1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844
3845
3846
3847
3848
3849
3850
3851
3852
3853
3854
3855
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861
3862
3863
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869
3870
3871
3872
3873
3874
3875
3876
3877
3878
3879
3880
3881
3882
3883
3884
3885
3886
3887
3888
3889
3890
3891
3892
3893
3894
3895
3896
3897
3898
3899
3900
3901
3902
3903
3904
3905
3906
3907
3908
3909
3910
3911
3912
3913
3914
3915
3916
3917
3918
3919
3920
3921
3922
3923
3924
3925
3926
3927
3928
3929
3930
3931
3932
3933
3934
3935
3936
3937
3938
3939
3940
3941
3942
3943
3944
3945
3946
3947
3948
3949
3950
3951
3952
3953
3954
3955
3956
3957
3958
3959
3960
3961
3962
3963
3964
3965
3966
3967
3968
3969
3970
3971
3972
3973
3974
3975
3976
3977
3978
3979
3980
3981
3982
3983
3984
3985
3986
3987
3988
3989
3990
3991
3992
3993
3994
3995
3996
3997
3998
3999
4000
4001
4002
4003
4004
4005
4006
4007
4008
4009
4010
4011
4012
4013
4014
4015
4016
4017
4018
4019
4020
4021
4022
4023
4024
4025
4026
4027
4028
4029
4030
4031
4032
4033
4034
4035
4036
4037
4038
4039
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045
4046
4047
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053
4054
4055
4056
4057
4058
4059
4060
4061
4062
4063
4064
4065
4066
4067
4068
4069
4070
4071
4072
4073
4074
4075
4076
4077
4078
4079
4080
4081
4082
4083
4084
4085
4086
4087
4088
4089
4090
4091
4092
4093
4094
4095
4096
4097
4098
4099
4100
4101
4102
4103
4104
4105
4106
4107
4108
4109
4110
4111
4112
4113
4114
4115
4116
4117
4118
4119
4120
4121
4122
4123
4124
4125
4126
4127
4128
4129
4130
4131
4132
4133
4134
4135
4136
4137
4138
4139
4140
4141
4142
4143
4144
4145
4146
4147
4148
4149
4150
4151
4152
4153
4154
4155
4156
4157
4158
4159
4160
4161
4162
4163
4164
4165
4166
4167
4168
4169
4170
4171
4172
4173
4174
4175
4176
4177
4178
4179
4180
4181
4182
4183
4184
4185
4186
4187
4188
4189
4190
4191
4192
4193
4194
4195
4196
4197
4198
4199
4200
4201
4202
4203
4204
4205
4206
4207
4208
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233
4234
4235
4236
4237
4238
4239
4240
4241
4242
4243
4244
4245
4246
4247
4248
4249
4250
4251
4252
4253
4254
4255
4256
4257
4258
4259
4260
4261
4262
4263
4264
4265
4266
4267
4268
4269
4270
4271
4272
4273
4274
4275
4276
4277
4278
4279
4280
4281
4282
4283
4284
4285
4286
4287
4288
4289
4290
4291
4292
4293
4294
4295
4296
4297
4298
4299
4300
4301
4302
4303
4304
4305
4306
4307
4308
4309
4310
4311
4312
4313
4314
4315
4316
4317
4318
4319
4320
4321
4322
4323
4324
4325
4326
4327
4328
4329
4330
4331
4332
4333
4334
4335
4336
4337
4338
4339
4340
4341
4342
4343
4344
4345
4346
4347
4348
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354
4355
4356
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362
4363
4364
4365
4366
4367
4368
4369
4370
4371
4372
4373
4374
4375
4376
4377
4378
4379
4380
4381
4382
4383
4384
4385
4386
4387
4388
4389
4390
4391
4392
4393
4394
4395
4396
4397
4398
4399
4400
4401
4402
4403
4404
4405
4406
4407
4408
4409
4410
4411
4412
4413
4414
4415
4416
4417
4418
4419
4420
4421
4422
4423
4424
4425
4426
4427
4428
4429
4430
4431
4432
4433
4434
4435
4436
4437
4438
4439
4440
4441
4442
4443
4444
4445
4446
4447
4448
4449
4450
4451
4452
4453
4454
4455
4456
4457
4458
4459
4460
4461
4462
4463
4464
4465
4466
4467
4468
4469
4470
4471
4472
4473
4474
4475
4476
4477
4478
4479
4480
4481
4482
4483
4484
4485
4486
4487
4488
4489
4490
4491
4492
4493
4494
4495
4496
4497
4498
4499
4500
4501
4502
4503
4504
4505
4506
4507
4508
4509
4510
4511
4512
4513
4514
4515
4516
4517
4518
4519
4520
4521
4522
4523
4524
4525
4526
4527
4528
4529
4530
4531
4532
4533
4534
4535
4536
4537
4538
4539
4540
4541
4542
4543
4544
4545
4546
4547
4548
4549
4550
4551
4552
4553
4554
4555
4556
4557
4558
4559
4560
4561
4562
4563
4564
4565
4566
4567
4568
4569
4570
4571
4572
4573
4574
4575
4576
4577
4578
4579
4580
4581
4582
4583
4584
4585
4586
4587
4588
4589
4590
4591
4592
4593
4594
4595
4596
4597
4598
4599
4600
4601
4602
4603
4604
4605
4606
4607
4608
4609
4610
4611
4612
4613
4614
4615
4616
4617
4618
4619
4620
4621
4622
4623
4624
4625
4626
4627
4628
4629
4630
4631
4632
4633
4634
4635
4636
4637
4638
4639
4640
4641
4642
4643
4644
4645
4646
4647
4648
4649
4650
4651
4652
4653
4654
4655
4656
4657
4658
4659
4660
4661
4662
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668
4669
4670
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676
4677
4678
4679
4680
4681
4682
4683
4684
4685
4686
4687
4688
4689
4690
4691
4692
4693
4694
4695
4696
4697
4698
4699
4700
4701
4702
4703
4704
4705
4706
4707
4708
4709
4710
4711
4712
4713
4714
4715
4716
4717
4718
4719
4720
4721
4722
4723
4724
4725
4726
4727
4728
4729
4730
4731
4732
4733
4734
4735
4736
4737
4738
4739
4740
4741
4742
4743
4744
4745
4746
4747
4748
4749
4750
4751
4752
4753
4754
4755
4756
4757
4758
4759
4760
4761
4762
4763
4764
4765
4766
4767
4768
4769
4770
4771
4772
4773
4774
4775
4776
4777
4778
4779
4780
4781
4782
4783
4784
4785
4786
4787
4788
4789
4790
4791
4792
4793
4794
4795
4796
4797
4798
4799
4800
4801
4802
4803
4804
4805
4806
4807
4808
4809
4810
4811
4812
4813
4814
4815
4816
4817
4818
4819
4820
4821
4822
4823
4824
4825
4826
4827
4828
4829
4830
4831
4832
4833
4834
4835
4836
4837
4838
4839
4840
4841
4842
4843
4844
4845
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851
4852
4853
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859
4860
4861
4862
4863
4864
4865
4866
4867
4868
4869
4870
4871
4872
4873
4874
4875
4876
4877
4878
4879
4880
4881
4882
4883
4884
4885
4886
4887
4888
4889
4890
4891
4892
4893
4894
4895
4896
4897
4898
4899
4900
4901
4902
4903
4904
4905
4906
4907
4908
4909
4910
4911
4912
4913
4914
4915
4916
4917
4918
4919
4920
4921
4922
4923
4924
4925
4926
4927
4928
4929
4930
4931
4932
4933
4934
4935
4936
4937
4938
4939
4940
4941
4942
4943
4944
4945
4946
4947
4948
4949
4950
4951
4952
4953
4954
4955
4956
4957
4958
4959
4960
4961
4962
4963
4964
4965
4966
4967
4968
4969
4970
4971
4972
4973
4974
4975
4976
4977
4978
4979
4980
4981
4982
4983
4984
4985
4986
4987
4988
4989
4990
4991
4992
4993
4994
4995
4996
4997
4998
4999
5000
5001
5002
5003
5004
5005
5006
5007
5008
5009
5010
5011
5012
5013
5014
5015
5016
5017
5018
5019
5020
5021
5022
5023
5024
5025
5026
5027
5028
5029
5030
5031
5032
5033
5034
5035
5036
5037
5038
5039
5040
5041
5042
5043
5044
5045
5046
5047
5048
5049
5050
5051
5052
5053
5054
5055
5056
5057
5058
5059
5060
5061
5062
5063
5064
5065
5066
5067
5068
5069
5070
5071
5072
5073
5074
5075
5076
5077
5078
5079
5080
5081
5082
5083
5084
5085
5086
5087
5088
5089
5090
5091
5092
5093
5094
5095
5096
5097
5098
5099
5100
5101
5102
5103
5104
5105
5106
5107
5108
5109
5110
5111
5112
5113
5114
5115
5116
5117
5118
5119
5120
5121
5122
5123
5124
5125
5126
5127
5128
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134
5135
5136
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142
5143
5144
5145
5146
5147
5148
5149
5150
5151
5152
5153
5154
5155
5156
5157
5158
5159
5160
5161
5162
5163
5164
5165
5166
5167
5168
5169
5170
5171
5172
5173
5174
5175
5176
5177
5178
5179
5180
5181
5182
5183
5184
5185
5186
5187
5188
5189
5190
5191
5192
5193
5194
5195
5196
5197
5198
5199
5200
5201
5202
5203
5204
5205
5206
5207
5208
5209
5210
5211
5212
5213
5214
5215
5216
5217
5218
5219
5220
5221
5222
5223
5224
5225
5226
5227
5228
5229
5230
5231
5232
5233
5234
5235
5236
5237
5238
5239
5240
5241
5242
5243
5244
5245
5246
5247
5248
5249
5250
5251
5252
5253
5254
5255
5256
5257
5258
5259
5260
5261
5262
5263
5264
5265
5266
5267
5268
5269
5270
5271
5272
5273
5274
5275
5276
5277
5278
5279
5280
5281
5282
5283
5284
5285
5286
5287
5288
5289
5290
5291
5292
5293
5294
5295
5296
5297
5298
5299
5300
5301
5302
5303
5304
5305
5306
5307
5308
5309
5310
5311
5312
5313
5314
5315
5316
5317
5318
5319
5320
5321
5322
5323
5324
5325
5326
5327
5328
5329
5330
5331
5332
5333
5334
5335
5336
5337
5338
5339
5340
5341
5342
5343
5344
5345
5346
5347
5348
5349
5350
5351
5352
5353
5354
5355
5356
5357
5358
5359
5360
5361
5362
5363
5364
5365
5366
5367
5368
5369
5370
5371
5372
5373
5374
5375
5376
5377
5378
5379
5380
5381
5382
5383
5384
5385
5386
5387
5388
5389
5390
5391
5392
5393
5394
5395
5396
5397
5398
5399
5400
5401
5402
5403
5404
5405
5406
5407
5408
5409
5410
5411
5412
5413
5414
5415
5416
5417
5418
5419
5420
5421
5422
5423
5424
5425
5426
5427
5428
5429
5430
5431
5432
5433
5434
5435
5436
5437
5438
5439
5440
5441
5442
5443
5444
5445
5446
5447
5448
5449
5450
5451
5452
5453
5454
5455
5456
5457
5458
5459
5460
5461
5462
5463
5464
5465
5466
5467
5468
5469
5470
5471
5472
5473
5474
5475
5476
5477
5478
5479
5480
5481
5482
5483
5484
5485
5486
5487
5488
5489
5490
5491
5492
5493
5494
5495
5496
5497
5498
5499
5500
5501
5502
5503
5504
5505
5506
5507
5508
5509
5510
5511
5512
5513
5514
5515
5516
5517
5518
5519
5520
5521
5522
5523
5524
5525
5526
5527
5528
5529
5530
5531
5532
5533
5534
5535
5536
5537
5538
5539
5540
5541
5542
5543
5544
5545
5546
5547
5548
5549
5550
5551
5552
5553
5554
5555
5556
5557
5558
5559
5560
5561
5562
5563
5564
5565
5566
5567
5568
5569
5570
5571
5572
5573
5574
5575
5576
5577
5578
5579
5580
5581
5582
5583
5584
5585
5586
5587
5588
5589
5590
5591
5592
5593
5594
5595
5596
5597
5598
5599
5600
5601
5602
5603
5604
5605
5606
5607
5608
5609
5610
5611
5612
5613
5614
5615
5616
5617
5618
5619
5620
5621
5622
5623
5624
5625
5626
5627
5628
5629
5630
5631
5632
5633
5634
5635
5636
5637
5638
5639
5640
5641
5642
5643
5644
5645
5646
5647
5648
5649
5650
5651
5652
5653
5654
5655
5656
5657
5658
5659
5660
5661
5662
5663
5664
5665
5666
5667
5668
5669
5670
5671
5672
5673
5674
5675
5676
5677
5678
5679
5680
5681
5682
5683
5684
5685
5686
5687
5688
5689
5690
5691
5692
5693
5694
5695
5696
5697
5698
5699
5700
5701
5702
5703
5704
5705
5706
5707
5708
5709
5710
5711
5712
5713
5714
5715
5716
5717
5718
5719
5720
5721
5722
5723
5724
5725
5726
5727
5728
5729
5730
5731
5732
5733
5734
5735
5736
5737
5738
5739
5740
5741
5742
5743
5744
5745
5746
5747
5748
5749
5750
5751
5752
5753
5754
5755
5756
5757
5758
5759
5760
5761
5762
5763
5764
5765
5766
5767
5768
5769
5770
5771
5772
5773
5774
5775
5776
5777
5778
5779
5780
5781
5782
5783
5784
5785
5786
5787
5788
5789
5790
5791
5792
5793
5794
5795
5796
5797
5798
5799
5800
5801
5802
5803
5804
5805
5806
5807
5808
5809
5810
5811
5812
5813
5814
5815
5816
5817
5818
5819
5820
5821
5822
5823
5824
5825
5826
5827
5828
5829
5830
5831
5832
5833
5834
5835
5836
5837
5838
5839
5840
5841
5842
5843
5844
5845
5846
5847
5848
5849
5850
5851
5852
5853
5854
5855
5856
5857
5858
5859
5860
5861
5862
5863
5864
5865
5866
5867
5868
5869
5870
5871
5872
5873
5874
5875
5876
5877
5878
5879
5880
5881
5882
5883
5884
5885
5886
5887
5888
5889
5890
5891
5892
5893
5894
5895
5896
5897
5898
5899
5900
5901
5902
5903
5904
5905
5906
5907
5908
5909
5910
5911
5912
5913
5914
5915
5916
5917
5918
5919
5920
5921
5922
5923
5924
5925
5926
5927
5928
5929
5930
5931
5932
5933
5934
5935
5936
5937
5938
5939
5940
5941
5942
5943
5944
5945
5946
5947
5948
5949
5950
5951
5952
5953
5954
5955
5956
5957
5958
5959
5960
5961
5962
5963
5964
5965
5966
5967
5968
5969
5970
5971
5972
5973
5974
5975
5976
5977
5978
5979
5980
5981
5982
5983
5984
5985
5986
5987
5988
5989
5990
5991
5992
5993
5994
5995
5996
5997
5998
5999
6000
6001
6002
6003
6004
6005
6006
6007
6008
6009
6010
6011
6012
6013
6014
6015
6016
6017
6018
6019
6020
6021
6022
6023
6024
6025
6026
6027
6028
6029
6030
6031
6032
6033
6034
6035
6036
6037
6038
6039
6040
6041
6042
6043
6044
6045
6046
6047
6048
6049
6050
6051
6052
6053
6054
6055
6056
6057
6058
6059
6060
6061
6062
6063
6064
6065
6066
6067
6068
6069
6070
6071
6072
6073
6074
6075
6076
6077
6078
6079
6080
6081
6082
6083
6084
6085
6086
6087
6088
6089
6090
6091
6092
6093
6094
6095
6096
6097
6098
6099
6100
6101
6102
6103
6104
6105
6106
6107
6108
6109
6110
6111
6112
6113
6114
6115
6116
6117
6118
6119
6120
6121
6122
6123
6124
6125
6126
6127
6128
6129
6130
6131
6132
6133
6134
6135
6136
6137
6138
6139
6140
6141
6142
6143
6144
6145
6146
6147
6148
6149
6150
6151
6152
6153
6154
6155
6156
6157
6158
6159
6160
6161
6162
6163
6164
6165
6166
6167
6168
6169
6170
6171
6172
6173
6174
6175
6176
6177
6178
6179
6180
6181
6182
6183
6184
6185
6186
6187
6188
6189
6190
6191
6192
6193
6194
6195
6196
6197
6198
6199
6200
6201
6202
6203
6204
6205
6206
6207
6208
6209
6210
6211
6212
6213
6214
6215
6216
6217
6218
6219
6220
6221
6222
6223
6224
6225
6226
6227
6228
6229
6230
6231
6232
6233
6234
6235
6236
6237
6238
6239
6240
6241
6242
6243
6244
6245
6246
6247
6248
6249
6250
6251
6252
6253
6254
6255
6256
6257
6258
6259
6260
6261
6262
6263
6264
6265
6266
6267
6268
6269
6270
6271
6272
6273
6274
6275
6276
6277
6278
6279
6280
6281
6282
6283
6284
6285
6286
6287
6288
6289
6290
6291
6292
6293
6294
6295
6296
6297
6298
6299
6300
6301
6302
6303
6304
6305
6306
6307
6308
6309
6310
6311
6312
6313
6314
6315
6316
6317
6318
6319
6320
6321
6322
6323
6324
6325
6326
6327
6328
6329
6330
6331
6332
6333
6334
6335
6336
6337
6338
6339
6340
6341
6342
6343
6344
6345
6346
6347
6348
6349
6350
6351
6352
6353
6354
6355
6356
6357
6358
6359
6360
6361
6362
6363
6364
6365
6366
6367
6368
6369
6370
6371
6372
6373
6374
6375
6376
6377
6378
6379
6380
6381
6382
6383
6384
6385
6386
6387
6388
6389
6390
6391
6392
6393
6394
6395
6396
6397
6398
6399
6400
6401
6402
6403
6404
6405
6406
6407
6408
6409
6410
6411
6412
6413
6414
6415
6416
6417
6418
6419
6420
6421
6422
6423
6424
6425
6426
6427
6428
6429
6430
6431
6432
6433
6434
6435
6436
6437
6438
6439
6440
6441
6442
6443
6444
6445
6446
6447
6448
6449
6450
6451
6452
6453
6454
6455
6456
6457
6458
6459
6460
6461
6462
6463
6464
6465
6466
6467
6468
6469
6470
6471
6472
6473
6474
6475
6476
6477
6478
6479
6480
6481
6482
6483
6484
6485
6486
6487
6488
6489
6490
6491
6492
6493
6494
6495
6496
6497
6498
6499
6500
6501
6502
6503
6504
6505
6506
6507
6508
6509
6510
6511
6512
6513
6514
6515
6516
6517
6518
6519
6520
6521
6522
6523
6524
6525
6526
6527
6528
6529
6530
6531
6532
6533
6534
6535
6536
6537
6538
6539
