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louder nor a kitten, for fear he'd find me out; and after a while he quit barkin.

The wind begun to blow bominable cold, and the old bag kept turnin round and swingin so it made me sea-sick as the mischief. I was afraid to move for fear the rope would break and let me fall, and thar I sot with my teeth rattlin like I had a ager. It seemed like it would never come daylight, and I do believe if I didn't love Miss Mary so powerful I would froze to death; for my heart was the only spot that felt warm, and it didn't beat more'n two licks a minit, only when I thought how she would be supprised in the mornin, and then it went in a canter. Bimeby the cussed old dog came up on the porch and begun to smell about the bag, and then he barked like he thought he'd treed something.


"Bow! wow! wow!" ses he. Then he'd smell agin, and try to git up to the bag. "Git out!" ses I, very low, for fear the galls mought hear me. "Bow! wow!" ses he. Begone! you bominable fool!" ses I, and I felt all over in spots, for I spected every minit he'd nip me, and what made it worse, I didn't know wharabouts he'd take hold. "Bow! wow! wow!" Then I tried coaxin-" Come here, good feller," ses I, and whistled a little to him, but it wasn't no use. Thar he stood, and kep up his everlastin barkin and whinin, all night. I couldn't tell when daylight was breakin, only by the chickens crowin, and I was monstrous glad to hear 'em, for if I'd had to stay thar one hour more, I don't believe I'd ever got out of that bag alive.

Old Miss Stallins come out fust, and as soon as she seed the bag, ses she: "What upon yeath has Joseph went and put in that bag for Mary? I'll lay it's a yearlin or some live animal, or Bruin wouldn't bark at it so."

She went in to call the galls, and I sot thar, shiverin all over so I couldn't hardly speak if I tried to,-but I didn't say nothin. Bimeby they all come runnin out on the porch.

"My goodness! what is it?" ses Miss Mary.

"Oh, it's alive!" ses Miss Kesiah. "I seed it move."

"Call Cato, and make him cut the rope," ses Miss Carline, "and let's see what it is. Come here, Cato, and get this bag down."

"Don't hurt it for the world," ses Miss Mary.

Cato untied the rope that was round the jice, and let the bag down easy on the floor, and I tumbled out, all covered with corn-meal from head to foot.

"Goodness gracious!" ses Miss Mary, "if it ain't the Majer himself!"

"Yes," ses I, "and you know you promised to keep my Crismus present as long as you lived."

The galls laughed themselves almost to death, and went to brushin off the meal as fast as they could, sayin they was gwine to hang that bag up every Crismus till they got husbands too. Miss Mary-bless her bright eyes!—she blushed as beautiful as a mornin-glory, and sed she'd stick to her word. I do believe if I was froze stiff, one look at her sweet face, as she stood thar lookin down to the floor with her roguish eyes, and her bright curls fallin all over her snowy neck, would have fotched me to. I tell you what, it was worth hangin in a meal bag from one Crismus to another to feel as happy as I have ever sense.


JAMES BARRON HOPE was born near Norfolk, Virginia, educated at William and Mary College, and began the practice of law at Hampton. In 1857 he wrote the poem for the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the settle

ment of Jamestown, and in 1858 an Ode for the dedication of the Washington Monument at Richmond. He also wrote poems for the "Southern Literary Messenger," as Henry Ellen. In 1861 he entered the Confederate service and fought through the war as captain. Afterwards he settled in Norfolk to the practice of his profession. His best poems are considered to be "Arms and the Man," and "Memorial Ode," the latter written for the laying of the corner-stone of the Lee Monument in Richmond, 1887, just before his death.

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A Metrical Address recited on the one hundredth anniversary of the surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown, on invitation of the United States Congress, October 19, 1881.


Full-burnished through the long-revolving years
The ploughshare of a Century to-day
Runs peaceful furrows where a crop of Spears
Once stood in War's array.

And we, like those who on the Trojan plain
See hoary secrets wrenched from upturned sods;-
Who, in their fancy, hear resound again

The battle-cry of Gods;—

We now, this splendid scene before us spread
Where Freedom's full hexameter began-
Restore our Epic, which the Nations read
As far its thunders ran.

*By permission of Mrs. Jane Barron Hope Marr.

Here visions throng on People and on Bard,
Ranks all a-glitter in battalions massed
And closed around as like a plumèd guard,
They lead us down the Past.

I see great Shapes in vague confusion march
Like giant shadows, moving vast and slow,
Beneath some torch-lit temple's mighty arch
Where long processions go.

I see these Shapes before me all unfold,
But ne'er can fix them on the lofty wall,
Nor tell them, save as she of Endor told
What she beheld to Saul.


(From Memorial Ode.)

Our history is a shining sea

Locked in by lofty land,

And its great Pillars of Hercules,
Above the shifting sand

I here behold in majesty
Uprising on each hand.

These Pillars of our history,
In fame forever young,
Are known in every latitude
And named in every tongue,
And down through all the Ages
Their story shall be sung.

The Father of his Country
Stands above that shut-in sea,
A glorious symbol to the world
Of all that's great and free;
And to-day Virginia matches him-

And matches him with Lee.



JAMES WOOD DAVIDSON was born in Newberry County, South Carolina, and educated at South Carolina College, Columbia. He taught at Winnsboro and at Columbia until the opening of the war, when he enlisted as a volunteer in the Army of Northern Virginia, and served throughout the great struggle. After the war he taught again in Columbia till 1871. Then he removed to Washington and in 1873 to New York, where he engaged in literary and journalistic work. He has also lived in Florida and represented Dade County in the State Legislature. He is now living in Washington City.

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Dr. Davidson's "Living Writers of the South" has made his name well known as a critic and student of literature, and his labors in behalf of Southern letters entitle him to high regard.


(From Poetry of the Future.*)

The relation between the Beautiful and Beauty on the one hand, and the Poetical and Poetry on the other, has generally been seen, when seen at all, vaguely; that is to say, seen as the Beautiful and the Poetical themselves have been seen-" in a mirror darkly." This indistinctness seems * By permission of the author.

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