BY
CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON.
ODESSA, ONTARIO: JAMES NEISH & SONS, PUBLISHERS.
| SOLOMON. WILHELMINA. ST. CLAIR FLATS THE LADY OF LITTLE FISHING. MACARIUS THE MONK. |
MIDWAY in the eastern part of Ohio lies the coal country; round-toppedhills there begin to show themselves in the level plain, trending backfrom Lake Erie; afterwards rising higher and higher, they stretch awayinto Pennsylvania and are dignified by the name of Alleghany Mountains.But no names have they in their Ohio birthplace, and little do thepeople care for them, save as storehouses for fuel. The roads lie alongthe slow-moving streams, and the farmers ride slowly over them in theirbroad-wheeled wagons, now and then passing dark holes in the bank fromwhence come little carts into the sunshine, and men, like silhouettes,walking behind them, with glow-worm lamps fastened in their hat-bands.Neither farmers nor miners glance up towards the hilltops; no doubt theyconsider them useless mounds, and, were it not for the coal, they wouldenvy their neighbors of the grain-country whose broad, level fieldsstretch unbroken through Central Ohio; as, however, the canal-boats goaway full, and long lines of coal-cars go away full, and every man'scoal-shed is full, and money comes back from the great iron-mills ofPittsburgh, Cincinnati, and Cleveland, the coal country, though unknownin a picturesque point of view, continues to grow rich and prosperous.
Yet picturesque it is, and no part more so than the valley where standsthe village of the quaint German Community on the banks of theslow-moving Tuscarawas River. One October day we left the lake behind usand journeyed inland, following the water-courses and looking forwardfor the first glimpse of rising ground; blue are the waters of Erie on asummer day, red and golden are its autumn sunsets, but so level, sodeadly level are its shores that, at times, there comes a longing forthe sight of distant hills. Hence our journey. Night found us still inthe 'Western Reserve.' Ohio has some queer names of her own for portionsof her territory, the 'Fire Lands,' the 'Donation Grant,' the 'SaltSection,' the 'Refugee's Tract,' and the 'Western Reserve' are nameswell known, although not found on the maps. Two days more and we cameinto the coal country; near by were the 'Moravian Lands,' and at the endof the last day's ride we crossed a yellow bridge over a stream calledthe 'One-Leg Creek.'
'I have tried in vain to discover the origin of this name,' I said, aswe leaned out of the carriage to watch the red leaves float down theslow tide.
'Create one, then. A one-legged soldier, a farmer's pretty daughter, anelopement in a flat-bottomed boat, and a home upon this stream whichyields its stores of catfish for their support,' suggested Erminia.
'The original legend would be better than that if we could only find it,for real life is always better than fiction,' I answered.
'In real life we are all masked; but in fiction the author shows thefaces as they are, Dora.'
'I do not believe we are all masked, Ermin