Myrtle lawn. A novel

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BY ROBERT E. BALLARI).

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Op North Carolina.

** Myrtle Lawn” is an, American romance of real life — a story almost of the present, so near to our time do the incidents occur. The narrative opens in Mexico, with the history of a patriotic family there, to xvhich Nora Lavine, one of the heroines of the tale, belongs by descent. The home-scenes of this romance, which are admirably presented, take place in a beautiful village in Maryland, in which three families reside, respectively named Melton, Evarts, and Lavine. The heads of these families are respectively two merchant princes, and Mrs. Lavine, the widow of a Colonel in the Confederate Army. There are two sons, Henry Melton and Horace Evarts, who form deep attachments to feannette Evarts and Nora Lavine. But, as ” the course of true love never yet ran smooth,'' the elder Mr. Melton, who has very ambitious views for his son, forbids him to associate any longer with Miss Evarts, whom he has known since childhood, and the younger Mr. Evarts, having become jecilous of Nora Lavine, leaves his native land in despair, and joins the Spanish army, then engaged in civil war, and greatly distinguishes himself in actual conflict. The crowning merit of “ Myrtle Lawn” will be found in the description of a battle-scene in Spain, during the Car list war. It is a panoramic painting in words, such as Scott or Macaulay might have dashed off in a happy hour of literary excitement. There is nothing of the sort finer in modern flction. The dialogues and correspondence in this tale are admirable, and tlu author’s stream of narrative is at once clear, strong, and rapid. — Critic.

306 CHESTNUT STREET.

copyright:

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OF

WARREN COUNTY, NORTH CAROUNA,

AS A

MARK OP MY ADMIRATION FOR HIS QUALITIES AS A GENTLEMAN AND A scholar; AND AS A TOKEN OP MY GRATITUDE FOR THAT UNWAVERING FRIENDSHIP WHICH HAS ALWAYS PROVED STRONGEST WHEN MOST NEEDED,

THIS WORK IS

AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED

BY THE AUTHOR.

Warren County, N. C., November^ 1879.

Acthou’s Edition.

Contents

Chapter Page

I. FATHER AND SON 23

n. OLD FRIENDS 29

Chapter 1. Father And Son

OD had smiled upon a vast nation of people, and vX blessed them with all that was great, glorious and good. Their domains extended from ocean to ocean, and from the lakes and mountains of the north to the far-away tropic climes, and to the southern gulf- streams. At one extremity, fruits ripened and fragrant flowers gladdened the senses; while on the other, ice glistened on the mountains and amidst the lakes. Their cities glowed with splendor and magnificence. Their halls of learning were filled with the grand-est strains of music and oratory. Their homes were gushing with loves and joys, and wealth and happiness. Their rivers were plowed by palace -like steamers, and seas were white with their commerce, while their vessels were freighted with cereals, luxuries and comforts, for the teeming thousands of other lands.

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Alas ! this great and happy people forgot God. They lost sight of the Hand from whence this unbounded munificence flowed. They fell into all manner of excesses and evil indulgences — revelled in luxury, ease and sensuality; made idols of their Mammon and of their lusts, and found themselves floundering in a sea of materialism and infidelity; and — Crod smote them with the woes of a fratricidal war. The great sections of the South stood arrayed against the great sections of the North. Revolutionary guns battered the old Stars and Stripes, floating from the walls of Sumpter. The cry of battle rang from every hill and vale, and a million men sprang to arms. Brother betrayed brother ; father, son; and parents, children. From a thousand hills, ten thousand guns belched forth Are and death, and the flowers in a thousand valleys lost their tints in a hue more crimson.