6540
6541
6542
6543
6544
6545
6546
6547
6548
6549
6550
6551
6552
6553
6554
6555
6556
6557
6558
6559
6560
6561
6562
6563
6564
6565
6566
6567
6568
6569
6570
6571
6572
6573
6574
6575
6576
6577
6578
6579
6580
6581
6582
6583
6584
6585
6586
6587
6588
6589
6590
6591
6592
6593
6594
6595
6596
6597
6598
6599
6600
6601
6602
6603
6604
6605
6606
6607
6608
6609
6610
6611
6612
6613
6614
6615
6616
6617
6618
6619
6620
6621
6622
6623
6624
6625
6626
6627
6628
6629
6630
6631
6632
6633
6634
6635
6636
6637
6638
6639
6640
6641
6642
6643
6644
6645
6646
6647
6648
6649
6650
6651
6652
6653
6654
6655
6656
6657
6658
6659
6660
6661
6662
6663
6664
6665
6666
6667
6668
6669
6670
6671
6672
6673
6674
6675
6676
6677
6678
6679
6680
6681
6682
6683
6684
6685
6686
6687
6688
6689
6690
6691
6692
6693
6694
6695
6696
6697
6698
6699
6700
6701
6702
6703
6704
6705
6706
6707
6708
6709
6710
6711
6712
6713
6714
6715
6716
6717
6718
6719
6720
6721
6722
6723
6724
6725
6726
6727
6728
6729
6730
6731
6732
6733
6734
6735
6736
6737
6738
6739
6740
6741
6742
6743
6744
6745
6746
6747
6748
6749
6750
6751
6752
6753
6754
6755
6756
6757
6758
6759
6760
6761
6762
6763
6764
6765
6766
6767
6768
6769
6770
6771
6772
6773
6774
6775
6776
6777
6778
6779
6780
6781
6782
6783
6784
6785
6786
6787
6788
6789
6790
6791
6792
6793
6794
6795
6796
6797
6798
6799
6800
6801
6802
6803
6804
6805
6806
6807
6808
6809
6810
6811
6812
6813
6814
6815
6816
6817
6818
6819
6820
6821
6822
6823
6824
6825
6826
6827
6828
6829
6830
6831
6832
6833
6834
6835
6836
6837
6838
6839
6840
6841
6842
6843
6844
6845
6846
6847
6848
6849
6850
6851
6852
6853
6854
6855
6856
6857
6858
6859
6860
6861
6862
6863
6864
6865
6866
6867
6868
6869
6870
6871
6872
6873
6874
6875
6876
6877
6878
6879
6880
6881
6882
6883
6884
6885
6886
6887
6888
6889
6890
6891
6892
6893
6894
6895
6896
6897
6898
6899
6900
6901
6902
6903
6904
6905
6906
6907
6908
6909
6910
6911
6912
6913
6914
6915
6916
6917
6918
6919
6920
6921
6922
6923
6924
6925
6926
6927
6928
6929
6930
6931
6932
6933
6934
6935
6936
6937
6938
6939
6940
6941
6942
6943
6944
6945
6946
6947
6948
6949
6950
6951
6952
6953
6954
6955
6956
6957
6958
6959
6960
6961
6962
6963
6964
6965
6966
6967
6968
6969
6970
6971
6972
6973
6974
6975
6976
6977
6978
6979
6980
6981
6982
6983
6984
6985
6986
6987
6988
6989
6990
6991
6992
6993
6994
6995
6996
6997
6998
6999
7000
7001
7002
7003
7004
7005
7006
7007
7008
7009
7010
7011
7012
7013
7014
7015
7016
7017
7018
7019
7020
7021
7022
7023
7024
7025
7026
7027
7028
7029
7030
7031
7032
7033
7034
7035
7036
7037
7038
7039
7040
7041
7042
7043
7044
7045
7046
7047
7048
7049
7050
7051
7052
7053
7054
7055
7056
7057
7058
7059
7060
7061
7062
7063
7064
7065
7066
7067
7068
7069
7070
7071
7072
7073
7074
7075
7076
7077
7078
7079
7080
7081
7082
7083
7084
7085
7086
7087
7088
7089
7090
7091
7092
7093
7094
7095
7096
7097
7098
7099
7100
7101
7102
7103
7104
7105
7106
7107
7108
7109
7110
7111
7112
7113
7114
7115
7116
7117
7118
7119
7120
7121
7122
7123
7124
7125
7126
7127
7128
7129
7130
7131
7132
7133
7134
7135
7136
7137
7138
7139
7140
7141
7142
7143
7144
7145
7146
7147
7148
7149
7150
7151
7152
7153
7154
7155
7156
7157
7158
7159
7160
7161
7162
7163
7164
7165
7166
7167
7168
7169
7170
7171
7172
7173
7174
7175
7176
7177
7178
7179
7180
7181
7182
7183
7184
7185
7186
7187
7188
7189
7190
7191
7192
7193
7194
7195
7196
7197
7198
7199
7200
7201
7202
7203
7204
7205
7206
7207
7208
7209
7210
7211
7212
7213
7214
7215
7216
7217
7218
7219
7220
7221
7222
7223
7224
7225
7226
7227
7228
7229
7230
7231
7232
7233
7234
7235
7236
7237
7238
7239
7240
7241
7242
7243
7244
7245
7246
7247
7248
7249
7250
7251
7252
7253
7254
7255
7256
7257
7258
7259
7260
7261
7262
7263
7264
7265
7266
7267
7268
7269
7270
7271
7272
7273
7274
7275
7276
7277
7278
7279
7280
7281
7282
7283
7284
7285
7286
7287
7288
7289
7290
7291
7292
7293
7294
7295
7296
7297
7298
7299
7300
7301
7302
7303
7304
7305
7306
7307
7308
7309
7310
7311
7312
7313
7314
7315
7316
7317
7318
7319
7320
7321
7322
7323
7324
7325
7326
7327
7328
7329
7330
7331
7332
7333
7334
7335
7336
7337
7338
7339
7340
7341
7342
7343
7344
7345
7346
7347
7348
7349
7350
7351
7352
7353
7354
7355
7356
7357
7358
7359
7360
7361
7362
7363
7364
7365
7366
7367
7368
7369
7370
7371
7372
7373
7374
7375
7376
7377
7378
7379
7380
7381
7382
7383
7384
7385
7386
7387
7388
7389
7390
7391
7392
7393
7394
7395
7396
7397
7398
7399
7400
7401
7402
7403
7404
7405
7406
7407
7408
7409
7410
7411
7412
7413
7414
7415
7416
7417
7418
7419
7420
7421
7422
7423
7424
7425
7426
7427
7428
7429
7430
7431
7432
7433
7434
7435
7436
7437
7438
7439
7440
7441
7442
7443
7444
7445
7446
7447
7448
7449
7450
7451
7452
7453
7454
7455
7456
7457
7458
7459
7460
7461
7462
7463
7464
7465
7466
7467
7468
7469
7470
7471
7472
7473
7474
7475
7476
7477
7478
7479
7480
7481
7482
7483
7484
7485
7486
7487
7488
7489
7490
7491
7492
7493
7494
7495
7496
7497
7498
7499
7500
7501
7502
7503
7504
7505
7506
7507
7508
7509
7510
7511
7512
7513
7514
7515
7516
7517
7518
7519
7520
7521
7522
7523
7524
7525
7526
7527
7528
7529
7530
7531
7532
7533
7534
7535
7536
7537
7538
7539
7540
7541
7542
7543
7544
7545
7546
7547
7548
7549
7550
7551
7552
7553
7554
7555
7556
7557
7558
7559
7560
7561
7562
7563
7564
7565
7566
7567
7568
7569
7570
7571
7572
7573
7574
7575
7576
7577
7578
7579
7580
7581
7582
7583
7584
7585
7586
7587
7588
7589
7590
7591
7592
7593
7594
7595
7596
7597
7598
7599
7600
7601
7602
7603
7604
7605
7606
7607
7608
7609
7610
7611
7612
7613
7614
7615
7616
7617
7618
7619
7620
7621
7622
7623
7624
7625
7626
7627
7628
7629
7630
7631
7632
7633
7634
7635
7636
7637
7638
7639
7640
7641
7642
7643
7644
7645
7646
7647
7648
7649
7650
7651
7652
7653
7654
7655
7656
7657
7658
7659
7660
7661
7662
7663
7664
7665
7666
7667
7668
7669
7670
7671
7672
7673
7674
7675
7676
7677
7678
7679
7680
7681
7682
7683
7684
7685
7686
7687
7688
7689
7690
7691
7692
7693
7694
7695
7696
7697
7698
7699
7700
7701
7702
7703
7704
7705
7706
7707
7708
7709
7710
7711
7712
7713
7714
7715
7716
7717
7718
7719
7720
7721
7722
7723
7724
7725
7726
7727
7728
7729
7730
7731
7732
7733
7734
7735
7736
7737
7738
7739
7740
7741
7742
7743
7744
7745
7746
7747
7748
7749
7750
7751
7752
7753
7754
7755
7756
7757
7758
7759
7760
7761
7762
7763
7764
7765
7766
7767
7768
7769
7770
7771
7772
7773
7774
7775
7776
7777
7778
7779
7780
7781
7782
7783
7784
7785
7786
7787
7788
7789
7790
7791
7792
7793
7794
7795
7796
7797
7798
7799
7800
7801
7802
7803
7804
7805
7806
7807
7808
7809
7810
7811
7812
7813
7814
7815
7816
7817
7818
7819
7820
7821
7822
7823
7824
7825
7826
7827
7828
7829
7830
7831
7832
7833
7834
7835
7836
7837
7838
7839
7840
7841
7842
7843
7844
7845
7846
7847
7848
7849
7850
7851
7852
7853
7854
7855
7856
7857
7858
7859
7860
7861
7862
7863
7864
7865
7866
7867
7868
7869
7870
7871
7872
7873
7874
7875
7876
7877
7878
7879
7880
7881
7882
7883
7884
7885
7886
7887
7888
7889
7890
7891
7892
7893
7894
7895
7896
7897
7898
7899
7900
7901
7902
7903
7904
7905
7906
7907
7908
7909
7910
7911
7912
7913
7914
7915
7916
7917
7918
7919
7920
7921
7922
7923
7924
7925
7926
7927
7928
7929
7930
7931
7932
7933
7934
7935
7936
7937
7938
7939
7940
7941
7942
7943
7944
7945
7946
7947
7948
7949
7950
7951
7952
7953
7954
7955
7956
7957
7958
7959
7960
7961
7962
7963
7964
7965
7966
7967
7968
7969
7970
7971
7972
7973
7974
7975
7976
7977
7978
7979
7980
7981
7982
7983
7984
7985
7986
7987
7988
7989
7990
7991
7992
7993
7994
7995
7996
7997
7998
7999
8000
8001
8002
8003
8004
8005
8006
8007
8008
8009
8010
8011
8012
8013
8014
8015
8016
8017
8018
8019
8020
8021
8022
8023
8024
8025
8026
8027
8028
8029
8030
8031
8032
8033
8034
8035
8036
8037
8038
8039
8040
8041
8042
8043
8044
8045
8046
8047
8048
8049
8050
8051
8052
8053
8054
8055
8056
8057
8058
8059
8060
8061
8062
8063
8064
8065
8066
8067
8068
8069
8070
8071
8072
8073
8074
8075
8076
8077
8078
8079
8080
8081
8082
8083
8084
8085
8086
8087
8088
8089
8090
8091
8092
8093
8094
8095
8096
8097
8098
8099
8100
8101
8102
8103
8104
8105
8106
8107
8108
8109
8110
8111
8112
8113
8114
8115
8116
8117
8118
8119
8120
8121
8122
8123
8124
8125
8126
8127
8128
8129
8130
8131
8132
8133
8134
8135
8136
8137
8138
8139
8140
8141
8142
8143
8144
8145
8146
8147
8148
8149
8150
8151
8152
8153
8154
8155
8156
8157
8158
8159
8160
8161
8162
8163
8164
8165
8166
8167
8168
8169
8170
8171
8172
8173
8174
8175
8176
8177
8178
8179
8180
8181
8182
8183
8184
8185
8186
8187
8188
8189
8190
8191
8192
8193
8194
8195
8196
8197
8198
8199
8200
8201
8202
8203
8204
8205
8206
8207
8208
8209
8210
8211
8212
8213
8214
8215
8216
8217
8218
8219
8220
8221
8222
8223
8224
8225
8226
8227
8228
8229
8230
8231
8232
8233
8234
8235
8236
8237
8238
8239
8240
8241
8242
8243
8244
8245
8246
8247
8248
8249
8250
8251
8252
8253
8254
8255
8256
8257
8258
8259
8260
8261
8262
8263
8264
8265
8266
8267
8268
8269
8270
8271
8272
8273
8274
8275
8276
8277
8278
8279
8280
8281
8282
8283
8284
8285
8286
8287
8288
8289
8290
8291
8292
8293
8294
8295
8296
8297
8298
8299
8300
8301
8302
8303
8304
8305
8306
8307
8308
8309
8310
8311
8312
8313
8314
8315
8316
8317
8318
8319
8320
8321
8322
8323
8324
8325
8326
8327
8328
8329
8330
8331
8332
8333
8334
8335
8336
8337
8338
8339
8340
8341
8342
8343
8344
8345
8346
8347
8348
8349
8350
8351
8352
8353
8354
8355
8356
8357
8358
8359
8360
8361
8362
8363
8364
8365
8366
8367
8368
8369
8370
8371
8372
8373
8374
8375
8376
8377
8378
8379
8380
8381
8382
8383
8384
8385
8386
8387
8388
8389
8390
8391
8392
8393
8394
8395
8396
8397
8398
8399
8400
8401
8402
8403
8404
8405
8406
8407
8408
8409
8410
8411
8412
8413
8414
8415
8416
8417
8418
8419
8420
8421
8422
8423
8424
8425
8426
8427
8428
8429
8430
8431
8432
8433
8434
8435
8436
8437
8438
8439
8440
8441
8442
8443
8444
8445
8446
8447
8448
8449
8450
8451
8452
8453
8454
8455
8456
8457
8458
8459
8460
8461
8462
8463
8464
8465
8466
8467
8468
8469
8470
8471
8472
8473
8474
8475
8476
8477
8478
8479
8480
8481
8482
8483
8484
8485
8486
8487
8488
8489
8490
8491
8492
8493
8494
8495
8496
8497
8498
8499
8500
8501
8502
8503
8504
8505
8506
8507
8508
8509
8510
8511
8512
8513
8514
8515
8516
8517
8518
8519
8520
8521
8522
8523
8524
8525
8526
8527
8528
8529
8530
8531
8532
8533
8534
8535
8536
8537
8538
8539
8540
8541
8542
8543
8544
8545
8546
8547
8548
8549
8550
8551
8552
8553
8554
8555
8556
8557
8558
8559
8560
8561
8562
8563
8564
8565
8566
8567
8568
8569
8570
8571
8572
8573
8574
8575
8576
8577
8578
8579
8580
8581
8582
8583
8584
8585
8586
8587
8588
8589
8590
8591
8592
8593
8594
8595
8596
8597
8598
8599
8600
8601
8602
8603
8604
8605
8606
8607
8608
8609
8610
8611
8612
8613
8614
8615
8616
8617
8618
8619
8620
8621
8622
8623
8624
8625
8626
8627
8628
8629
8630
8631
8632
8633
8634
8635
8636
8637
8638
8639
8640
8641
8642
8643
8644
8645
8646
8647
8648
8649
8650
8651
8652
8653
8654
8655
8656
8657
8658
8659
8660
8661
8662
8663
8664
8665
8666
8667
8668
8669
8670
8671
8672
8673
8674
8675
8676
8677
8678
8679
8680
8681
8682
8683
8684
8685
8686
8687
8688
8689
8690
8691
8692
8693
8694
8695
8696
8697
8698
8699
8700
8701
8702
8703
8704
8705
8706
8707
8708
8709
8710
8711
8712
8713
8714
8715
8716
8717
8718
8719
8720
8721
8722
8723
8724
8725
8726
8727
8728
8729
8730
8731
8732
8733
8734
8735
8736
8737
8738
8739
8740
8741
8742
8743
8744
8745
8746
8747
8748
8749
8750
8751
8752
8753
8754
8755
8756
8757
8758
8759
8760
8761
8762
8763
8764
8765
8766
8767
8768
8769
8770
8771
8772
8773
8774
8775
8776
8777
8778
8779
8780
8781
8782
8783
8784
8785
8786
8787
8788
8789
8790
8791
8792
8793
8794
8795
8796
8797
8798
8799
8800
8801
8802
8803
8804
8805
8806
8807
8808
8809
8810
8811
8812
8813
8814
8815
8816
8817
8818
8819
8820
8821
8822
8823
8824
8825
8826
8827
8828
8829
8830
8831
8832
8833
8834
8835
8836
8837
8838
8839
8840
8841
8842
8843
8844
8845
8846
8847
8848
8849
8850
8851
8852
8853
8854
8855
8856
8857
8858
8859
8860
8861
8862
8863
8864
8865
8866
8867
8868
8869
8870
8871
8872
8873
8874
8875
8876
8877
8878
8879
8880
8881
8882
8883
8884
8885
8886
8887
8888
8889
8890
8891
8892
8893
8894
8895
8896
8897
8898
8899
8900
8901
8902
8903
8904
8905
8906
8907
8908
8909
8910
8911
8912
8913
8914
8915
8916
8917
8918
8919
8920
8921
8922
8923
8924
8925
8926
8927
8928
8929
8930
8931
8932
8933
8934
8935
8936
8937
8938
8939
8940
8941
8942
8943
8944
8945
8946
8947
8948
8949
8950
8951
8952
8953
8954
8955
8956
8957
8958
8959
8960
8961
8962
8963
8964
8965
8966
8967
8968
8969
8970
8971
8972
8973
8974
8975
8976
8977
8978
8979
8980
8981
8982
8983
8984
8985
8986
8987
8988
8989
8990
8991
8992
8993
8994
8995
8996
8997
8998
8999
9000
9001
9002
9003
9004
9005
9006
9007
9008
9009
9010
9011
9012
9013
9014
9015
9016
9017
9018
9019
9020
9021
9022
9023
9024
9025
9026
9027
9028
9029
9030
9031
9032
9033
9034
9035
9036
9037
9038
9039
9040
9041
9042
9043
9044
9045
9046
9047
9048
9049
9050
9051
9052
9053
9054
9055
9056
9057
9058
9059
9060
9061
9062
9063
9064
9065
9066
9067
9068
9069
9070
9071
9072
9073
9074
9075
9076
9077
9078
9079
9080
9081
9082
9083
9084
9085
9086
9087
9088
9089
9090
9091
9092
9093
9094
9095
9096
9097
9098
9099
9100
9101
9102
9103
9104
9105
9106
9107
9108
9109
9110
9111
9112
9113
9114
9115
9116
9117
9118
9119
9120
9121
9122
9123
9124
9125
9126
9127
9128
9129
9130
9131
9132
9133
9134
9135
9136
9137
9138
9139
9140
9141
9142
9143
9144
9145
9146
9147
9148
9149
9150
9151
9152
9153
9154
9155
9156
9157
9158
9159
9160
9161
9162
9163
9164
9165
9166
9167
9168
9169
9170
9171
9172
9173
9174
9175
9176
9177
9178
9179
9180
9181
9182
9183
9184
9185
9186
9187
9188
9189
9190
9191
9192
9193
9194
9195
9196
9197
9198
9199
9200
9201
9202
9203
9204
9205
9206
9207
9208
9209
9210
9211
9212
9213
9214
9215
9216
9217
9218
9219
9220
9221
9222
9223
9224
9225
9226
9227
9228
9229
9230
9231
9232
9233
9234
9235
9236
9237
9238
9239
9240
9241
9242
9243
9244
9245
9246
9247
9248
9249
9250
9251
9252
9253
9254
9255
9256
9257
9258
9259
9260
9261
9262
9263
9264
9265
9266
9267
9268
9269
9270
9271
9272
9273
9274
9275
9276
9277
9278
9279
9280
9281
9282
9283
9284
9285
9286
9287
9288
9289
9290
9291
9292
9293
9294
9295
9296
9297
