Trinity Sketches

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1894 Excerpt: ... r Pierre, to bear me back to the far new land where he has toiled so long to earn the home. Only a day, she murmurs, and wearily stoops again to her toil. And far away a slow bell chimes, lazily, the lagging hours. II. In the hush of the short, southern twilight, from the gray, crumbling tower of a vine-swathed church, encircled by brown fields in which the yellow sheaves stand thick, a slow bell tolls drearily. Yonder, on a sea of quivering silver, floats a slender ship, its white wings stained scarlet by the sullen glow of the smouldering west. Overhead, in the violet air, slow gray swallows are hovering. Through the peace and the silence of the quiet country a long, slow train of sun-bronzed peasants weepingly follow the dull, plodding oxen as they drag slowly, slowly over bright flowers and beneath a smiling sky, a grim, creaking chariot with sable plumes nodding gruesomely. Pierre has returned. Arthur Leslie Green. LEM came up to the back porch to deliver a note from Marse Adams, my neighbor on the River Road. Lem was a darkey of the old school, a gentleman's gentleman before the war, and he had that quiet air of politeness about him that is conspicuously absent in the younger generation of his race--a politeness peculiarly pleasant and conveying a sort of dignity with it which, in spite of rags and tatters, gains its meed of respect arid esteem from all, from none more than the older class of whites, who taught Lem and his fellows that very lesson. The old man stood there, hat in hand, while I read my note. It was the day after Thanksgiving, bleak and raw; and the wind whipped the long tails of his aged coat--former property of the aforesaid Marse Adams--about his legs, played with his whitening hair and snat...