can fix (i at, Mais, what for you don't waul, to Keep him ? 1 don t want him. You butter keep him.’ * Hon’t you try to make no fool of me, old man ’ cried the plantar. ‘ 0, r.o !’ said the other. ‘ 0, no ! but you make a fool of yourself, ain’t it ?’ The duinhfoundered Colonel stared; Charlie went on. ‘ Yuas ! Belles D moiselles is more wort’ don tree block like dis ona ; 1 pass by dare

since two weeks. O, pritty Rel'es fid!os ! De c-no. Was wave in de wind de garden smell like a bon (plot, de white cap was jump up and down on the river ; seven bel ! i-a demoiselles waa ridin’ cn hors-s “ Pritty I pritty ! pritty !” says old ’"ha'-lio. Ah ! Monsieur lo pore, ’ow ’appy, ’appy, ’appy !’ ‘ Yaas!’ he continued, tha Colonel still staring, *le Compo de Charleu have two familie. One waa low-down Choctaw, one wis high up nchlesse. He give the lowdown Choctaw d's old rat-bole; he give Belles Demoiselles to you*- gran-fozz°r ; and now you don’t be satis fait. What I’ll do wid Belles Demoiselles? She’ll break mein two years, yaaa. And wha 1- yon’ll do wid old Charlie’s house, eh ? Yon’ll tear her down and make you’se’f a blame old fool. I rather wouldn’t trade.’

The platter caught a big breathful of an e -. but Charlie went straight on. ‘ I rather wouldn’t, via is I will do it for you—jest de same, like Monsieur le Compte would say—“ Charlie, you old fool, I want to change houses wid you.’”

So long as the C'doncl suspected irony he was angry, but as Charlie seemed, after all. to be certainly in earnest, he began to feel conscience-stricken. He was by no means a tender man, but his lately.discovered misfortune had unhinged him. and this strange undeserved, disinterested family fealty on the part of Charlie, touched his heart. And sh- uld he still try to lead him into the p!tfall bo had dug ? He he-itated—no. he would show him the place by broad daylight, and if he chose to overlook the ‘caving hank,’ it would be his own fault l ; a trade’s a trade.

‘Come,’ said the planter, ‘come at my house to ni.vht; to-morrow we look at the place before breakfast, and finish the trade.’ ‘ For what ?’ raid Charlie. ‘ O, because I got to come in town in the morning.’ ‘I don’t want,’ said Charlie. 1 How I’m goin’ to come dere ?’

* I git you a horse at the liberty stable ’ ‘Well—anyhow—l don’t care—l’ll go.’ And they went. When they had ridden a long time, and were on the road darkened by hedges of Cherokee rose, the Colonel called behind him to the 4 low d >wn ’ scion, ‘Keep the road, old man.’ ‘ Kh ?’ ‘ Keep the mad.’ ‘ Oh, yes ; all right; I keep my word ; we don’t goin’ to play no tricks, eh ?’ But the Colonel seemed n> tto hear. His ungenerous design was beginning to be hate ful to him. Not only old Charlie’s unpro voked goodness was prevailing ; die eulogy on Belles demoiselles had st rred the de >ths of an intense love for his beautiful home True, if lie held to it, the caving of the bank, at its present fearful speed, would let the house into the river in less than three months ; but were it not better to lose it so than to sell his birthright ? Again—coming back to the first thought —to betray his own blood I It was only Injin Charley ; but had not the De Charleu blood just spoken out in him ? Unconsciously he groaned After a time they struck a path approaching the plantation in the rear, and a little after, passing from behind a clump of live oaks, they came in sight of the villa. It looked so like a gem, shining through its dark grove, so like a great glow-worm in the dense foliage, so significant of luxury and gaiety, that the poor master, from an overflowing heart, groaned again. 4 What?’ asked Charlie.

The Colonel only drew his rein, and dismounting mechanically, contemplated the sight before him, *he high arched doors and windows were thrown wide to the summer air; from every opening the bright light of numerous candelabra darted out upon the sparkling f diage of magnolia and bay, and here and there, in the spacious verandahs, a colored lantern swayed in the gentle breeze. _ A sound of revel foil on the ear, the music of harp; and across one window, brighter than the rest, flitted once or twice the shadows c.f dancers. But oh ! the shadows flirting aoro-s the heart of the fair man ion’s master !