Men were maddened as the wild beasts of the forests ; and onward and ceaseless flowed the crimson tide. Cries of anguish went out from every household in the broad land. The young widow, with the sleeping babe at her breast, rained scalding tears upon its face, as she thought of the slaughtered father. The heartbroken mother bewailed in bitterness the death of her only son. Fathers bade adieu to prattling children; husbands, farewell to weeping wives, and — came no more. The tender, lovely maiden cast her arms around the lover’s neck, and, unblushing, gave the kiss that proved the last. On the field of slaughter, brother saw the bloody corpse of brother, and father turned pale and shuddered as he stumbled upon the upturned face

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of son, white in death; then hurried on to find his own reeking grave. Fields were laid waste, cities were burnt, homes were blighted, hearts were crushed, and an impenetrable pall of woe hung all over the land.

Four long, interminable years ! What deeds of heroism that were never known ! What wails of sorrow that were never heard! Then men and women and children — powerless in the dust, and prostrate in despair — cried aloud in their misery ; and, lifting up their eyes and their hearts, and stretching out their hands to Heaven, implored help. Then God’s anger melted ; His wrath was turned to mercy, and He sent the white-winged angel “ Peace ” to spread its pinions o’er the bleeding land. God stayed the Nation’s flow of blood, and healed its wounds.

* * * About ten years had flown since the beginning of that awful era, and nearly six since its close. A people that had shown valor in war, proved that they could be brave in peace. Where homes had been burnt, new homes were springing up. Where cities had been destroyed, new cities were being built. Business, industry, life and hope were being revived. Across the bloody chasm, brother was shaking hands with brother, and from the monuments that marked the resting places of illustrious Dead, faces looked calmly upon a land that was beginning to smile with peace and plenty. ^ ^ ^ *

In a stately -looking, brown -stone mansion, in a beautiful village, not many miles distant from Maryland’s great business and commercial city, there lived a

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princely old merchant. He was a widower, and had an only child. Edwin Melton was a determined, worldly, business man, but he was one of the noble representatives of his type. He was rich. He owned large factories, was a heavy operator — and a successful one — in stocks and cotton, and carried on a commission business, which had its patrons from Pennsylvania to Louisiana and Texas. Edwin Melton was proud — not foolishly so — hardly consciously so. He was proud of his manhood ; proud of the position he so successfully maintained ; proud of the fortune which his own determined will and efforts had built up about him — a fortune which not even the storms of war had shaken, and in which there was not a single dishonest dollar ; and above all, he was proud in his conscious self-reliance. About the theories of religion and immortality he never declared any decided views ; and it is strange that he did not, for he possessed no mean order of mind ; but the fact is, his ideas and tastes were so intensely practical, that he would not allow his mind to dwell long on any subject that he could not reduce by his regular rules of life.

Edwin Melton was not miserly, nor stingy ; and, while he could not stop or stoop to look upon the ragged beggar that asked alms in his pathway, he gave freely and largely to institutions of charity or of learning. His ruling power was ambition. He loved his money because he knew it would help to pave the way to the height where he was determined the feet of his son should rest. We have said “ above all, Edwin Melton was proud of his own strength.” Aho^ all^ he was proud of his son. ^

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When the dark shadow was cast over the lordly merchant’s heart and home, by the death of the fair, gentle creature who was the wife of his bosom, this boy’s bright face, radiant with beauty and intelligence, shed the first ray upon the gloom, and brought the first healing balm to the wounded spirit. His innocent prattle and musical laughter softened the sorrow that weighed upon the worldly man’s heart, and with little Henry about him, the poignancy of his grief was fast losing its sting, while he gazed into the sparkling eye and busied his mind in painting bright pictures and a glorious future for his son.

In the meantime, the lad, too young to feel the deep loss he had sustained in the death of his gentle, loving mother, romped and scampered over the paternal mansion, or, with eyes dancing with fun and merriment, rode his wooden horse, or chased the fowls and fawns on the great green of Melton Mansion.

Time passed on, and the boy grew up a bright, handsome, promising youth, with intellect sparkling in every feature, and with a soul like his mother’s — kind, amiable, generous; yet, at his early age, with the determined will and ambition characteristic of the father. The best instructors of youth in the country, were secured for his benefit, and the rapid progress he made and the facility he evinced in acquiring knowledge, verified fully the intellectual promise of his childhood. He was the pride of the old merchant’s heart, and the sunlight of his home ; and Edwin Melton would sooner have given up his untold wealth than his ambitious dreams for his son.