9298
9299
9300
9301
9302
9303
9304
9305
9306
9307
9308
9309
9310
9311
9312
9313
9314
9315
9316
9317
9318
9319
9320
9321
9322
9323
9324
9325
9326
9327
9328
9329
9330
9331
9332
9333
9334
9335
9336
9337
9338
9339
9340
9341
9342
9343
9344
9345
9346
9347
9348
9349
9350
9351
9352
9353
9354
9355
9356
9357
9358
9359
9360
9361
9362
9363
9364
9365
9366
9367
9368
9369
9370
9371
9372
9373
9374
9375
9376
9377
9378
9379
9380
9381
9382
9383
9384
9385
9386
9387
9388
9389
9390
9391
9392
9393
9394
9395
9396
9397
9398
9399
9400
9401
9402
9403
9404
9405
9406
9407
9408
9409
9410
9411
9412
9413
9414
9415
9416
9417
9418
9419
9420
9421
9422
9423
9424
9425
9426
9427
9428
9429
9430
9431
9432
9433
9434
9435
9436
9437
9438
9439
9440
9441
9442
9443
9444
9445
9446
9447
9448
9449
9450
9451
9452
9453
9454
9455
9456
9457
9458
9459
9460
9461
9462
9463
9464
9465
9466
9467
9468
9469
9470
9471
9472
9473
9474
9475
9476
9477
9478
9479
9480
9481
9482
9483
9484
9485
9486
9487
9488
9489
9490
9491
9492
9493
9494
9495
9496
9497
9498
9499
9500
9501
9502
9503
9504
9505
9506
9507
9508
9509
9510
9511
9512
9513
9514
9515
9516
9517
9518
9519
9520
9521
9522
9523
9524
9525
9526
9527
9528
9529
9530
9531
9532
9533
9534
9535
9536
9537
9538
9539
9540
9541
9542
9543
9544
9545
9546
9547
9548
9549
9550
9551
9552
9553
9554
9555
9556
9557
9558
9559
9560
9561
9562
9563
9564
9565
9566
9567
9568
9569
9570
9571
9572
9573
9574
9575
9576
9577
9578
9579
9580
9581
9582
9583
9584
9585
9586
9587
9588
9589
9590
9591
9592
9593
9594
9595
9596
9597
9598
9599
9600
9601
9602
9603
9604
9605
9606
9607
9608
9609
9610
9611
9612
9613
9614
9615
9616
9617
9618
9619
9620
9621
9622
9623
9624
9625
9626
9627
9628
9629
9630
9631
9632
9633
9634
9635
9636
9637
9638
9639
9640
9641
9642
9643
9644
9645
9646
9647
9648
9649
9650
9651
9652
9653
9654
9655
9656
9657
9658
9659
9660
9661
9662
9663
9664
9665
9666
9667
9668
9669
9670
9671
9672
9673
9674
9675
9676
9677
9678
9679
9680
9681
9682
9683
9684
9685
9686
9687
9688
9689
9690
9691
9692
9693
9694
9695
9696
9697
9698
9699
9700
9701
9702
9703
9704
9705
9706
9707
9708
9709
9710
9711
9712
9713
9714
9715
9716
9717
9718
9719
9720
9721
9722
9723
9724
9725
9726
9727
9728
9729
9730
9731
9732
9733
9734
9735
9736
9737
9738
9739
9740
9741
9742
9743
9744
9745
9746
9747
9748
9749
9750
9751
9752
9753
9754
9755
9756
9757
9758
9759
9760
9761
9762
9763
9764
9765
9766
9767
9768
9769
9770
9771
9772
9773
9774
9775
9776
9777
9778
9779
9780
9781
9782
9783
9784
9785
9786
9787
9788
9789
9790
9791
9792
9793
9794
9795
9796
9797
9798
9799
9800
9801
9802
9803
9804
9805
9806
9807
9808
9809
9810
9811
9812
9813
9814
9815
9816
9817
9818
9819
9820
9821
9822
9823
9824
9825
9826
9827
9828
9829
9830
9831
9832
9833
9834
9835
9836
9837
9838
9839
9840
9841
9842
9843
9844
9845
9846
9847
9848
9849
9850
9851
9852
9853
9854
9855
9856
9857
9858
9859
9860
9861
9862
9863
9864
9865
9866
9867
9868
9869
9870
9871
9872
9873
9874
9875
9876
9877
9878
9879
9880
9881
9882
9883
9884
9885
9886
9887
9888
9889
9890
9891
9892
9893
9894
9895
9896
9897
9898
9899
9900
9901
9902
9903
9904
9905
9906
9907
9908
9909
9910
9911
9912
9913
9914
9915
9916
9917
9918
9919
9920
9921
9922
9923
9924
9925
9926
9927
9928
9929
9930
9931
9932
9933
9934
9935
9936
9937
9938
9939
9940
9941
9942
9943
9944
9945
9946
9947
9948
9949
9950
9951
9952
9953
9954
9955
9956
9957
9958
9959
9960
9961
9962
9963
9964
9965
9966
9967
9968
9969
9970
9971
9972
9973
9974
9975
9976
9977
9978
9979
9980
9981
9982
9983
9984
9985
9986
9987
9988
9989
9990
9991
9992
9993
9994
9995
9996
9997
9998
9999
10000
10001
10002
10003
10004
10005
10006
10007
10008
10009
10010
10011
10012
10013
10014
10015
10016
10017
10018
10019
10020
10021
10022
10023
10024
10025
10026
10027
10028
10029
10030
10031
10032
10033
10034
10035
10036
10037
10038
10039
10040
10041
10042
10043
10044
10045
10046
10047
10048
10049
10050
10051
10052
10053
10054
10055
10056
10057
10058
10059
10060
10061
10062
10063
10064
|
<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
<head>
<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" />
<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Traits of American Humour, Vol. III of III edited by Thomas Chandler Haliburton</title>
<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg"/>
<meta name="cover" content="images/cover.jpg" />
<meta name="DC.Title" content="Traits of American Humour, Vol. III of III"/>
<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Thomas Chandler Haliburton, ed."/>
<meta name="DC.Language" content="en"/>
<meta name="DC.Created" content="1852"/>
<meta name="DC.Subject" content="Humor"/>
<meta name="DC.date.issued" content="1852"/>
<meta name="Tags" content="Humor, Short Stories"/>
<meta name="DC.Publisher" content="Project Gutenberg"/>
<meta name="generator" content="fpgen 4.42"/>
<style type="text/css">
body { margin-left:8%;margin-right:10%; }
.it { font-style:italic; }
.sc { font-variant:small-caps; }
.gesp { letter-spacing:0.2em; }
p { text-indent:0; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em;
text-align: justify; }
div.lgc { }
div.lgc p { text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; }
div.lgp { }
div.lgp p { text-align:left; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; }
.poetry-container { display:inline-block; text-align:left; margin-left:2em; }
.sub-head { font-size: smaller; }
h1 { text-align:center; font-weight:normal;
font-size:1.2em; margin:2em auto 1em auto}
hr.tbk100{ border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width:10%; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:1em; text-align:center; margin-left:45%; margin-right:45% }
hr.tbk101{ border:none; border-bottom:2px solid black; width:20%; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em; text-align:center; margin-left:40%; margin-right:40% }
hr.tbk102{ border:none; border-bottom:2px solid black; width:20%; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em; text-align:center; margin-left:40%; margin-right:40% }
hr.tbk103{ border:none; border-bottom:2px solid black; width:20%; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:0.5em; text-align:center; margin-left:40%; margin-right:40% }
hr.tbk104{ border:none; border-bottom:2px solid black; width:20%; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em; text-align:center; margin-left:40%; margin-right:40% }
hr.tbk105{ border:none; border-bottom:2px solid black; width:20%; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em; text-align:center; margin-left:40%; margin-right:40% }
hr.tbk106{ border:none; border-bottom:2px solid black; width:20%; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em; text-align:center; margin-left:40%; margin-right:40% }
hr.tbk107{ border:none; border-bottom:2px solid black; width:20%; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:0.5em; text-align:center; margin-left:40%; margin-right:40% }
hr.tbk108{ border:none; border-bottom:2px solid black; width:20%; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em; text-align:center; margin-left:40%; margin-right:40% }
hr.tbk109{ border:none; border-bottom:2px solid black; width:20%; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em; text-align:center; margin-left:40%; margin-right:40% }
hr.tbk110{ border:none; border-bottom:2px solid black; width:20%; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em; text-align:center; margin-left:40%; margin-right:40% }
hr.tbk111{ border:none; border-bottom:2px solid black; width:20%; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em; text-align:center; margin-left:40%; margin-right:40% }
hr.pbk { border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; width:100%; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:2em }
hr.footnotemark { border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; width:10%; margin:1em auto 1em 0; }
.figcenter { text-align:center; margin:1em auto;}
div.blockquote { margin:1em 2em; text-align:justify; }
div.blockquoter9 { margin:1em 2em; }
div.blockquoter9 p { font-size: .9em }
.footnote td p.pindent:first-child { text-indent: 0; }
.footnote { margin:0 4em 0 0; }
p.line { text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; }
div.lgp p.line0 { text-indent:-3em; margin:0 auto 0 3em; }
table.center { margin:0.5em auto; border-collapse: collapse; padding:3px; }
table.flushleft { margin:0.5em 0em; border-collapse: collapse; padding:3px; }
table.left { margin:0.5em 1.2em; border-collapse: collapse; padding:3px; }
.tab1c1 { }
.tab1c2 { }
.tab1c3 { }
.tab2c1 { }
.tab2c2 { }
.tab2c1-col2 { border-right: 0px solid black; }
.tdStyle0 {
padding: 0px 5px; text-align:left; vertical-align:top;
}
.tdStyle1 {
padding: 0px 5px; text-align:center; vertical-align:top;
}
.tdStyle2 {
padding: 2px 5px; text-align:center; vertical-align:top;
}
.tdStyle3 {
padding: 2px 5px; text-align:left; vertical-align:top;padding-left:29px; text-indent:-24px;
}
.tdStyle4 {
padding: 2px 5px; text-align:right; vertical-align:top;
}
.pindent { margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-indent:1.5em; }
.noindent { margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-indent:0; }
.hang { padding-left:1.5em; text-indent:-1.5em; }
.literal-container { text-align:center; margin:0 0; }
.literal { display:inline-block; text-align:left; }
</style>
<style type="text/css">
h1 { font-size:1.2em; text-align:center; line-height:150% }
.sub-head { font-size:.8em; text-align:center; line-height:150%; }
.poetry-container { display:block; font-size:.9em; margin-top:.5em; margin-bottom:.5em }
.literal-container { margin-top:.5em; margin-bottom:.5em }
div.lgc { margin-top:.5em; margin-bottom:.5em }
p { margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em; }
div.blockquote { margin-top:.5em; margin-bottom:.5em; }
body { font-size:100%; }
</style>
</head>
<body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 49865 ***</div>
<div class='figcenter'>
<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0000' style='width:350px;height:auto;'/>
</div>
<hr class='pbk'/>
<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' -->
<p class='line0' style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.5em;'><span class='gesp'>TRAITS</span></p>
<p class='line'> </p>
<p class='line0' style='font-size:.6em;'>OF</p>
<p class='line'> </p>
<p class='line0' style='margin-top:1em;font-size:1.5em;'><span class='gesp'>AMERICAN HUMOUR</span>,</p>
<p class='line'> </p>
<p class='line'> </p>
<p class='line0' style='font-size:1em;'><span class='gesp'>BY NATIVE AUTHORS</span>.</p>
<p class='line'> </p>
<p class='line'> </p>
<p class='line0' style='font-size:.8em;'>EDITED AND ADAPTED</p>
<p class='line0' style='margin-top:.5em;margin-bottom:.5em;font-size:.6em;'>BY THE AUTHOR OF “SAM SLICK,”</p>
<p class='line0' style='font-size:.6em;'>“THE OLD JUDGE,” “THE ENGLISH IN AMERICA,” &C. &C.</p>
<p class='line'> </p>
<p class='line'> </p>
<p class='line'> </p>
<p class='line0'><span class='gesp'>IN THREE VOLUMES</span>.</p>
<p class='line'> </p>
<p class='line0'><span class='gesp'>VOL</span>. III.</p>
<p class='line'> </p>
<p class='line'> </p>
<p class='line'> </p>
<p class='line0'><span class='gesp'>LONDON:</span></p>
<p class='line0' style='margin-top:.5em;margin-bottom:.5em;'><span class='gesp'>COLBURN AND CO</span>., <span class='gesp'>PUBLISHERS</span>,</p>
<p class='line0' style='font-size:.8em;'>GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.</p>
<p class='line0' style='margin-top:.5em;'><span class='gesp'>1852</span>.</p>
</div> <!-- end rend -->
<hr class='pbk'/>
<div class='lgc' style='margin-top:10em;'> <!-- rend=';fs:.8em;' -->
<p class='line0' style='font-size:.8em;'><span class='gesp'>LONDON:</span></p>
<p class='line0' style='font-size:.8em;'>Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.</p>
</div> <!-- end rend -->
<hr class='pbk'/>
<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;margin-top:4em;margin-bottom:2em;font-size:1.2em;'><span class='gesp'>PREFACE FROM VOL. </span>I.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Most Europeans speak of America as they do of
England, France, or Prussia, as one of the great
countries of the world, but without reference to
the fact that it covers a larger portion of the globe
than all of them collectively. In like manner as
the New England confederacy originally comprised
the most enlightened and most powerful transatlantic
provinces, and the inhabitants accidentally
acquired the appellation of Yankees, so this term
is very generally applied to all Americans, and is
too often used as a national, instead of a provincial
or a sectional soubriquet. In order to form an
accurate estimate of the national humour, it is
necessary to bear these two great popular errors
constantly in view. The Eastern and Western,
Northern and Southern States, though settled by
a population speaking the same language, and
enjoying the same institutions, are so distant
from each other, and differ so widely in climate,
soil, and productions, that they have but few
features in common; while the people, from the
same causes, as well as from habits, tastes,
necessities, the sparseness or density of population,
free soil, or slave labour, the intensity, absence,
or weakness of religious enthusiasm, and many
other peculiarities, are equally dissimilar.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Hence, humour has a character as local as the
boundaries of these civil subdivisions.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The same diversity is observable in that of the
English, Irish and Scotch, and in their mirthful
sallies, the character of each race is plainly
discernible.</p>
<p class='pindent'>That of the English is at once manly and hearty,
and, though embellished by fancy, not exaggerated;
that of the Irish, extravagant, reckless, rollicking,