4 Did Charlie,’ said he, gazing foudly at his house, ‘you and me is both old eh ?’

* Yaas,’ sdd the stolid Oharlie. ‘And we has both been bad enough in our time, eh, Charlie?’ Charlie, surprised at the tender tone re* peated ‘ Ya s.’ ‘ And you and me is mighty close ?’ ‘ Hi me close, yass.’ ‘Rut you never know me to cheat, old man ?’

‘No ’ —impassively. ‘And do you think I would cheat you now ?’

‘i dnnno.,’ said Charlie; ‘I don’t brieve ’

‘ Well old man—old man,’ his voice began to quiver —‘I shan’t cheat you row. My Cod ! <dd man, I tell you—you better not make the trvde !’

‘B-cause for what?’ asked Charlie, in plain anger ; but both looked quickly towards the hou.se r> he Colonel tossed his hands wddly m the air, rushed forward a step or two, and giving one fearful soream of agony and fright, fell forward on his face in the path. Old *. harlie stood transfixed with horror. Relies Demoiselles, the realm of maiden beauty, the ho ne of merriment, the house of dancing, all in the tremor and glow vf pleasure, suddenly sunk, with one short, wild wail of terror—sunk, sunk, down, down, down, into the merciless, unfathomable fl) d of the Mississippi. # * # * *

Twelve long months were midnight to the mind of the ‘ hildless father; when they were only half gone, he took his bed ; and every day and every night old harlie, the ‘low d>wn,’ the ‘fo I,’ watched him ten derly, tended him lovingly, for the sake of his name, his misfortunes, and his brok n heart No woman’s rtep crossed *he floor of the sick chamber, whose western dormer windows overpeered the dingy architecture of old harhe’s block ; Charlie and a skilled physician the one all interest the other all gentleness, hope and patience- these only entered by the door; but by the window came in a sweet-scented e v ergreen vine, t r ansi landed from the caving bank of Belles Demoiselles. It caught ihe rays of sunset in its fl wery net, and et them softly in upon tt e sick man’s bed ; gathered the glinting beams of the moon at midnight, and often wakened the s'eeper to ’ook, with his mindless eyes, upon their pretty silver fragments strewn upon the fl >or. By and by there s* em«d—there was—a twinkling dawn of retaining reason. Slowly, peacefully, with an increase unseen from day to day, the light of reason came into the eyes, and speech became coherent; but withal there came a failing of the wrecked body, and the doctor said that monsieur was both better and worse.

One evening as Charlie sat by the vineclad window with his fireless pipe in his hand, the old Colonel’s eyes fell full upon his own, and rested there.

‘ Chari—,’ he said with an effort, and his delighted nurse hastened to the bedside and bowed his best ear. There was an unsuccessful effort or two and then he whispered, smiling with sweet sadness ‘ We didn’t trade.’

fhe truth in this case was a secondary matter to Charlie; the main point was to give a pleasing answer. So he nodded his he’d decidedly, as who should say— ‘ 0 yes, we did, it was a honafide swap i’ but when he saw the smile vanish, ho t'ied th-- other expedient, and -hook his head with still m r-- vigor, to signify that they had not so much a-i approached a bargain, and the smile returned.

Charlie wanted to see the vine recognised. He stepi ed nek ward to the window with a broad smile, sho k the foliage, nodded, and 1 ok ed smart.

‘ I know,’ ; aid the Colonel, with beaming eyes, ‘ many weeks.’

The next day—- ‘ Chari— ’ The 1 est ear went down,

‘ Sand for a priest ’ Tie’ pn st came, and was alone with him a whole afternoon. When he left the patient was very haggard and exhausted, but smiled, and would not suffer the crucifix to be removed from his breast.

One more morning name Ju»6 belo o dawn C arlie, lying on a p diet in the room, thought ho was called, aud came to his bed- * Old man,’ whispered tie failing invalid, ' is it caving yet ?’ Charlie nodded. * It won’t pay you out.’ ‘ O dat makes not’ing,’ said Charlie. ‘ Dat makes not’in.’ The Colonel whispered once more ‘ Mes belles demoiselles ! —in paradise—in the garden —I shall be with them at sunrise.’ And fo it was.