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Those ambitious dreams were outlined to him after he arrived at the age of sixteen, and was on the eve of his departure for a renowned college in England, in the following words :

“Well, Henry, to-morrow you will leave for England, not to return until the expiration of your collegiate course, which will require three years. I shall miss you sadly, my son — yes, very sadly; but I shall be consoled in a great measure, by the reflection that you are preparing yourself to fill a high and an honorable position in life, and to act a noble part on the world’s wide stage. I shall be satisfied with no mediocrities. I want you to stand first among your classmates, as I expect you to be with the foremost among your fellowmen. I do not consider it necessary for me to warn you of the breakers whereon many a young man’s barque is wrecked ; for I give you credit for too much character and too much good sense, to suppose for a moment that you would suffer yourself to be led astray from the paths of sobriety and virtue. I do not wish you to squander money, but I do not wish you to stint yourself in its use. I will send with you, a letter of credit, on a House in London, and you can draw at your discretion. At the expiration of your college studies, I shall look for your return with intense pride and pleasure, and will expect to find in you a gentleman and scholar, who will prove an ornament to any society, and fitted for any vocation or profession we may choose.”

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Chapter II. Old Fbiends

Three years had just completed their last days.

The fleeting time had brought no apparent change at Melton Mansion. The outwardly cold-looking, stately, old stone building, towering above the pretty and less pretentious cottages and edifices in the vicinity, seemed to be a fit emblem of the character of its lordly occupant. Edwin Melton’s business had continued to prosper. Every plan and wish had come to fruition. His son, tall and handsome, full of buoyancy, health and hope, had just returned from the distant university, laden with honors that he had won. Edwin Melton was in the zenith of his pride and glory ; and if the question had been put to the robust, hale, wellpreserved man of fifty-five, on that gushing spring morning, as he rode behind his dashing steeds, towards the city, “What else wilt thou have,” he would have been mute for an answer, whilst thousands of poor, all over the land were thanking God that their lots were no harder; were thanking Him for the morsel that stayed the hunger of pleading children, and for the hope that moved the arm for toil. Man, in his pride, and wealth, and luxury, in his egotism and self-reliance, never once thought of the hand from whence his good gifts came.

Henry Melton was spending the first day after his

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arrival in re-familiarizing himself with things about the old Mansion ; responding to some complimentary notes and invitations; passing an hour or two in the highwalled library, filled with all manner of books ; wandering among the grounds about the building, and a little while at a lone spot, where a white marble tombstone glistened among the shrubbery down by the garden wall. As he bent his knee upon the vine-covered mound, an opening flower caught a falling tear. Many years before, a boyish hand had planted those flowers there, and they blossomed yet, on the mother’s grave.

Later in the day, towards the approach of evening, as young Melton was leaning against one of the huge pillars that supported the great porch of the Mansion, his musings were interrupted by the approach of a footstep. Turning, he had only time to rise and stretch out his hands, exclaiming almost joyously: “Horace Evarts, as I live ! ” Their greeting was cordial in the extreme. Horace Evarts appeared scarcely as old as young Melton. He was a tall, graceful figure, richly and tastily dressed, and generally of preposessing appearance. He wore rather long black locks, and the eyes which shone from beneath a high forehead, were of the same color, and sparkled with mischievous twinkle, or softened with a gentle lustre as he greeted his friend. Evarts, like Melton, was the son of a merchant, who did business in the same neighboring city, and the fathers of the young men had been close friends for very many years. They lived within half an hour's walk of each other, and the two sons had grown up

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from childhood intimately associated; and, as the years brought them to the dawn of manhood, their friendship had been cemented. As Melton had just returned the day previous, Evarts had not seen him before during the last three years. The feelings of the young friends after so long a separation, would not be hard to imagine.

