1895. 



THE AMERICAN BEE-KEEPER. 



77 



AN tLlZABETHAN BALLAO. 



Dilclido, dildido, 

 O love, O love, 

 I feel thy rage rumble below and above! 



In summer time 1 see a face, 

 Trop belle pour moi, helas, helasl 



Like to a stoned horse was her pace. 



Was ever a young man so dismayed? 



Her eyes, like wax torches, did ruAke me 

 afraid ! 

 Trop belle pour moi, voila trepaa. 



Thy beauty, my love, exceedeth supposes; 

 Thy hair is a nettle for the nicest roses. 



Mon dieu, aide moi! 

 Kiat I with the primrose of my fresh wit 

 May stumble her tyranny under my feet. 



He done je serai un jeune roi! 

 Trop belle pour moi, helas, helasl 

 Trop belle pour moi, voila mon trepas. 

 •-Extract From the Works of Robert Greene, 



1560-92. 



A GHOST OF A PLACE. 



THE STORY OF ASHLEY HALL AND 

 HOSPITABLE COLONEL BULL. 



How the Pliiiitcr Kept His Household 

 Goods Froiii the Hands of the "Raiders." 

 Pictures of a Beautiful Suburb That All 

 Visitors to Charleston Admire. 



Woodlands thick with undergrowth; 

 tranquil country stillness, the stillness 

 of a bit of country comparatively un- 

 tilled and unpastured; roadways lined 

 with tall and stately trees — such the 

 scene as the clatter of horses' hoofs echo- 

 ing on the hard flooring of the river 

 bridge dies away into noiseless footfalls 

 and the wheels turn without sound in 

 the yielding soil of St. Andrew's. The 

 murmured chorus of countless pines 

 charms us intoforgetfulnessof the city's 

 close proximity across the river. Ahead 

 the way unfolds to us, broad and smooth, 

 winding between long battalions of an- 

 cient oaks, ujulUed up to their chins in 

 gray; on tln-ough miles of the century old 

 trees, their massive trunks bound with 

 fibrous scarfs, as if to veil the scars of 

 successive seasons, every twig and 

 branch and spray hung with streaming 

 moss. Grand old oaks I Autumnal 

 storms and April airs in turns have 

 tossed and kissed their rugged boughs, 

 yet the giant trunks stand firm. Scarce 

 a gap in the uniform line shows where 

 a grenadier has fallen out of ranks, and, 

 elbow to elbow, they guard the ancient 



nignway from encroachment of forest or 

 field. 



Here is an old gateway, the entrance 

 to the grounds which once surrounded 

 Ashley Hall, one of the proudest and 

 most spacious of the ancestral homes in 

 this parish. We pass through the use- 

 less massive portals into the driveway 

 beyond. In the shaded light the avenue 

 seems dreaming of the past, for these 

 great oaks stand guard over the wreck 

 of all they were intended to adorn. Of 

 the stately home to which their beauty 

 formed a fit approach nothing now re- 

 mains but the crumbling marble steps 

 and tall, spirelike chimneys. Little 

 pickaninnies play hide and seek where 

 once the flowers in "my lady's garden" 

 grew in trim luxuriance. Only the Ash- 

 ley is unchanged as it ripples by on its 

 way to the sea, its waves as blue and 

 sparkling as when it bore many a boat- 

 ing parry from the mansion house. 



Ashley Hall was the scene of a munifi- 

 cent and lavish hospitality in antebel- 

 lum days Its owner possessed immense 

 plantations in Mississippi and Louisiana 

 in addition to his Carolina estates, and 

 the great halls and spacious drawing 

 rooms of the St. Andrew's mansion were 

 frequently thronged with a gay com- 

 pany of thomost distinguished people 

 of the state. Tlie host was passionately 

 fond of the chase and delighted to as- 

 semble about him those who shared in 

 his love of sport. Deer hunts, partici- 

 pated in by famous sportsmen from all 

 over the south, were features of every 

 season. The same open handed generos- 

 ity that dictated a hospitality so marked 

 obtained between master and slave, and 

 the l:ir,r;e retinue of servants at the hall 

 were a happy, care free set. It was tra- 

 ditional that no one was ever sent away- 

 empty handed who applied for aid at 

 the doors of this plantation home. 



This old hall, in which seven genera- 

 tions of the same family had dwelt, liv- 

 ing almost ideal lives, met with a tragic 

 fate. The organized struggle between 

 the north and south was at an end, but 

 the "raiders" were in possession of this 

 country. They had already sacked and 

 destroyed every house in the parish, 

 with a single exception, and that plan- 

 tation was occupied by an enemy more 

 dreaded even than demoralized soldiers 

 — namely, smallpox. That frightened 

 even roagh handed rauacity awav. and 



