in the vines below,
And muttering hung on a golden thread,
Or moved on the moss'd bough to and fro,
In plumes of gold and array'd in red.

The serpent that hung from the sycamore bough,
And sway'd his head in a crescent above,
Had folded his head to the white limb now,
And fondled it close like a great black love.

JOAQUIN MILLER.

On the afternoon of the 23d of December, the thermometer marked
eighty-six degrees in the shade on the outside wall of Mark Deal's
house. Mark Deal's brother, lying on the white sand, his head within the
line of shadow cast by a live-oak, but all the remainder of his body
full in the hot sunshine, basked liked a chameleon, and enjoyed the
heat. Mark Deal's brother spent much of his time basking. He always took
the live-oak for a head-protector; but gave himself variety by trying
new radiations around the tree, his crossed legs and feet stretching
from it in a slightly different direction each day, as the spokes of a
wheel radiate from the hub. The live-oak was a symmetrical old tree,
standing by itself; having always had sufficient space, its great arms
were straight, stretching out evenly all around, densely covered with
the small, dark, leathery leaves, unnotched and uncut, which are as
unlike the Northern oak-leaf as the leaf of the willow is unlike that
of the sycamore. Behind the live-oak, two tall, ruined chimneys and a
heap of white stones marked where the mansion-house had been. The old
tree had watched its foundations laid; had shaded its blank, white front
and little hanging balcony above; had witnessed its destruction, fifty
years before, by the Indians; and had mounted guard over its remains
ever since, alone as far as man was concerned, until this year, when a
tenant had arrived, Mark Deal, and, somewhat later, Mark Deal's brother.

The ancient tree was Spanish to the core; it would have resented the
sacrilege to the tips of its small acorns, if the new-comer had laid
hands upon the dignified old ruin it guarded. The new-comer, however,
entertained no such intention; a small out-building, roofless, but
otherwise in good condition, on the opposite side of the circular space,
attracted his attention, and became mentally his residence, as soon as
his eyes fell upon it, he meanwhile standing with his hands in his
pockets, surveying the place critically. It was the old Monteano
plantation, and he had taken it for a year.

The venerable