THE VILLAGE PRIZE.
By Joseph Ingraham.
In one of the loveliest villages of old Virginia there lived, in the year 175– and odd, an old man, whose daughter was declared, by universal consent, to be the loveliest maiden in all the country round. The veteran, in his youth, had been athletic and muscular above all his fellows; and his breast, where he always wore them, could show the adornment of three medals, received for his victories in gymnastic feats when a young man. His daughter was now eighteen, and had been sought in marriage by many suitors. One brought wealth—another, a fine person—another, industry—another, military talents—another this, and another that. But they were all refused by the old man, who became at last a by-word for his obstinacy among the young men of the village and neighborhood. At length, the nineteenth birthday of Annette, his charming daughter, who was as amiable and modest as she was beautiful, arrived. The morning of that day, her father invited all the youth of the country to a hay-making frolic. Seventeen handsome and industrious young men assembled. They came not only to make hay, but also to make love to the fair Annette. In three hours they had filled the father's barns with the newly dried grass, and their own hearts with love. Annette, by her father's command, had brought them malt liquor of her own brewing, which she presented to each enamored swain with her own fair hands.
"Now my boys," said the old keeper of the jewel they all coveted, as leaning on their pitch-forks they assembled around his door in the cool of the evening—"Now my lads, you have nearly all of you made proposals for my Annette. Now you see, I don't care any thing about money nor talents, book larning nor soldier larning—I can do as well by my gal as any man in the county. But I want her to marry a man of my own grit. Now, you know, or ought to know, when I was a youngster, I could beat any thing in all Virginny in the way o' leaping. I got my old woman by beating the smartest man on the Eastern Shore, and I have took the oath and sworn it, that no man shall marry my daughter without jumping for it. You understand me boys. There's the green, and here's Annette," he added, taking his daughter, who stood timidly behind him, by the hand, "Now the one that jumps the furthest on a 'dead level,' shall marry Annette this very night."
This unique address was received by the young men with applause. And many a youth as he bounded gaily forward to the arena of trial, cast a glance of anticipated victory back upon the lovely object of village chivalry. The maidens left their looms and quilting frames, the children their noisy sports, the slaves their labors, and the old men their arm-chairs and long pipes, to witness and triumph in the success of the victor. All prophesied and many wished that it would be young Carroll. He was the handsomest and best-humored youth in the county, and all knew that a strong and mutual attachment existed between him and the fair Annette. Carroll had won the reputation of being the "best leaper," and in a country where such athletic achievements were the sine qua non of a man's cleverness, this was no ordinary honor. In a contest like the present, he had therefore every advantage over his fellow athletæ.
The arena allotted for this hymeneal contest, was a level space in front of the village-inn, and near the centre of a grass-plat, reserved in the midst of the village denominated "the green." The verdure was quite worn off at this place by previous exercises of a similar kind, and a hard surface of sand more befittingly for the purpose to which it was to be used, supplied its place.
The father of the lovely, blushing, and withal happy prize, (for she well knew who would win,) with three other patriarchal villagers were the judges appointed to decide upon the claims of the several competitors. The last time Carroll tried his skill in this exercise, he "cleared"—to use the leaper's phraseology—twenty-one feet and one inch.
The signal was given, and by lot the young men stepped into the arena.
"Edward Grayson, seventeen feet," cried one of the judges. The youth had done his utmost. He was a pale, intellectual student. But what had intellect to do in such an arena? Without looking at the maiden he slowly left the ground.
"Dick Boulden, nineteen feet." Dick with a laugh turned away, and replaced his coat.