and kind-hearted; while that of the Scotch is sly,
cold, quaint, practical, and sarcastic.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The population of the Middle States, in this
particular, reminds a stranger of the English, that
of the West resembles the Irish, and the Yankees
bear a still stronger affinity to the Scotch. Among
the Americans themselves these distinctions are
not only well understood and defined, but are
again subdivided so as to apply more particularly
to the individual States.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Each has a droll appellation, by which the
character of its yeomanry, as composed of their
ability, generosity, or manliness on the one hand,
and craft, economy, or ignorance of the world, on
the other, is known and illustrated. Thus, there
are the Hoosiers of Indiana, the Suckers of Illinois,
the pukes of Missouri, the buck-eyes of Ohio, the
red-horses of Kentucky, the mud-heads of Tenessee,
the wolverines of Michigan, the eels of New England,
and the corn-crackers of Virginia.</p>
<p class='pindent'>For the purpose of this work, however, it is
perhaps sufficient merely to keep in view the two
grand divisions of East and West, which, to a
certain extent, may be said to embrace those spread
geographically North and South, with which they
insensibly blend.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Of the former, New England and its neighbours
are pre-eminent. The rigid discipline and cold,
gloomy tenets of the Puritans required and enforced
a grave demeanour, and an absence from all public
and private amusements, while a sterile and ungrateful
soil demanded all the industry, and required all
the energy of the people to ensure a comfortable
support. Similar causes produce a like result in
Scotland. Hence the striking resemblance in the
humour of the two people. But though the non-conformist
fathers controlled and modified the mirth
of the heart, they could not repress it. Nature is
more powerful than conventional regulations, and it
soon indemnified itself in the indulgence of a smile
for the prohibition of unseemly laughter.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Hypocrisy is short-lived:</p>
<div class='blockquoter9'>
<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' -->
<p class='line0'>“Vera redit facies, dissimulata peret.”</p>
</div></div> <!-- end rend -->
</div>
<p class='pindent'>The Puritans, as one of their descendants has well
observed,<a id='r1'/><a href='#f1' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[1]</span></sup></a> emigrated “that they might have the
privilege to work and pray, to sit upon hard
benches, and to listen to painful preaching as long
as they would, even unto thirty seventhly, if the
Spirit so willed it. They were not,” he says,
“plump, rosy-gilled Englishmen that came hither,
but a hard-faced, atrabilious, earnest-eyed race,
stiff from long wrestling with the Lord in prayer,
and who had taught Satan to dread the new
Puritan hug.” Add two hundred years’ influence of
soil, climate, and exposure, with its necessary result
of idiosyncrasies, and we have the present Yankee,
full of expedients, half master of all trades, inventive
in all but the beautiful, full of shifts, not
yet capable of comfort, armed at all points against
the old enemy, hunger, longanimous, good at
patching, not so careful for what is best as for
what <span class='it'>will do</span>, with a clasp to his purse, and a
button to his pocket, not skilled to build against
time, as in old countries, but against sore-pressing
need, accustomed to move the world with no
assistants but his own two feet, and no lever but
his own long forecast. A strange hybrid, indeed,
did circumstances beget here, in the New World,
upon the old Puritan stock, and the earth never
before saw such mystic-practicalism, such niggard-geniality,
such calculating-fanaticism, such cast-iron
enthusiasm, such unwilling-humour, such close-fisted
generosity. This new ‘<span class='it'>Græculus esuriens</span>’
will make a living out of anything. He will invent
new trades as well as new tools. His brain is his
capital, and he will get education at all risks. Put
him on Juan Fernandez, and he will make a
spelling-book first, and a salt-pan afterwards. <span class='it'>In
cœlum jusseris</span>, <span class='it'>ibit</span>, or the other way either, it is
all one so as anything is to be got by it. Yet,
after all, thin, speculative Jonathan is more like
the Englishman of two centuries ago than John
Bull himself is. He has lost somewhat in solidity,
has become fluent and adaptable, but more of the
original groundwork of character remains.</p>
<p class='pindent'>New England was most assuredly an unpromising
soil wherein to search for humour; but, fortunately,
that is a hardy and prolific plant, and is to be found
in some of its infinite varieties, in more or less
abundance everywhere.</p>
<p class='pindent'>To the well-known appellation of Yankees, their
Southern friends have added, as we have seen, in
reference to their remarkable pliability, the denomination
of “Eels.” Their humour is not merely
original, but it is clothed in quaint language. They
brought with them many words now obsolete and
forgotten in England, to which they have added
others derived from their intercourse with the Indians,
their neighbours the French and Dutch, and
their peculiar productions. Their pronunciation,
perhaps, is not very dissimilar to that of their
Puritan forefathers. It is not easy to convey an
adequate idea of it on paper, but the following
observations may render it more intelligible:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“1.<a id='r2'/><a href='#f2' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[2]</span></sup></a> The chief peculiarity is a drawling pronunciation,
and sometimes accompanied by speaking
through the nose, as <span class='it'>eend</span> for <span class='it'>end</span>, <span class='it'>dawg</span> for <span class='it'>dog</span>,
<span class='it'>Gawd</span> for <span class='it'>God</span>, &c.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“2. Before the sounds <span class='it'>ow</span> and <span class='it'>oo</span>, they often insert
a short <span class='it'>i</span>, which we will represent by the <span class='it'>y</span>;
as <span class='it'>kyow</span> for <span class='it'>cow</span>, <span class='it'>vyow</span> for <span class='it'>vow</span>, <span class='it'>tyoo</span> for <span class='it'>too</span>, <span class='it'>dyoo</span>
for <span class='it'>do</span>, &c.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“3.<a id='r3'/><a href='#f3' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[3]</span></sup></a> The genuine Yankee never gives the rough
sound to the <span class='it'>r</span>, when he can help it, and often displays
considerable ingenuity in avoiding it, even
before a vowel.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“4. He seldom sounds the final <span class='it'>g</span>, a piece of
self-denial, if we consider his partiality for nasals.
The same may be said of the final <span class='it'>d</span>, as <span class='it'>han’</span> and
<span class='it'>stan’</span> for <span class='it'>hand</span> and <span class='it'>stand</span>.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“5. The <span class='it'>h</span> in such words as <span class='it'>while</span>, <span class='it'>when</span>, <span class='it'>where</span>,
he omits altogether.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“6. In regard to <span class='it'>a</span>, he shows some inconsistency,
sometimes giving a close and obscure sound,
as <span class='it'>hev</span> for <span class='it'>have</span>, <span class='it'>hendy</span> for <span class='it'>handy</span>, <span class='it'>ez</span> for <span class='it'>as</span>, <span class='it'>thet</span> for
<span class='it'>that</span>; and again giving it the broad sound as in
father, as <span class='it'>hansome</span> for <span class='it'>handsome</span>.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“7. <span class='it'>Au</span> in such words as <span class='it'>daughter</span> and
<span class='it'>slaughter</span>, he pronounces <span class='it'>ah</span>.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Wholly unconstrained at first by conventional
usages, and almost beyond the reach of the law, the
inhabitants of the West indulged, to the fullest
extent, their propensity for fun, frolic, and the wild
and exciting sports of the chase. Emigrants from
the border States, they engrafted on the dialects of
their native places exaggerations and peculiarities
of their own, until they acquired almost a new language,
the most remarkable feature of which is its
amplification. Everything is superlative, awful,
powerful, monstrous, dreadful, almighty, and all-fired.
As specimens of these extravagancies four narratives
of the Adventures of the celebrated Colonel Crocket
are given, of which the humour consists mainly in the
marvellous. As they were designed for “the million,”
among whom the scenes are laid, rather than
the educated class, they were found to contain
many expressions unfit for the perusal of the latter,
which I have deemed it proper to expunge. Other
numbers in both volumes, liable to the same objection,
have been subjected to similar expurgation,
which, without affecting their raciness, has materially
enhanced their value.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The tales of both West and South are written in
the language of the rural population, which differs
as much from the Yankee dialect as from that of the
Cockney. The vocabulary of both is most copious.
Some words owe their origin to circumstances, and
local productions, and have thence been spread over
the whole country, and adopted into general use;
such as<a id='r4'/><a href='#f4' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[4]</span></sup></a> <span class='it'>backwoods</span>, <span class='it'>breadstuffs</span>, <span class='it'>barrens</span>, <span class='it'>bottoms</span>,
<span class='it'>cane-brake</span>, <span class='it'>cypress-brake</span>, <span class='it'>corn-broom</span>, <span class='it'>corn-shucking</span>,
<span class='it'>clearing</span>, <span class='it'>deadening</span>, <span class='it'>diggings</span>, <span class='it'>dug-out</span>, <span class='it'>flats</span>,
<span class='it'>husking</span>, <span class='it'>prairie</span>, <span class='it'>shingle</span>, <span class='it'>sawyer</span>, <span class='it'>salt-lick</span>, <span class='it'>savannah</span>,
<span class='it'>snag</span>.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Metaphorical and odd expressions often originated
in some curious anecdote or event, which was transmitted
by tradition, and soon made the property of
all. Political writers and stump speakers perform a
prominent part in the invention and diffusion of
these phrases. Among others may be mentioned:
<span class='it'>To cave in</span>, <span class='it'>to acknowledge the corn</span>, <span class='it'>to flash in the
pan</span>, <span class='it'>to bark up the wrong tree</span>, <span class='it'>to pull up stakes</span>, <span class='it'>to
be a caution</span>, <span class='it'>to fizzle out</span>, <span class='it'>to flat out</span>, <span class='it'>to fix his
flint</span>, <span class='it'>to be among the missing</span>, <span class='it'>to give him Jessy</span>, <span class='it'>to
see the elephant</span>, <span class='it'>to fly around</span>, <span class='it'>to tucker out</span>, <span class='it'>to use
up</span>, <span class='it'>to walk into</span>, <span class='it'>to mizzle</span>, <span class='it'>to absquatulate</span>, <span class='it'>to cotton</span>,
<span class='it'>to hifer</span>, <span class='it'>&c.</span></p>
<p class='pindent'>Many have been adopted from the Indians; from
corn, come, <span class='it'>samp</span>, <span class='it'>hominy</span>, <span class='it'>and sapawn</span>; from the
manive plant, <span class='it'>mandioca</span>, <span class='it'>and tapioca</span>, and from
articles peculiar to the aborigines, the words, <span class='it'>canoe</span>,
<span class='it'>hammock</span>, <span class='it'>tobacco</span>, <span class='it'>mocassin</span>, <span class='it'>pemmican</span>, <span class='it'>barbecue</span>,
<span class='it'>hurricane</span>, <span class='it'>pow-wow</span>.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The Spaniards have contributed their share to
the general stock, as <span class='it'>canyon</span>, <span class='it'>cavortin</span>, <span class='it'>chaparral</span>,
<span class='it'>pistareen</span>, <span class='it'>rancho</span>, <span class='it'>vamos</span>.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The French have also furnished many more,
such as <span class='it'>cache</span>, <span class='it'>calaboose</span>, <span class='it'>bodette</span>, <span class='it'>bayou</span>, <span class='it'>sault</span>, <span class='it'>levee</span>,
<span class='it'>crevasse</span>, <span class='it'>habitan</span>, <span class='it'>charivari</span>, <span class='it'>portage</span>.<a id='r5'/><a href='#f5' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[5]</span></sup></a></p>
<p class='pindent'>The “Edinburgh Review,” for April, 1844, in
an article on the provincialisms of the European
languages, states the result of an inquiry into the
number of provincial words which had then been
arrested by local glossaries at 30,687.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Admitting that several of them are synonymous,
superfluous, or common to each county, there are
nevertheless many of them which, although alike
orthographically, are vastly dissimilar in signification.
