“It is a very grave question that confronts us, and by far the less easier of settlement because we are placed in the full light of public observation, all our doings heightened by its glare, and the passion of the people aroused. It is not that we will, but that we must lynch in these extreme cases. There seems no other way, and that is a poor enough one.” “How many persons do you suppose have lost their lives by lynch law in the south during the past ten years?” asked Elliott. “I should say at least a thousand,” replied Mr. Field. “Heavens! What a record!” exclaimed Elliott, who became silent, a look of brooding thoughtfulness taking the place of the happy expression that had lighted up his face. His uncle, noticing his preoccupation, endeavored to distract his thoughts by calling attention to the distant sound of a big bass fiddle and a strong negro voice that called out many times, “balance all, swing yo par-d-ners.” “I suppose on this festive occasion I shall also hear some political aspirant promising poor humanity unconditional prosperity and deliverance from evil?” asked Elliott, by way of inquiry as to what other diversions might be expected. “Oh, yes, Holmes and Feland, the candidates for prosecuting attorney, are sure to be on hand,” replied Mr. Field. A little further on they came upon the crowd gathered in the woods. On the bough-roofed dancing ground the youths were tripping with lissome maids, who, with their filmy skirts a little lifted, showed shapely ankles at every turn. The lookers-on seemed witched with the rhythmic motion and the sensuous music. Old and young women, as well as men, the well-to-do and the poor, were there. Neat, nice-looking young people, with happy, intelligent faces, kept time to the waltz and the cotillion, which were the order of the day. As the graceful figures animated the arbor, far away in the depths of the wood could be heard echoes of light-hearted talk and happy laughter. The very genius of frolic seemed to preside over the gathering. Elliott stood near one end of the arbor and drew a long breath of pure delight at this, to him, truly strange and delightful pastoral. The mellow tints of nature’s verdure, the soft languor of the warm atmosphere, gave a happy turn to his thoughts as he looked upon his first “bran-dance.” “Come! finish this with me,” cried a sturdy farmer boy. “Do, dear mamma!” begged the gasping maiden at her side, “I am so tired. Do take a round with him.”