After spending nearly an hour in the most friendly intercourse, young Evarts arose, and, offering his hand, said :

“ Henry, I must see you every day, but I have to go now. I hate to tear myself away, but I have an engagement to ride at five o’clock, and see it only lacks a few minutes to that hour. In addition to my own personal irrepressible desire to see you, I was prompted by my father to call and let you know that you are not forgotten at the ‘Lawn.’ Jeannette also sends her compliments, and all three say that we will listen to no excuse whatever, but will expect you to tea this evening.”

“Really, Horace, I thank your father. Miss Jeannette, and yourself, for this evidence of your kind regards and remembrance. Please tender my most respectful compliments to your father and sister, and say that I will respond with pleasure, to the invitation which does me so much honor. But pray, my dear fellow, what pressing engagement can it be that calls you so imperatively away from an old friend, that hasn’t seen you for years ? ”

“Ah! Henry; that is a secret: — a secret, Henry, for the present, even for you,” and with a gay, good-

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humored “ good evening,” he bounded down the steps, and was gone.

Horace Evarts, like Henry Melton, had not known a mother’s love since early childhood ; but grew up with amiable, gentle disposition, and possessed fair mental traits. As time passed, he grew into a gay, careless, handsome lad, with flowing dark hair, and a mischievous sparkle in his black eyes, a popular favorite, and* young ladies’ “beau-ideal” of manly beauty. He was ever ready and witty, with a never ceasing flow of happy spirits ; was kind, unselfish, and always willing to sacrifice his own pleasure to that of those he loved ; with a nature warm and sociable, and generous to a fault. These traits were in common with both his parents. From his father, likewise, he inherited a spirit of indolence, rather than of energy, with a love of ease and high living ; and, while he had a fine sense of honor, and would die sooner than brook an insult to himself or friend, he inherited none of the pride of intellect or aspiring ambition that so positively characterized the head of Melton Mansion. If the two young men differed in this respect they had never discerned it; and, although they had been warm friends and almost constant companions, up to the period when they were separated on going to different colleges, they had never studied each other’s characters, and were hound by a common friendship and congeniality. After their long separation it was perfectly natural they should have been drawn together again by emotions of fellowship and sympathy.

Young Evarts had an only sister ; a sweet, pure little

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girl of sixteen, with soft blue eyes and nut-brown braids. Her cherry lips were always wreathed with sunny smiles, and a pretty dimple was ever coquetting with the velvety cheek, where the color of the rose contended for mastery with that of the morning lily. Jeannette was a little beauty — simple, artless, childlike ; with a spirit effervescent, light and joyous, and a heart bounding in love to all the world, capable of mingling its purest sympathies with the wail of suffering, as well as of responding to the sweet carols of the little birds that, singing their morning matins in the lilac at her window, awoke her from innocent dreams, to look on a world that, to her young soul, was as yet all beauty and melody and joy. Her nature was loving, dependent, confiding. Having no knowledge of the outward world, she was credulous without reserve; and her bright face, radiant with divine love and happiness, was the incarnation of innocence itself. Her mind was not so much on the order of the intellectual as of the angelic, and its chief characteristic was tender beauty, rather than dazzling brilliancy. Jeannette Evarts was a pure child of ‘the heart ; she never read much, or paled the freshening color of her cheek by poring over musty books, endeavoring to solve mysterious problems, or gather knowledge from profound sciences. The lessons she learned were the lessons of nature. She would sit for hours gazing on the silvery moon, or the myriads of twinkling lights in the blue expanse, and through these wondrous works would look still higher to the great Omnipotent Hand that formed them. Or again, at early morn she would 2

MYKTLE LAW:S, wander in the wide garden of flowers, her soul expanding with the love of nature, as she watched the bright god of day rising o’er the far-off mountains, and saw the glittering dew-drops grow to golden in the coining sunlight. She would listen to the chorus of the gayplumaged songsters, and her own soft, warbling voice would respond in echo. She was the joy, the love, the life of her father’s heart, and the very sunlight of his home. Her voice, so soft and musical, dispelled the cares that his business would bring to him, and her gentle words, so full of tenderness and love, drove the gloom from his brow when the probability of mercantile disaster forced itself upon him.