Making these allowances, they amount to
a little more than 20,000; or, according to the
number of English counties hitherto illustrated,
to the average ratio of 1478 to a county. Calculating
the twenty-six unpublished in the same ratio,
(for there are supposed to be as many words collected
by persons who have never published them,) they will
furnish 36,428 additional provincialisms, forming in
the aggregate, 59,000 words in the colloquial tongue
of the lower classes, which can, for the chief part,
produce proofs of legitimate origin.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The process of coinage has been far more rapid
and extensive in America than in Europe. That of
words predominates in the Western, and that of
phrases in the Eastern States. The chief peculiarity
in the pronunciation of the Southern and
Western people, is the giving of a broader sound
than is proper to certain vowels; as <span class='it'>whar</span> for <span class='it'>where</span>,
<span class='it'>thar</span> for <span class='it'>there</span>, <span class='it'>bar</span> for <span class='it'>bear</span>.</p>
<p class='pindent'>In the following table of words, incorrectly pronounced,
such as belong to New England are
designated by the letters N.E.; those exclusively
Western, by the letter W.; the Southern words by
S.; the rest are common to various parts of the
Union. In this attempt at classification, there are,
doubtless, errors and imperfections; for an emigrant
from Vermont to Illinois would introduce the
provincialisms of his native district, into his new
residence.</p>
<table id='tab1' summary='' class='left' style='font-size:.8em;'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 6em;'/>
<col span='1' style='width: 5em;'/>
<col span='1' style='width: 7em;'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Arter</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'><span class='it'>for</span></td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>After.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Ary</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Either.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Attackted</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Attack’d.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Anywheres</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Anywhere.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Bachelder</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Bachelor.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Bagnet</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Bayonet.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Bar</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Bear, W.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Becase</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Because.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Bile</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Boil.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Cheer</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Chair.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Chimbly</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Chimney.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Cupalo</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Cupola.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Cotch’d</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Caught.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Critter</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Creature.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Curous</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Curious.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Dar</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Dare, W.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Darter</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Daughter.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Deu</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Do, N.E.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Delightsome</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Delightful.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Drownded</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Drown’d.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Druv</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Drove, W.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Dubous</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Dubious.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Eend</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>End.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Everywheres</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Everywhere.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Gal</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Girl.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Gin</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Give.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Git</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Get.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Gineral</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>General.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Guv</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Gave.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Gownd</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Gown.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Har</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Hair, W.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Hath</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Hearth, S.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Hender</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Hinder.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Hist</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Hoist.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Hum</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Home, N.E.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Humbly</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Homely, N.E.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Hull</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Whole, W.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Ile</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Oil.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Innemy</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Enemy.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Jaunders</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Jaundice.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Jest</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Just.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Jeems</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>James.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Jine</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Join.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Jist</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Joist.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Kittle</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Kettle.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Kiver</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Cover.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Larn</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Learn.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Larnin</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Learning.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Lives</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Lief.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Leetle</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Little.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Nary</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Neither.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Ourn</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Ours.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Perlite</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Polite.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Racket</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Rocket.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Rale</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Real.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Rench</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Rince.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Rheumatiz</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Rheumatism.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Ruff</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Roof, N.E.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Sarcer</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Saucer.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Sarce</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Sauce.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Sarve</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Serve.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Sass</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Sauce.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Sassy</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Saucy.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Scace</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Scarce.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Scass</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Scarce, W.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Sen</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Since, W.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Shay</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Chaise, N.E.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Shet</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Shut, S.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Sistern</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Sisters, W.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Sich</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Such.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Sot</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Sat.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Sorter</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Sort of.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Stan</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Stand, N.E.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Star</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Stair, W.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Stun</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Stone, N.E.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Stiddy</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Steady, N.E.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Spettacle</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Spectacle.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Spile</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Spoil.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Squinch</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Quench.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Streech</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Stretch, W.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Suthin</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Something.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Tech</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Touch.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Tend</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Attend.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Tell’d</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Told, N.E.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Thar</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>There, W.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Timersome</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Timerous.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Tossel</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Tassel.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Umberell</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Umbrella.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Varmint</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Vermin, W.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Wall</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Well, N.E.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Whar</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Where, W.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Yaller</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Yellow.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'>Yourn</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle1'>"</td><td class='tab1c3 tdStyle0'>Yours.</td></tr>
</table>
<p class='pindent'>Until lately, the humour of the Americans has
been chiefly oral. Up to the period when the
publication of the first American “Sporting Magazine”
was commenced at Baltimore, in 1829, and
which was immediately followed by the publication,
in New York, of “The Spirit of the Times,” there
existed no such class of writers in the United States,
as have since that recent day, conferred such
popularity on this description of literature.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The New York “Constellation,”<a id='r6'/><a href='#f6' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[6]</span></sup></a> was the only
journal expressly devoted to wit and humour; but
“The Spirit of the Times” soon became the general
receptacle of all these fugitive productions. The
ability with which it was conducted, and the circulation
it enjoyed, induced the proprietors of other
periodicals to solicit contributions similar to those
which were attracting so much attention in that
paper. Of the latter kind are the three articles from
the pen of McClintoch, which originally appeared in
the “Portland Advertiser.” The rest of the series
by the same author, I have not been able to procure,
as they have shared the fate of many others of no
less value, that appeared in the daily press of the
United States. To collect, arrange, and preserve
these specimens of American humour, and present
them to the British reader, in an unobjectionable
shape, is the object of this compilation.</p>
<p class='pindent'>To such of the numbers contained in these volumes
as I could trace the paternity, I have appended the
names of the authors, and shall now conclude, by
expressing to those gentlemen the very great gratification
I have experienced in the perusal of their
admirable sketches.</p>
<p class='line0' style='text-align:left;margin-left:2em;margin-top:2em;'><span style='font-size:smaller'>DECEMBER</span>, 1851.</p>
<hr class='footnotemark'/>
<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_1'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f1'><a href='#r1'>[1]</a></div>
</td><td>
<p class='pindent'>See Introduction to Biglow’s Papers, p. xix.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_2'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f2'><a href='#r2'>[2]</a></div>
</td><td>
<p class='pindent'>See Introduction to Dictionary of Americanisms, p. xxiv, and
Biglow’s Papers.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_3'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f3'><a href='#r3'>[3]</a></div>
</td><td>
<p class='pindent'>See Introduction to Biglow’s Papers, p. xxiv.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_4'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f4'><a href='#r4'>[4]</a></div>
</td><td>
<p class='pindent'>Introduction to Dictionary of Americanisms.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_5'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f5'><a href='#r5'>[5]</a></div>
</td><td>
<p class='pindent'>See Dictionary of Americanisms.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_6'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f6'><a href='#r6'>[6]</a></div>
</td><td>
<p class='pindent'>See Porter’s account of “The Spirit of the Times.”</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<hr class='pbk'/>
<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;margin-top:4em;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='gesp'>CONTENTS</span></p>
<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;font-size:.8em;'><span class='gesp'>OF</span></p>
<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='gesp'>THE THIRD VOLUME</span>.</p>
<hr class='tbk100'/>
<table id='tab2' summary='' class='center' style='font-size:.8em;'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 27em;'/>
<col span='1' style='width: 2em;'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>I.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><span style='font-size:x-small'>PAGE</span></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>THE THIMBLE GAME</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch1'>1</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>II.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>MIKE HOOTER’S BAR STORY</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch2'>22</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>III.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>COUSIN GUSS</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch3'>30</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>IV.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>THE GANDER-PULLING</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch4'>34</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>V.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>HOW MIKE HOOTER CAME VERY NEAR “WALLOPING” ARCH COONEY</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch5'>48</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>VI.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>AN INTERESTING INTERVIEW</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch6'>61</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>VII.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>BEN WILSON’S LAST JUG-RACE</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch7'>70</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>VIII.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>MIKE FINK IN A TIGHT PLACE</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch8'>79</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>IX.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>OUR SINGING-SCHOOL</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch9'>88</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>X.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>WHERE JOE MERIWEATHER WENT TO</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch10'>106</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>XI.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>GEORGIA THEATRICS</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch11'>114</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>XII.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>TAKING THE CENSUS</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch12'>120</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>XIII.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>A FAMILY PICTURE</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch13'>129</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>XIV.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>COLONEL JONES’S FIGHT</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch14'>136</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>XV.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>THE FASTEST FUNERAL ON RECORD</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch15'>147</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>XVI.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>OLD TUTTLE’S LAST QUARTER RACE</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch16'>154</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>XVII.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>SPEECH ON THE OREGON QUESTION</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch17'>160</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>XVIII.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>BILL DEAN, THE TEXAN RANGER</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch18'>165</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>XIX.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>THE FIRE-HUNT</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch19'>169</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>XX.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>A PAIR OF SLIPPERS</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch20'>188</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>XXI.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>A SWIM FOR A DEER</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch21'>202</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>XXII.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>DILLY JONES; OR, THE PROGRESS OF IMPROVEMENT</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch22'>214</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>XXIII.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>LANTY OLIPHANT IN COURT</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch23'>224</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>XXIV.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>OLD SINGLETIRE</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch24'>229</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>XXV.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>MAJOR JONES’S COURTSHIP</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch25'>234</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>XXVI.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>DOWN-EAST CURIOSITY</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch26'>314</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'> </td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tab2c1-col2 tdStyle2' colspan='2'>XXVII.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>A SAGE CONVERSATION</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle4'><a href='#ch27'>319</a></td></tr>
</table>
<hr class='pbk'/>
<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;margin-top:4em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.5em;'><span class='gesp'>TRAITS</span></p>
<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;font-size:.6em;'>OF</p>
<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;margin-bottom:2em;font-size:1.5em;'><span class='gesp'>AMERICAN HUMOUR</span>.</p>
<hr class='pbk'/>
<div><h1 id='ch1'>I.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>THE THIMBLE GAME.</span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>Forty years ago, Augusta, Ga., presented a very
different appearance from the busy and beautiful
city of the present day. Its groceries, stores, and
extensive warehouses were few in number, and the
large quantities of cotton and other produce, which
are still conveyed thither, were transported entirely
by waggons. The substantial railroad, which links
it with the richest and most beautiful regions of the
empire state of the South, was a chimera, not yet
conceived in the wild brain of Fancy herself; and
many of the improvements, luxuries and refinements,
which now make it the second city in the
state, were then “in the shell.” <span class='it'>Yet</span>, by the honest
yeomanry of forty years ago, Augusta was looked
upon as Paris and London are now viewed by us.
The man who had <span class='it'>never</span> been there was a cipher in
the community—nothing killed an opinion more
surely, nothing stopped the mouth of “argyment”
sooner, than the sneering taunt: “Pshaw! you
ha’n’t been to <span class='it'>Augusty</span>.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The atmosphere of this favoured place was supposed
to impart knowledge and wisdom to all who
breathed it, and the veriest ass was a Solon, and
an umpire, if he could discourse fluently of the
different localities, and various wonders, of
<span class='it'>Augusty</span>.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The farmers of the surrounding country paid a
yearly visit to Augusta, and having sold their
“<span class='it'>crap</span>” of the great Southern staple, and laid in
their stock of winter necessaries, returned home
with something of that holy satisfaction with which
the pious Mohammedan turns his face homeward
from Mecca. The first step upon arriving in the
city was to lay aside their “<span class='it'>copperas-coloured</span>,”
fabrics of the wife’s or daughter’s loom, and purchase
a new suit of “<span class='it'>store</span>-clothes.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>These were immediately donned, and upon returning
home were carefully embalmed, nor again
permitted to see the light until the next Sunday at
“meetin’,” when the farmer, with head erect and
ample shirt-collar, strutted up the aisle, the lion of
the occasion, the “observed of all observers” till
the next Sabbath, when his neighbour returning
with <span class='it'>his</span> new suit, plucked off his laurels and twined
them green and blooming upon the crown of his
own shilling beaver.</p>
<p class='pindent'>These annual trips were <span class='it'>the event</span> and <span class='it'>era</span> of the
year, and the farmer returned to his home big with
importance and news. The dishonesty and shrewdness
of “them Gimblit fellers,” (Cotton-Buyers,)
the extortions of hotel-keepers, the singular failures
of warehouse steelyards to make cotton-bales weigh
as much in Augusta as at home, the elegant apparel
of the city belles and beaux, and the sights
and scenes which greeted their astonished gaze,
formed the year’s staple of conversation and discussion;
and it would be difficult to say who
experienced the greater delight—the farmer in
relating his wondrous adventures, or his wife and
daughters in listening to them with open mouths,
uplifted hands, and occasional breathless ejaculations
of “Good Lord, look down!” “Oh! go away!” or,
“Shut up!” “You don’t ses so!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Early in the fall of 18–, Farmer Wilkins announced
to his son Peter, that as he, “his daddy,”
would be too busy to make the usual trip in <span class='it'>propria
persona</span>, he, Peter, must get ready to go down to
Augusty, and sell the “first load.” Now Peter
Wilkins, jun., a young man just grown, was one of
the celebrities of which his settle<span class='it'>ment</span> (neighbourhood)
boasted. He was supposed to have cut his
eye-teeth—to have shaken off that verdancy so common
to young men; and while he filled up more
than half his father’s capacious heart, to the discomfiture
of Mahaly (his mother), and Suke and Poll
(his sisters), he was the pet and darling of the
whole neighbourhood. An only son, the old man
doted upon him as a chip of the old block, and was
confident that Peter, in any emergency of trade,
traffic, or otherwise, would display that admirable
tact, and that attentive consideration for “No.
One,” for which Mr. P. Wilkins, sen., was noted.
A horse-swap with a Yankee, in which Peter, after
half an hour’s higgling, found himself the undisputed
owner of both horses and ten dollars boot,
was the corner-stone of his fame. Every trip to
Augusta added another block; and by the time
Peter arrived at the years of discretion, he stood
upon a lofty structure with all the green rubbed off,
the pride of his family and the universal favourite
of his acquaintances.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The night before his departure the family were
all gathered around the roaring fire, Mrs. and the
Misses Wilkins engaged in ironing and mending
our hero’s Sunday apparel, the old man smoking
his pipe, and occasionally preparing Peter for the
ordeal in Augusta, by wholesome advice, or testing
his claim to the tremendous confidence about to be
reposed in him, by searching questions, as to how
he would do in case so-and-so was to turn up. To
this counsel, however, our hero paid less attention
than to the preparations making around him for his
comely appearance in the city. Nor, until he got
upon the road, did he revolve in his mind the
numerous directions of his father, or resolve to
follow to the letter his solemn parting injunction
to “bewar of them gimblit fellers down to
Augusty.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Durn it,” said he to himself, as the thought of
being “sold” crossed his mind, “durn it, they’ll
never make gourds out o’ me. <span class='it'>I’ve</span> bin to Augusty
<span class='it'>before</span>, and ef I don’t git as much fur that thur
cotton as anybody else does for thurn, then my
name ain’t Peter Wilkins, and that’s what the old
’oman’s slam book says it is.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Arrived in the city, he drove around to one of
the warehouses, and stood against the brick wall,
awaiting a purchaser. Presently a little man with
a long gimblet in his hand came out, and bade our
hero a polite “Good morning.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Mornin’,” said Peter, with admirable coolness,
as he deliberately surveyed the little man from
head to foot, and withdrew his eyes as if not pleased
with his appearance.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The little man was dressed in the “shabby-genteel”
style, a costume much in vogue at that day
among men of his cloth, as combining plainness
enough for the country-folk, with sufficient gentility
to keep them on speaking terms with the more
fashionable denizens of the then metropolis. The
little man seemed in no way disconcerted by Peter’s
searching gaze, and a close observer might have
perceived a slight smile on his lip, as he read the
thoughts of our hero’s bosom. His self-confidence,
his pride, his affected ease and knowing air, were
all comprehended, and ere a word had passed the
lion knew well the character of his prey. In the
purchase of the cotton, however, the little man
sought no advantage, and even offered our hero
a better price than any one else in the city would
have given him. To our hero’s credit, be it said,
he was not loth to accept the offer; 15 1/2 cents was
above the market, by at least a quarter, and the
old man had told him to let it slide at fifteen rather
than not sell, so the bargain was closed, and our
hero and the “Gimblit-man” went out into the
yard to settle.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Seating himself on a cotton-bale, the buyer
counted out the money, which our hero made safe
in his pocket, after seeing that it was “<span class='it'>giniwine</span>,”
and tallied with the amount stated in the bill of
sale. A few sweet pills of flattery administered to
our hero, soon made him and the Gimblit-man
sworn friends; and it was in consideration of his
high regard, that the Gimblit-man consented to
initiate him into the mysteries of a certain game,
yclept “Thimble Rig,” a game which, our hero
was told, would yield him much sport, if successfully
played up at home among the boys; and
would, when properly managed, be to him a never-failing
source of that desirable article, “pocket-change.”