Henry Melton had not quite forgotten this little girlbeauty — the sweet friend of his early childhood’s rambles. Often during his college-life, when his mind would busy itself with memories of the past, the bright happy face of little Jeannette would rise up before his vision, and again he could hear the merry peals of laughter, that were as music in his ears, in other days. Or again he could see the long lashes of the downcast eyes, as they used to look when he twined roses in the golden hair. He had not forgotten the little maiden’s modest blush, as, when he had decked her as some fairy of the flowers, he took her soft little hand within his own, and, looking into the lustrous blue eyes, had called her his little “ Queen of love and beauty.” When he would awake from these pleasant dreamings, he would turn to the dull, dry books with a sigh, and “ Oh, Jeannette ! that I were only a child again, and could live over with you those bright days.” The

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visit of young Evarts called up many such memories vividly to his mind, and he fell to musing, and here are some of his thoughts ;

“And I shall see thee again, Jeannette; bright little companion of my dreams, inspirer in my hours of lonely study. Thou did’st not forget the wild boy who chased with thee the golden butterfly o’er the lawn and flower beds, and who was never so happy as when watching your bright eyes sparkling with fun and merriment, or the golden hair dancing on zephyrs. Thou didst not forget the wild boy whose hands fashioned for thee the miniature ship and placed it on the silvery lake 4hat thou might’st be pleased. In all the long years of absence thou did’st still remember the little associate of thy blessed childhood, who was never happier than when wandering by thy side, listening to the music of thy gentle voice — a music sweeter far, I know, than the vesper bird’s voice, or the song of Paradise.”

And now, while Henry Melton is dreaming, let us leave him to himself, and look in at “ Myrtle Lawn.” It was a most attractive and lovely residence, surrounded with the choicest beauties of Art and Nature, and furnished within with taste, elegance and richness. The floors were carpeted with the Very finest materials, and the paintings that hung from the walls were by the most celebrated artists. A long veranda or portico extended the full front of the building, with each latticed end almost shut in by vines and honeysuckles. In front of the house a beautiful lawn, smooth as velvet, and shaded by the spreading branches of great tall

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trees, extended a hundred yards or more. In the rear was a magnificent garden of vines and fruit trees, shrubbery and flowers, myrtle and evergreen. Beyond this was a beautiful little silvery lake or pond, and it Avas here that Jeannette loved best to wander, or sit on the mossy bank watching the wild flowers that grew upon the water’s edge, as bending beneath the gentle breezes they would kiss the crystal waves.

In a spacious room, near an open window, which overlooked this scene of loA^eliness, sat Mr. Evarts in an easy rocking-chair. On the floor around him were newspapers, letters, etc., while on a small table at hand Avas an open box of cigars, and a small glass decanter half filled Avith wine. He was neatly dressed, and wore embroidered slippers. He was rather a portly gentleman, Avith a most kind and pleasant expression of face, and, though not an old looking man, he had evidently climbed to the top, and Avas going doAvn on the other side of the hill of life. Apart from his position, dress and surroundings, one would have judged, from his appearance, that, Avhile he Avas the soul of kindness and honor, he Avas not so full of energy and ambition as some men are, and Avas fond of ease and luxurious living. These characteristics had been so unmistakably impressed on his face that his expression might have been called “sensual,” had it not been modified and softened by an indescribable look of holy affection, Avith which he occasionally regarded a beautiful young girl Avho, standing at an open AvindoAv, gazed out upon the lovely scenery about her happy home.

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For several minutes Jeannette Evarts had been silently standing there. Suddenly she turned to her father and exclaimed :

“ Oh ! dear papa, do come and look ! It is so lovely and beautiful. The great red sun is just sinking behind the hills, and his departing rays light up the mountains of clouds in the west until they seem like great golden castles. I have looked and looked, papa, until I have peopled them with images of my own creation. I see the doors and windows of one mighty turreted castle, and the giant lord that is master there : and I see many others about him, and he does’nt move kindly among them. Oh, papa, it looks so grand; but it doesn’t look so pretty and sweet as the flower garden, and the lake in the woods. And now the robin-red-breast in the great old poplar is warbling his farewell ditty to the dying day. Oh, papa ! God must have been so good to have made this world so sweet and pretty for us all.”