To this proposition our hero readily
assented, delighted with the idea of playing off
upon the boys up at home, who hadn’t been to
Augusty; and already began to revel in the visions
of full pockets, when, to his silent horror, the
little man took from his pocket a hundred-dollar
bill, and very irreverently rolled it into a small
round ball.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Three thimbles were next produced, and the game
began.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Now,” said the little man, “I am going to
hide this little ball under one of these thimbles, all
before your eyes, and I want you to guess where it
is.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well,” said Peter, “go it—I’m ready,” and
the shifting game begun.</p>
<p class='pindent'>To the apparent astonishment of the little man,
our hero guessed right every time. No matter how
rapid the changes, Peter invariably lifted the
thimble from the ball, and had begun to grow
disgusted with the game, little dreaming how soon
he was to prove its efficacy as a source of revenue,
when the little man suddenly checked his hand.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Wrong,” said he, with a friendly smile; “the
ball is not under the middle thimble, but under
that next you.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Darned ef it is though!” responded Peter; “I
ain’t as green as you ’Gusty folks thinks. Blamed
ef I don’t know whar that ball is jist as well as
you does, and dod-drapped ef I don’t bet four
hundred and fifty-one dollars no cents (the price of
the cotton) agin the load o’ cotton, that it’s under
the middle thimble.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, <span class='it'>Sir</span>,” said the little man, with another
smile, “you are wrong, and I’d hate to win your
money.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>That smile deceived Peter—it manifested a
friendly consideration for his welfare, which he felt
he did not need, and after bullying the “Gimblit-man”
for a few minutes, he succeeded in inveigling
him (as he thought) into a bet, which was duly
closed and sealed, to the entire satisfaction of his
<span class='it'>friend</span>! Alas for poor Peter! he had awakened
the wrong passenger. But the idea of being too
smart for an Augusty feller, and he was sure he
had cornered one this time, was too great a temptation
for him to withstand.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Drot it,” said he to himself, “I seen him put
it under that ere middle thimble, I seen it myself,
and I know it’s thar, and why not win the old
man’s cotton back when it’s jest as easy as nothin’?
And ef I do win it, why in course the old man
can’t claim more’n four hundred and fifty-one
dollars no how.” (Peter forgot that the profits to
be realized ought of course to belong to the owner
of the capital invested.) “The time me and that
Yankee swapped critters, warn’t I thar? Hain’t I
cut my gums? Don’t the old man, yes, and all
the settle<span class='it'>ment</span>, say I’m smart, and then thar’s
Kitty Brown, I reckon she ort to know, and don’t
she say I’m the peertest feller in our parts? <span class='it'>I’ve</span>
bin to Augusty, and this time, dod-drapped ef I
don’t leave my mark.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The result we need hardly relate. Peter was
tempted—tempted sorely, and he fell. Sick at
heart, he ordered Bob, the driver, to turn his mules
homeward, and late on Saturday evening he entered
the lane which led to his father’s house. The blow
was now to come; and some time before the waggon
got to the house, Peter saw his father, and mother,
and sisters coming out to meet him. At last they met.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, son,” said the old man, “I s’pose you’ve
been well?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Here Mrs. Wilkins and the gals commenced
hugging and kissing Peter, which he took very
coldly, and with the air of a man who felt he was
getting a favour which he didn’t deserve.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Reasonably well,” said Peter, in reply to his
father’s question; “but I’ve lost it.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Lost what?” said his father.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Lost <span class='it'>it</span>.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Lost the dockyments?” said the old man.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, here they are,” said Peter, handing the
papers containing the weights of his cotton, to his
father, who began to read, partly aloud, and partly
to himself:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Eight bags of cotton—350—400—348—550—317—15½
cents a pound—sold to Jonathan
Barker.’ Very good sale,” said he; “I
knowed you’d fix things rite, Peter.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The waggon by this time had reached the house,
and turning to Bob, the old man told him to put
the molasses in the cellar, and the sugar and coffee
in the house.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Ain’t got no ’lasses, Massa,” said Bob, grinning
from ear to ear.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No,” said Peter, “we havn’t got none; we lost
it.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Lost it! How on airth could you lose a barrel
of molasses?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“We never had it,” said Bob.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Heavens and airth!” said the old man, turning
first to Bob, and then to Peter, “what do you
mean? What do you mean? <span class='it'>What</span>, <span class='it'>what</span>, w-h-a-t
in the d-e-v-i-l <span class='it'>do</span> you mean?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Gracious, Marster! Mr. Wilkins, don’t
swar, so,” said his wife, by way of helping Peter
out.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Swar!</span>” said the farmer, “do you call
<span class='it'>that</span> swarring? Darned ef I don’t say wussin
that d’recley, ef they don’t tell me what they
mean.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, father,” said Peter, “I’ve lost it. I’ve
lost the money.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, and couldn’t you find it?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I didn’t lose it that way,” said Peter.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You ain’t been a gamblin’ I hopes,” said
the old man; “you ain’t been runnin’ agin
none of them Pharo banks down to Augusty, is
you?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Bring me three thimbles,” said Peter, “and I’ll
show you how I lost it.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The thimbles were brought, and Peter sat down
to explain. It was a scene for a painter: there sat
our hero, fumbling with the thimbles and the ball,
but too much frightened to have performed the
trick if he had known how; his father sat next him,
with his chin upon his hands, looking as if undecided
whether to reprimand him at once, or to give
him a “fair showin’.” Mrs. Wilkins stood just
behind her husband, winking and smiling, gesturing
and hemming, in order to attract Peter’s
attention, and indicate to him her willingness to
stand between him and his father. The girls, who
always sided with their mother, followed her
example in this case. But their efforts to attract
his attention were useless; they could not even
catch his eye, so busy was he in trying to arrange
the ball and thimbles; but every time he got them
fixed, and told his father to guess, the old man
would guess right, which, while it astonished Peter,
incensed the old man against him. It looked so
easy to him, that he could not help “blaming Pete
fur bein’ sich a fool.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Shorely,” said the farmer, after Peter had
finished his explanation—“shorely it ain’t <span class='it'>possible</span>
that you’ve bin to Augusty <span class='it'>so often</span>, and didn’t
know no better. Didn’t I tell you not to have
nothin’ to do with them <span class='it'>Gimblit Fellers</span>? Ther
ain’t one of ’em honest, not one. Like a fool,
you’ve gone and lost jest four hundred and fifty-one
dollars no cents. It ain’t the munny that I keers
for, Peter, it’s you bein’ sich a fool—<span class='it'>four hundred
and fifty-one dollars no cents</span>. I’ll go rite down
to Augusty next Monday, and find this here
Barker, and ef he don’t give up the munny, I’ll
have a <span class='it'>say so</span> (ca. sa.) taken agin him, and march
him rite off to gaol—no deaf-allication about that.
The theavin’ rascal, gwine about cheetin’ people’s
sons outin four hundred and fifty-one dollars no
cents? How often is you bin to Augusty, Peter?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Sixteen times,” said Peter.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, I declare,” said the old man; “bin to
Augusty sixteen times, and didn’t know no better
than to go thar agin and lose four hundred and
fifty-one dollars no cents!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Early on Monday morning the old man started
to Augusta with another load of cotton; Bob
driving as before, and his master riding his gray
mare “Bets.” Mr. Wilkins had a great many
little commissions to execute for his wife and the
<span class='it'>gals</span>. The old lady wanted a pair of spectacles,
and the gals a bonnet each—ribbons and flowers,
thread, buttons, &c., had to be purchased, and the
good farmer was nearly crazed by the loss he had
met with, and the multiplicity of things to be
attended to. Ever and anon, as he trotted along
the road, he would mutter to himself something as
follows:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Leghorn bonnet for Sal—12 skeins of flax
thread—2 dozen pearl buttons for pants—one gross
horn buttons for shirts—5 grass petticoats—100
pounds coffee—451 dollars no cents—Jonathan
Barker—bin to Augusty sixteen times—1 bolt
kaliker—Pete’s a fool—lost one barrel of molasses
and 451 dollars no cents.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>With such words as these he would while away
the time, apparently unconscious of the presence of
Bob, who was much diverted by his master’s soliloquy.
As they approached Augusta, his wrath seemed
to increase, and he vented his spleen on his old
mare and Bob.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Bob,” said he, “you dad-dratted rascal, why
don’t you drive up? you don’t do nothin’ but set
thar and sleep.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Take <span class='it'>that</span>, and <span class='it'>that</span>, and <span class='it'>that</span>,” he would say
to his mare, accompanying each word with a blow;
“<span class='it'>git up, Miss, and go long to Augusty</span>.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>When they had come in sight of Augusta, Bob
struck a camp, and his master rode on into town.
Having eaten his supper, and put up his horse, he
retired for the night, and early in the morning
started out to look for Jonathan Barker. He caused
not a little laughter as he walked along the streets,
relating his troubles, and inquiring of everybody for
Jonathan Barker.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Where’s Jonathan Barker,” he would cry out,
“the Gimblit Feller what cheeted Pete out’n
451 dollars no cents. Jes show me Jonathan
Barker.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>As a last hope, he went around to the warehouse,
where his son had lost the cotton. Walking out
into the yard, he bawled out the name of Jonathan
Barker. A little man, with a long gimlet in his
hand, answered to the name, and our farmer attacked
him as follows:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Look a here, Mr. Barker, I wants that
money.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“What money?” said Barker, who had no acquaintance
whatever with the farmer; “what money
is it, Sir?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh no,” said the old man, perfectly furious at
such barefaced assurance. “Oh no! you don’t know
<span class='it'>nuthin’</span> now. Blame your picter, you’re as innersent
as a lam’. Don’t know what munny I <span class='it'>meen</span>?
It’s that four hundred and fifty-one dollars, and <span class='it'>no</span>
cents, what you cheeted Pete out’n.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I recollect now,” said Barker, “that was fairly
done, Sir; if you’ll just step this way, I’ll show you
how I got it, Sir.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>A bright idea struck the old man.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I’ve seen Pete play it,” thought he to himself,
“and I guessed <span class='it'>rite every time</span>.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well,” said he, “I’ll go and see how it was
dun, ennyhow.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The two walked along to the same bale of cotton
which had witnessed the game before, and the
gimlet man took the identical thimbles and ball
which had served him before, from his pocket,
and sat down, requesting the farmer to be seated
also.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Now, Sir,” said Barker, “when your son was
here, I bought his cotton, and paid him for it: just
as he was going away, I proposed showing him a
trick worth seeing. I took this little ball, and put
it under this middle thimble.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Now,’ said I to him, ‘you see it, and now you
don’t see it; and I’ll bet you you can’t tell where
the little joker is.’ ”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well,” said the farmer, “all’s rite—the ball’s
now under the middle thimble.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“When I had put it under there,” continued
Barker, “your son wanted to bet me that it was
under the middle thimble.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“So it is,” said the old man, interrupting
him.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No,” returned Barker, “it’s under the one next
you.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I tell you it ain’t,” said Mr. Wilkins, who
strongly advocated the doctrine that “seeing is
believing.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>He was sure he was right, and now a chance
presented itself of regaining his former load of
cotton.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I tell you it ain’t. I’m harder to head than
Pete wus, and blamed ef I don’t bet another load o’
cotton, that’s at the dore by this time.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You are mistaken,” said Barker, smiling; “but
if you wish it, I’ll bet.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Let’s understand one nuther fust,” said the
farmer. “You say that ere little ball you had jes
now, ain’t under the little thimble in the middle—I
say it is. Ef it ain’t, I’m to give you the load
o’ cotton—ef it is, you’re to give me four hundred
and fifty-one dollars no cents.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Exactly so,” said Barker.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, I’ll bet,” said the farmer, “and here’s
my hand.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The bet was sealed, and with a triumphant air
which he but poorly concealed, the farmer snatched
up the middle thimble, but no ball was there.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, I’ll be dod drapt!” he exclaimed, at the
same time drawing a long breath, and dropping the
thimble. “Derned ef it’s <span class='it'>thar</span>! Four hundred
and fifty-one dollars no cents gone <span class='it'>agin</span>! Heven
and airth, what’ll Mahaly and the gals say! I’ll
never heer the eend of it tel I’m in my grave.
Then thar’s Pete! <span class='it'>Gee-mi-my! jest</span> to think o’
Pete—fur <span class='it'>him</span> to know his ole daddy wus made a
fool of too! four hundred and fifty-one dollars no
cents! but I wouldn’t keer <span class='it'>that</span> for it,” snapping
his fingers, “ef it wern’t fur Pete.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The Gimblit man reminded our friend of the
result of his bet, by telling him that the sooner he
unloaded the better.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Now you ain’t, shore ’nuff, in <span class='it'>yearnest</span>,” said
the old man.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Dead earnest,” returned Barker.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, stranger,” added our friend, “I’se a
honest man, and stands squar up to my contracts.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>With this he had his cargo discharged into the
street, and ordering Bob to drive on, he mounted
his mare, and set out for home with a heavier heart
than he had ever known before. ’Twere useless
to attempt a description of the scene which transpired
on the farmer’s return home. The first
words he uttered were, “Pete, durned ef I hain’t
lost it too.” The misfortunes of his trip were soon
all told, after which Peter and his father wisely
resolved never to bet on anything again, especially
“them blamed Yankee Thimbles.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>It is not to be supposed that Mrs. Wilkins, Pete,
or the gals, could help teasing the old man occasionally
on the result of his trip. Whenever he
became refractory, his wife would stick her thimble
on the end on her finger, and hold it up for him to
look at—it acted like a charm. His misadventure,
too, raised higher than ever his opinion of the cunning
and sagacity of “<span class='it'>them Augusty fellers!</span>”</p>
<p class='pindent'>A few years succeeding the events which we have
attempted to narrate, and Farmer Wilkins was
gathered to his fathers; but his trip to Augusta is
still preserved as a warning to all honest and simple-hearted
people. The last words of the old man to
his son were:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Peter, Peter, my son, always be honest, never
forgit your ole daddy, and <span class='it'>allers bewar</span> of them
Gimblit fellers, <span class='it'>down to Augusty</span>.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Reader! every tale has its moral, nor is ours
without one. Not only did Peter learn from his
adventure in Augusta, the evils of betting, but ever
since the time to which we have alluded, he always
allows his factor to sell his cotton for him. Whatever
you may think of it, both Peter and his father
came to the conclusion that there was “no use in
tryin’ to git the upper hand of one o’ them <span class='it'>Gimblet
fellers down to Augusty</span>.”</p>
<div><h1 id='ch2'>II.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>MIKE HOOTER’S BAR STORY.<br/> <span style='font-size:smaller'>A YAZOO SKETCH.<br/> SHOWING HOW THE BEAR OUTWITTED IKE HAMBERLIN.<br/> BY A MISSOURIAN.</span></span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>“It’s no use talkin’,” said Mike, “ ’bout your
Polar Bar, and your Grisly Bar, and all that sort er
varmont what you read about. They ain’t no whar,
for the big black customer that circumlocutes down
in our neck o’ woods beats ’em all hollow. I’ve
heard of some monsus explites kicked up by the
brown bars, sich as totein off a yoke o’ oxen, and
eatin’ humans raw, and all that kind o’ thing; and
Capten Parry tells us a yarn ’bout a big white bar,
what ’muses hisself climin’ up the North Pole and
slides down to keep his hide warm; but all that
ain’t a circumstance to what I’ve saw.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You see,” continued Mike, “there’s no countin’
on them varmonts as I’s been usened to, for they
comes as near bein’ human critters as anything I
ever see what doesn’t talk. Why, if you was to
hear anybody else tell ’bout the bar-fights I’ve had,
you wouldn’t b’leeve ’em, and if I wasn’t a preacher,
and could not lie none, I’d keep my fly-trap shot
’till the day of judgment.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I’ve heard folks say as how bars cannot think
like other human critters, and that they does all the
sly tricks what they does, from instink. Golly!
what a lie! You tell me one of ’em don’t know
when you’ve got a gun, and when you ain’t? Just
wait a minit, an’ my privit ’pinion is, when you’ve
hearn me thro’ you’ll talk t’other side of your mouth.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You see, one day, long time ago, ’fore britches
come in fashion, I made a ’pointment with Ike
Hamberlin the steam doctor, to go out next Sunday
to seek whom we couldn’t kill, a bar, for you know
bacon was skace, and so was money, and them fellers
down in Mechanicsburg wouldn’t sell on tick,
so we had to ’pend on the varmints for a livin’.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Speakin’ of Mechanicsburg, the people down in
that ar mud-hole ain’t to be beat nowhere this side
o’ Christmas. I’ve hearn o’ mean folks in my time,
an’ I’ve preached ’bout ’em a few; but ever sense that
feller, Bonnel, sold me a pint of red eye-whiskey—an’
half ov it backer juice—for a ’coon-skin, an’ then
guv me a brass picayune fur change, I’ve stopped
talkin’. Why, that chap was closer than the bark
on a hickory tree; an’ ef I hadn’t hearn Parson
Dilly say so, I’d ov swore it wasn’t er fact, he was
cotch one day stealin’ acorns from a blind hog.
Did you ever hear how that hossfly died? Well,
never mind. It was too bad to talk ’bout, but heap
too good for him.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But that ain’t what I was spoutin’ ’bout. As
I was sayin’ afore, we had to ’pend on the varmints
fur a livin’. Well, Ike Hamberlin, you see, was
always sorter jubous o’ me, kase I kilt more bar nor
he did; an’, as I was sayin’, I made a ’pointment
with Ike to go out huntin’. Then, Ike, he thought
he’d be kinder smart, and beat ‘Old Preach’ (as
them Cole boys usen to call me), so, as soon as day
crack he hollered up his puppies, an’ put! I spied
what he was ’bout, fur I hearn him laffin’ to one o’
his niggers ’bout it the night afore—so, I told my
gal Sal to fill my private tickler full o’ the old
‘raw,’ and then fixed up an’ tramped on arter him,
but didn’t take none o’ my dogs.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Ike hadn’t got fur into the cane, ’fore the dogs
they ’gan to whine an’ turn up the har on ther
backs; an’, bimeby, they all tucked tail, an’ sorter
sidled back to war he was stanin’. ‘Sick him!’
says Ike, but the cussed critters wouldn’t hunt a
lick. I soon diskivered what was the matter, for I
kalkilated them curs o’ hisn wasn’t worth shucks in
a bar fight—so, I know’d thar was bar ’bout, if I
didn’t see no sine.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, Ike he coaxed the dogs, an’ the more he
coaxed the more they wouldn’t go, an’ when he
found coaxin’ wouldn’t do, then he scolded and
called ’em some of the hardest names ever you
hearn, but the tarnation critters wouldn’t budge a
peg.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“When he found they wouldn’t hunt no how he
could fix it, he begin a cussin’. He didn’t know I
was thar. If he had er suspicioned it, he’d no
more swore than he’d dar’d to kiss my Sal on er
washin’ day; for you see both on us belonged to
the same church, and Ike was class-leader. I
thought I should er flummuxed! The dogs they
sidled back, an’ Ike he cussed; an’ I lay down an’
rolled an’ laughed sorter easy to myself, ’til I was
so full I thort I should er bust my biler. I never
see ennything so funny in all my life! There was
I layin’ down behind er log, fit to split, an’ there
was the dogs with their tails the wrong eend down,
and there was Ike a rarin’ an’ er pitchin’—er
rippin’ an’ er tarrin’—an’ er cussin’ wus nor a
steamboat cap’n! I tell you it fairly made my har
stan’ on eend. I never see er customer so riled
afore in all my born days. Yes I did too, once—only
once. It was that feller Arch Coony, what
used to oversee for old Ben Roach. Didn’t you
know that ar’ hossfly? He’s a few! well he is.
Jewhilliken, how he could whip er nigger! and
swar! whew! Didn’t you ever hear him swar?
I tell you, all the sailors and French parrots in
Orleans ain’t a patchin’ to him. I hearn him let
hisself out one day, and he was a caution to sinners,
an’ what was wus, it was all ’bout nothin’, for he
warn’t mad a wrinkle. But all that ain’t neither
here nor thar.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But, as I was sayin’ afore, the dogs they smelt
bar sine, an’ wouldn’t budge a peg, an arter Ike had
almost cussed the bark off’n a dogwood saplin’
by, he lent his old flint-lock rifle up agin it,
and then he pealed off his old blanket an’ laid her
down, too. I diskivered mischief was er cumin’, for
I never see a critter show rathy like he did.
Torectly I see him walk down to the creek bottom,
’bout fifty yards from where his gun was, and then
he ’gin pickin’ up rocks an’ slingin’ um at the dogs
like bringer! Cracky! didn’t he linkit into um?
It minded me of David whalin’ Goliath, it did! If
you’d er seed him, and hearn them holler, you’d er
thought he’d er knocked the nigh sites off’n every
mother’s son of ’em!</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But that ain’t the fun yet. While Ike was er
lammin’ the dogs, I hearn the allfiredest crackin’ in
the cane, an’ I looked up, and thar was one of the
eternalist whollopin’ bars cummin’ crack, crack,
through the cane an’ kerslosh over the creek, and
stopped right plumb slap up whar Ike’s gun was.
Torectly he tuck hold er the ole shooter, an’ I
thought I see him tinkerin’ ’bout the lock, an’
kinder whistlin’, and blowin’ into it. I was
’stonished, I tell you, but I wanted to see Ike
outdone so bad that I lay low and kep’ dark, an’
in about a minit Ike got done lickin’ the dogs, an’
went to git his gun. Jeemeny, criminy! if you’d
only been whar I was! I do think Ike was the
maddest man that ever stuk an axe into a tree, for
his har stuck rite strait up, and his eyes glared
like two dogwood blossoms! But the bar didn’t
seem to care shucks for him, for he jist sot the old
rifle rite back agin the saplin’, and walked off on
his hind legs jist like any human. Then, you see,
I gin to git sorter jelus, and sez I to myself,
‘Mister Bar,’ sez I, ‘the place whar you’s er
stanin’ ain’t prezactly healthy, an’ if you don’t
wabble off from thar purty soon, Mizis Bar will be
a widder, by gum!’ With that, Ike grabbed up
ole Mizis Rifle, and tuk most pertickler aim at him,
and by hokey, she snapped! Now, sez I, ‘Mister
Bar, go it, or he’ll make bacon of you!’ But the
varmint didn’t wink, but stood still as a post, with
the thumb of his right paw on the eend of his
smeller, and wiglin’ his t’other finger thus,” (and
Mike went through with the gyration). “All
this time Ike he stood thar like a fool, er
snappin’ and her snappin’, an’ the bar he lookin’
kinder quare like, out er the corner o’ his eye, an’
sorter laffin’ at him. Torectly I see Ike take down
the ole shooter, an’ kinder kersamine the lock, an’
when he done that, he laid her on his shoulder, and
shook his fist at the bar, and walked toward home,
an’ the bar he shuk his fist, an’ went into the cane
brake, and then I cum off.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Here all the Yazoo boys expressed great anxiety
to know the reason why Ike’s gun didn’t
fire.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Let’s licker fust,” said Mik, “an’ if you don’t
caterpillar, you can shoot me. Why, you see,”
concluded he, “the long and short of it is this, that
the bar in our neck o’ woods has a little human
in um, and this feller know’d as much about a gun
as I do ’bout preachin’; so when Ike was lickin’
the dogs, he jest blowed all the powder outen the
pan, an’ to make all safe, he tuk the flint out too,
and that’s the way he warn’t skeered when Ike was
snappin’ at him.”</p>
<div><h1 id='ch3'>III.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>COUSIN GUSS.<a id='r7'/><a href='#f7' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[7]</span></sup></a></span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, how de dew? I’m right glad to see you,
I swow. I rather guess I can say suthin’ about the
<span class='it'>Revolution</span> business, purty good varsion, tew, by
jingo. My father, old Josh Addams, had his fist in
it: any on you know him? Old Josh Addams, as
well known as the Schuylkill water-works. He was
born in Boston: he didn’t die there, ’cause he died
in Philadelphia. He used to wear an old genuine
’76 coat, little cut down to suit the fashion, made it
a razee. One might have known the old man a
mile off. If it hadn’t been for Cousin Guss, he’d
have been livin’ to this ere day. You may see Guss
in Chestnut Street—any of you know him?—dressed
like a peacock, and got whiskers big enough
to stuff a sofa bottom. He went down t’other day
to see the wild beasts in 5th street; jest as he was
comin’ away, he met a hull squad of little children a
comin’ in: when they saw Cousin Guss, if they
didn’t squeal like ten thousand devils. The old
man says, what’s the matter, young ones? Oh
dear, papa, see, they’ve let one of the monkeys loose.
Cousin Guss didn’t show his face in Chestnut Street
for a week. Guss telled the old man he must have
his coat cut again, and altered to the fashion; so he
coaxed old Josh to let him take it down to his
artist, as he called him, down in 3rd street. Well,
the good-natured old critter said he might: when
he got it back, sich a lookin’ thing as it was, you
might have fallen down and worshipped it, without
breaking the ten commandments. When we saw it,
we all larfed; sister Jedide, she snickered right out.
The old man looked at it for about a minute, didn’t
say a word, by jingo—the tears rolled out of his
eyes as big as hail-stones. He jest folded it up,
put it under his pillow, laid himself down on the
bed, and never got up again: it broke his heart: he
died from a curtailed coat.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“The old man used to tell sich stories about the
Revolution. I rather guess he could say a leetle
more about that affair than most folks. ’Bout six
years ago he went to Boston, when La Fayette was
there; they gave a great dinner at Fanueil Hall.
When the Mayor heard old Josh Addams was in
Boston, he sent him a regular built invitation. The
old man went, and wore the ’76 coat,—that is,
before it was cut down, though. Bimeby they
called upon the old man for a toast. Up he got,
and, says he:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Here’s to the Heroes of the Revolution, who
fought, bled, and died for their country, of which I
was one.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“When old Josh said that, they all snickered
right out.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“There’s one story the old man used to tell about
Boston, that was a real snorter: he always used to
laugh afore he begun.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“He said, down on Long Wharf there was a
queer little feller—a cousin of his by the mother’s
side—called Zedekiah Hales, who wasn’t more than
four foot high, and had a hump jest between his
shoulders. A hull squad of British officers got
round Zedekiah, in State Street, and were laughing
and poking all sorts of fun at him: he bore it,
cause as how he couldn’t help it; one of them, a
regular built dandy captain, lifting up his glass, said
to him:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You horrid little deformed critter, what’s that
lump you’ve got on your shoulder?’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Zedekiah turned round and looked at him for
about a minute, and says he:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It’s <span class='it'>Bunker Hill</span>, you tarnal fool, you.’ ”</p>
<hr class='footnotemark'/>
<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_7'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f7'><a href='#r7'>[7]</a></div>
</td><td>
<p class='pindent'>By G. H. Hill.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<div><h1 id='ch4'>IV.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>THE GANDER-PULLING.</span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>In the year ——, I resided in the city of Augusta,
and upon visiting the Market-House one morning
in that year, my attention was called to the following
notice stuck upon one of the pillars of the
building:</p>
<div class='blockquote'>
<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;font-size:.8em;'>“ADVURTYSEMENT.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Thos woo wish To be inform hearof, is hearof
notyfide that edwd. Prator will Giv a Gander pullin’,
jis this side of harisburg, on Satterday of thes pressent
munth, to All woo mout wish to partak
tharof.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“e. Prator—thos wishin’ to partak will cum
yearly, as the pullin’ will begin Soon.—E. P.”</p>
</div>
<p class='pindent'>If I am asked why “jis this side of harisburg”
was selected for the promised feat, instead of the
city of Augusta? I answer from conjecture, but
with some confidence, because the ground chosen
was near the central point between four rival towns,
the citizens of all which “mout wish to partak
tharof,” namely, Augusta, Springfield, Harrisburg,
and Campbelltown. Not that each was the rival of
all the others, but that the first and last were competitors,
and each of the others backed the pretensions
of its nearest neighbour.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Harrisburg sided with Campbelltown, <span class='it'>not because
she had any interest in seeing the business of the
two states centre upon the bank of the river, nearly
opposite to her</span>, but because, like the “Union democratic
republican party of Georgia,” she thought,
after the adoption of the Federal Constitution, that
the several towns of the confederacy should no
longer be “separated” by the distinction of local
party; that laying down all former prejudices and
jealousies as a sacrifice on the altar of their country,
they should become united in a single body, for
the maintenance of those principles which they
deemed essential to the public welfare.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Springfield, on the other hand, espoused the state
rights’ creed. She admitted that, under the federal
compact, she ought to love the sister states very
much; but that, under the social compact, she ought
to love her own state a little more; and she thought
the two compacts perfectly reconcilable to each
other. Instead of the towns of the several states
getting into single bodies to preserve the public
welfare, her doctrine was, that they should be kept
in separate bodies to preserve the private welfare.
She admitted frankly, that living as she had always
lived, right amidst gullies, vapours, fogs, creeks and
lagoons, she was wholly incapable of comprehending
that expansive kind of benevolence which taught her
to love people whom she knew nothing about, as
much as her next door neighbours and friends.
Until, therefore, she could learn it from the practical
operation of the federal compact, she would stick to
the old-fashioned Scotch love, which she understood
perfectly, and “go in” for Augusta, live or die, hit
or miss, right or wrong.</p>
<p class='pindent'>As in the days of Mr. Jefferson, the Springfield
doctrines prevailed, Campbelltown was literally
<span class='it'>nullified</span>: insomuch, that ten years ago there
was not a house left to mark the spot where
once flourished this active, busy little village.
Those who are curious to know where Springfield
stood, at the time of which I am speaking, have
only to take their position at the intersection of
Broad and Manbury Streets, in the city of Augusta,
and they will be in the very heart of old Springfield.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Between Harrisburg and Springfield, and eleven
hundred and forty-three yards from the latter, there
runs a stream which may be perpetual. At the
time just mentioned, it flowed between banks twelve
or fourteen feet high, and was then called, as it still
is, “Hawk’s Gully.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Now Mr. Prator, like the most successful politician
of the present day, was on all sides in a
doubtful contest; and accordingly he laid off his
gander-pulling ground on the nearest suitable unappropriated
spot to the centre point between
Springfield and Harrisburg. This was between
Harrisburg and Hawk’s Gully, but within one hundred
yards of Harrisburg.</p>
<p class='pindent'>When “Satterday of the pressent munth” rolled
round, I determined to go to the gander-pulling.
When I reached the spot, a considerable number of
persons of different ages, sexes, sizes, and complexions,
had collected from the rival towns, and the
country around. But few females were there, however,
and those few were from the lowest walks of
life.</p>
<p class='pindent'>A circular path, of about forty yards in diameter,
had already been laid out; over which, from two
posts about ten feet apart, stretched a rope, the
middle of which was directly over the path. The
rope hung loosely, so as to allow it, with the weight
of a gander attached to it, to vibrate in an arc of
four or five feet span, and so as to bring the
breast of the gander within barely easy reach of a
man of middle stature, upon a horse of common
size.</p>
<p class='pindent'>A hat was now handed to such as wished to
enter the lists, and they threw into it twenty-five
cents each; this sum was the victor’s prize.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The devoted gander was now produced; and Mr.