“You are a dear little enthusiast, Jeannette. Your young heart is as innocent as it is happy, and I pray that God may always bless you, my darling daughter.”

Jeannette stood by her father’s chair, and put her arm around his neck. The father resumed :

“ I love to see my dear little girl admire the works of Nature, and be enthusiastic in her admiration of the grand and beautiful ; but she must not forget that all is not beauty in the earth : that in the path of every individual lie stern duties, and oftentimes painful realities, sometimes great trials and griefs. It is our duty never to be altogether unprepared to meet them.”

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“ Papa, what great sorrows or trials can ever come to us?”

“I hope none ever will come to you, my angel daughter,” and in spite of him, two big tears rolled down his cheeks. The gentle girl tenderly wiped them away.

“ There, my pet ; you may go now. See, the evening shades are gathering, and your red-breast has hushed his twittering. Remember, in an hour from now young Melton will be here; and everybody says he is a talented lad; and Horace, you know, just told us he was even handsomer than three years ago. My little girl must keep a close watch over that little heart of hers, or else I may be supplanted.”

A tell-tale blush was the only reply, and this was not observed in the thickening twilight.

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CHAPTER HI.

RENEWAL OF LOVE.

TWO months had passed since we left the happylittle family at “ Myrtle Lawn,” and summer was deepening into autumn. The flowers were fading, and their falling leaves were strewn o’er the garden walks. The water-lilies no longer dipped their heads into the crystal lake, whose bright surface was now covered with the yellow leaves from the grand old poplar. It was on a beautiful morning in this lovely season, that Jeannette Evarts leaned on the arm of Henry Melton, as they wandered through the golden-hued woodland that skirted the quiet lake, in the rear of Myrtle Lawn.

For some minutes, they moved on in silence. She, the child of Nature, lulled as it were into a dreamy languor, by the soft, balmy skies above and the beauties around her ; he, looking on the drooping lid and the rose-tinted cheek of the fair one at his side, his heart swelling with admiration, and fluttering with emotions — the tenderest never yet spoken — was silent, lest he should call her from the realms of her happy musings.

At last, they came to a picturesque and most lovely spot, where a little sparkling fountain gushed from beneath a great moss-covered rock, while its limpid waters made a soft, murmuring music, as it glided gently among the autumn leaves, and wended its way toward the little lake — its ocean. Above the rock, the

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honeysuckle had twined its branches, forming a perfect arch of a golden hue, while here and there, a wild flower of the woodland, blooming on the dying breath of summer, lent its beauty to the scene, and its fragrance to the morning air. Birds chirped cheerily in the shrubbery and squirrels frisked in the tree-tops. It was altogether a pretty picture, and as it broke upon Jeannette Evarts, she suddenly aroused from her dreamy silence, and, turning to her companion with an outburst of enthusiasm, impulsively exclaimed :

“ Oh ! Mr. Melton, isn’t it a delightful place ! I could make this my home, and while my life away here on this green carpet of silky moss — with the golden archway above, the wild flowers blooming, and the birds singing above it, while the low ripple of this gentle streamlet, would lull me to sleep with its soft, gurgling music.”

Then ashamed of this outburst of feeling, which found vent in the expression of such romantic ideas, she turned aside and hid her face, while the rose-color on her dimpled cheek deepened into scarlet.

“Come, Jeannette, you need not blush. You are a pure, little child, of noble impulse and generous emotions. Such enthusiasm is not unnatural, and truly, your idea of making this lovely place your home, is far from being absurd ; for they tell me that the fairies live in such bowers, and if this be true, might be a fit place for you to dwell, for you are more lovely, Jeannette, than any fairy of my imagination, and your voice is sweeter than the voice of the birds whose singing you hear. But, come, be seated here, Jeannette, and let