Prator having tied his feet together with a strong
cord, proceeded to the <span class='it'>neck-greasing</span>. Abhorrent as
it may be to all who respect the tenderer relations
of life, Mrs. Prator had actually prepared a gourd of
<span class='it'>goose-grease</span> for this very purpose.</p>
<p class='pindent'>For myself, when I saw Ned dip his hands into
it, and commence stroking down the feathers, from
breast to head, my thoughts took a melancholy
turn. They dwelt in sadness upon the many conjugal
felicities which had probably been shared
between the greasess and the grease. I could see
him, as he stood by her side, through many a chilly
day, and cheerless night, when she was warming
into life the offspring of their mutual loves, and
repelled, with chivalrous spirit, every invasion of
the consecrated spot which she had selected for her
incubation. I could see him moving, with patriarchal
dignity, by the side of his loved one, at the
head of a smiling, prattling group, the rich reward
of their mutual care, to the luxuries of the meadow,
or the recreations of the pool. And now, alas! the
smoking sacrifice of his bosom friend was desecrated
to the unholy purpose of making his neck “a fit
object” for Cruelty to reach “her quick, unerring
fingers at.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Ye friends of the sacred tie, judge what were my
feelings when, in the midst of these reflections,
the voice of James Prator thundered on mine
ear:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Durn the old dodger, Brother Ned! Grease
his neck, till a fly can’t light on it!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Ned having fulfilled his brother Jim’s request as
well as he could, attached the victim of his cruelty
to the rope, directly over the path. On each side
of the gander was stationed a man, whose office it
was to lash forward any horse which might linger
there for a moment; for by the rules of the
ring, all pulling was to be done at a brisk
canter.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The word was now given for the competitors to
mount and take their places in the ring. Eight
appeared: Tall Zubly Zin, mounted upon Sally
Spitfire; Arch Odum, on Bull and Ingons (Onions);
Nathan Perdew, on Wild Cat; James Dickson, on
Nigger; David Williams, on Gridiron; fat John
Fulger, on Slouch; Gorham Bostwick, on Gimblet;
and Turner Hammond, on Possum.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Come, gentlemen,” said Commandant Prator,
“fall in! All of you get behind one another, sort
o’ in a row.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>All came into the track very kindly, but Sally
Spitfire and Gridiron. The former, as soon as she
saw a general movement of horses, took it for
granted there was mischief brewing; and because
she could not tell where it lay, she concluded it lay
everywhere, and therefore took fright at everything.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Gridiron was a grave horse; but a suspicious eye,
which he cast to the right and left wherever he
moved, showed that he was “wide awake,” and
that “nobody had better not go fooling with him,”
as his owner sometimes used to say. He took a
sober, but rather intense view of things; insomuch
that, in his contemplations, he passed over his
track three times, before he could be prevailed upon
to stop upon it. He stopped at last, and when he
was made to understand that this was all that was
expected of him for the present, he surrendered his
suspicions at once, with a countenance which seemed
plainly to say:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, if this is all you want, I’ve no objection to
it.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>It was long before Miss Spitfire could be induced
to do the like.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Get another horse, Zube,” said one; “Sall will
never do for a gander pullin’.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I won’t,” said Zube. “If she won’t do, I’ll
make her do. I want a nag that goes off with a
spring, so that when I get a hold, she’ll cut the
neck in two, like a steel trap.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>At length Sally was rather flung, than coaxed,
into the track, directly a-head of Gridiron.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Now, gentlemen,” said the master of the ceremonies,
“no man’s to make a grab till all’s been
round; and when the first man <span class='it'>are</span> got round, then
the whole twist and tucking off you grab away, as
you come under (Look here, Jim Fulger, you’d
better not stand too close to that gander, I tell
you!), one after another. Now blaze away!” (the
command for an onset of every kind, with people of
this order.)</p>
<p class='pindent'>Off they went, Miss Sally delighted; for now she
thought the whole parade would end in nothing
more nor less than her favourite amusement, a race.
But Gridiron’s visage, pronounced this the most
nonsensical business that ever a horse of sense was
engaged in since the world began.</p>
<p class='pindent'>For the first three rounds Zubly was wholly
occupied in restraining Sally to her place; but he
lost nothing by this, for the gander had escaped
unhurt. On completing his third round, Zube
stretched forth his long arm, grabbed the gander
by the neck, with a firmness which seemed likely to
defy <span class='it'>goose-grease</span>, and at the same instant, he
involuntarily gave Sally a sudden check. She
raised her head, which had been kept nearly touching
her leader’s hocks; and for the first time, saw
the gander in the act of descending upon her; at
the same moment she received two pealing lashes
from the whippers. The way she now broke for
Springfield “is nothin’ to nobody.” As Zube
dashed down the road, the whole circus raised a
whoop after him. This started about twenty dogs,
hounds, curs, and pointers in full chase of him (for
no man moved without his dog in those days).
The dogs alarmed some belled cattle, which were
grazing on Zube’s path, just as he reached them;
these joined him, with tails up, and a tremendous
rattling. Just beyond these went three tobacco-rollers,
at a distance of fifty and a hundred yards
apart, each of whom gave Zube a terrific whoop,
scream, or yell, as he passed.</p>
<p class='pindent'>He went in and out of Hawk’s Gully like a trap-ball,
and was in Springfield “in less than no time.”
Here he was encouraged onward by a new recruit
of dogs, but they gave up the chase as hopeless
before they cleared the village. Just beyond
Springfield, what should Sally encounter but a
flock of geese, the tribe to which she owed all her
misfortunes.</p>
<p class='pindent'>She stopped suddenly, and Zube went over
her head with the last-acquired velocity. He was
up in a moment, and the activity with which he
pursued Sally satisfied every spectator that he was
unhurt.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Gridiron, who had witnessed Miss Sally’s treatment
with astonishment and indignation, resolved
not to pass between the posts until the whole
matter should be explained to his satisfaction. He
therefore stopped short, and by very intelligible
looks, demanded of the whippers, whether, if he
passed between them, he was to be treated as Miss
Spitfire had been. The whippers gave him no
satisfaction, and his rider informed him by reiterated
thumps of the heel that he should go through,
whether he would or not. Of these, however,
Gridiron seemed to know nothing. In the midst
of the conference, Gridiron’s eye lit upon the
oscillating gander, and every moment’s survey of it
begat in him a growing interest, as his slowly rising
head, suppressed breath, and projected ears plainly
evinced. After a short examination, he heaved a
sigh, and looked behind him to see if the way was
clear. It was plain that his mind was made up:
but to satisfy the world that he would do nothing
rashly, he took another view, and then wheeled and
went for Harrisburg, as if he had set in for a year’s
running. Nobody whooped at Gridiron, for all saw
that his running was purely the result of philosophic
deduction. The reader will not suppose
that this occupied half the time which has been
consumed in telling it, though it might have been
so, without interrupting the amusement, for Miss
Spitfire’s flight had completely suspended it for a
time.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The remaining competitors now went on with
the sport. A few rounds showed plainly that Odum
or Bostwick would be the victor, but which no one
could tell.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Whenever either of them came round, the
gander’s neck was sure of a severe wrench. Many
a half pint of Jamaica was staked upon them,
besides other things. The poor gander withstood
many a strong pull before his wailings ceased. At
length, however, they were hushed by Odum.
Then came Bostwick and broke the neck. The
next grasp of Odum, it was thought, would bear
away the head, but it did not. Then Bostwick was
sure of it, but he missed it. Now Odum must
surely have it. All is interest and animation. The
horses sweep round with redoubled speed—every
eye is upon Odum—his backers smiling—Bostwick’s
trembling. To the rope he comes—lifts his hand—when
lo! Fat John Fulger had borne it away the
second before. All were astonished—all disappointed,
and some were vexed a little: for it was now
clear, that, “if it hadn’t o’ been for his great fat
paw,” to use their own language, Odum would have
gained the victory. Others inveighed against “that
long-legged Zube Zin, who was so high, he did not
know when his feet were cold, for bringing such a
nag as Sall Spitfire to a gander-pullin’; for if he’d
o’ been in his place, it would have flung Bostwick
right were that <span class='it'>gourd o’ hogs’ lard</span> (Fulger) was.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Fulger’s conduct was little calculated to reconcile
them to their disappointment.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Come here, Neddy Prater,” said he, with a
triumphant smile, “let your Uncle Johnny put his
<span class='it'>potato-stealer</span> (hand) into that hat, and tickle the
chins of them are shiners a little. Oh you little
shining critters, walk into your Mas’ Johnny’s
pocket, and jingle so as Arch Odum and Gory
Bostwick may hear you! You hear ’em, Gory?
<span class='it'>Boys</span> don’t pull with <span class='it'>men</span>. I’ve jist got my hand
in; I wish I had a pond full of ganders here now,
jist to show you how I could make their heads fly.
Bet all I’ve won, you may hang three upon that
rope, and I’ll set Slouch at full speed and take off
the heads of all three, the first grab, two with my
hands and one with my teeth.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Thus he went on, but really there was no
boasting in this; it was all fun, for John knew,
and all were convinced that he knew, that his
success was entirely the result of accident. John
was really a “good-natured fellow,” and his
<span class='it'>cavorting</span> had an effect directly opposite to that
which the reader would suppose that it had—it
reconciled all to their disappointment, save one. I
except Billy Mixew of Spirit Creek, who had staked
the net proceeds of six quarts of mukle-berries
upon Odum, which he had been long keeping for
a safe bet. He could not get reconciled, until he
fretted himself into a pretty little piney-woods
fight, in which he got whipt; and then he went
home perfectly satisfied. Fulger spent all his
winnings with Prater, in treats to the company—made
most of them drunk, and thereby produced
four Georgia <span class='it'>rotations</span>,<a id='r8'/><a href='#f8' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[8]</span></sup></a> after which all parted
good friends.</p>
<hr class='footnotemark'/>
<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_8'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f8'><a href='#r8'>[8]</a></div>
</td><td>
<p class='pindent'>I borrowed this term from Jim Inman, at the time: “Why,
Jim,” said I to him, just as he rose from a fight, “what have you
been doing?” “Oh,” said he, “nothing but taking a little
<span class='it'>rotation</span> with Bob McManus.”</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<div><h1 id='ch5'>V.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>HOW MIKE HOOTER<br/> CAME VERY NEAR “WALLOPING” ARCH COONY.</span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>In the Yazoo Hills, near the town of Sartartia,
in the good State of Mississippi, there lived at no
distant date one Mike Hooter, whose hunting and
preaching adventures became famous in all the land.
Besides being a great bear-hunter and hard to beat
at preaching, Mike professed to be “considerable”
of a fighter, and in a regular knock-down and drag-out
row was hard to beat.</p>
<p class='pindent'>In order that the world may not remain in darkness
as to his doings in this last behalf, and fearing
lest there may be no one who entertains for him that
particularly warm regard which animates us towards
him, we have thought it incumbent on us, in evidence
of our attachment for the reverend hero, to
jot down an instance that lingers in our memory
respecting him, bequeathing it as a rich legacy to
remotest time.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Entertaining such partiality, we may be pardoned
for following Mike in one of his most stirring
adventures, related in his peculiar and expressive
vernacular.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I’m one of the peaceablest fellers,” said Mike,
“that ever trotted on hind legs, and rather than git
into er fuss ’bout nothin’, I’d let er chap spit on me,
but when it comes to rubbin’ it in, I always in
gen’rally kinder r’ars up an’ won’t stan’ it.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But there’s some fellers up in Yazoo what would
rather git into er scrimmage than eat; an I’ve seen
er few up thar what war so hungry for er fight, that
they fell away an’ got so poor an’ thin that they
had to lean up agin er saplin’ to cuss!</p>
<p class='pindent'>“That chap Arch Coony was er few in that line.
He was the durndest, rantankerous hossfly that
ever clum er tree! I’ll tell you what, ef I hadn’t er
bin thar I wouldn’t er b’leeved it: I seed him one
day in Satartia git up from er jug of whiskey, when
he hadn’t drunk morn’n half of it, and leave t’other
half to spile, and go an’ pitch into er privit spoute
’twene two Injuns, when he didn’t care er durn cent
which walloped t’other, an’ lammin’ both on um out’n
ther mockasins!</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, you see, Arch was mighty fond o’ them
kind a tricks, an’ if he seed er fellow he thought he
could lamm without no danger, he wouldn’t make no
bones, but he’d just go up to the chap and make
faces at him, and harry his feelings er bit; and ef
the fellow showed spunky like, he’d let him alone,
an’ ax him to take a drink; but if he sorter tried to
sidle out of it, Arch would git as mad as all wrath,
an’ swar, an’ cuss, an r’ar, an’ charge like er ram
at er gate-post; and the fust thing you knowed,
he’d shuck off his coat, an’ when the feller warn’t
’spectin’ nuthin’, Arch would fetch him er side wipe
on the head, and knock him into the middle of next
week.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You see I didn’t like them sort of doings much,
me, myself, I didn’t; and I all’ays, ef ever I got er
chance at Arch, I’d let him down a buttonhole or
two. He was gittin’ too high up in the pictures,
ennyhow; and sez I one day, in er crowd,
sez I:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Ef that feller Arch Coony don’t mind which
side of his bread’s buttered, I’ll git hold of him one
of those days, an’ I’ll make him see sights.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, you see there was two or three sheep-stealing
chaps listenin’ to what I sed, an’ they goes
and tells Arch the fust chance I got I was gwine to
larrup him. Well, that riled him like all fury, and
as soon as he hearn it he begins er cussin’ like
wrath, and sez he:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Dod rot that ole Mike Hooter. He pertend to
be a preacher. His preachin’ ain’t nothin’ but loud
hollerin’ nohow.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“So you see them same chaps, they comes
an’ tells me what Arch had sed; an’ I got
mad too, an’ we had the durndest rumpus in the
neighbourhood you ever hearn.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I didn’t see nothing of Arch from that time till
about er month. Every time I went down to Sartatia
to buy ennything—er barrel of whiskey, or
backer, or sich like truck, for privit use—I looked
for Arch, an’ Arch looked for me, but somehow or
tother he never crossed my path.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“At last one day I sent him word I beleeved he was
skeered of me, and the fust chance I got I would
take the starch out’n him as sure as shooting; and
he sent word back to me that was a game two could
play at, and when I wanted to try it, he’d see if he
couldn’t help me.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, things went on that way for er long time,
an’ I didn’t see nothing of Arch, so I begin to forgit
all ’bout him. At last one day, when me and two or
three other chaps was gwine down to Big Black River
to go bar-hunting on t’other side of it, I hearn the
darndest clatter-whacking, and noise in the road
behind us; and when I turned round to see what in
the name of thunder it was, thar was Arch and a
whole lot of fellers cummin’ down the road, er galloping
full tilt right up to us, an’ er gwine bar-huntin’
too.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“When I seed him I was so mad I thought I
should er burst myself.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Now, Mr. Arch, I’ve got you, and if you don’t
keep your eye skin’d, I’ll lick you till your hide
won’t hold shucks.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Toreckly, Arch he cum up alongside, and looked
me right plum in the face as savage as er meat-axe;
and sez he:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Good mornin’ ole Preach, give us your paw.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I see thar was mischief in him as big as a
meetin’-house, and I ’termined to give him as good
as he sent, so I looked at him sorter savigerous
like, and sez I:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Look here, hoss, how can you have the face
to talk to me, arter saying what you sed?’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Why,’ sez he, ‘Uncle Mike, didn’t you begin
it?’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘No,’ sez I; ‘an’ ef you sez I begun it I’ll
larrup you in er inch of your life.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Sez he, ‘You eternal ole cuss, ef you want to
larrup me, just larrup away as soon as you darn
please, and we’ll see which ’ill get the wust of it.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Now,’ sez I, ‘I likes you, Arch, ’cause
I all’ays thought you was a fust-rate feller;
but ain’t you been ’busin’ me everywhere fur everything
you could think of?’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Yes,’ sez he, ‘but didn’t you say you’d git
hold of me one of these days, and make me see
sites?’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘No,’ sez I, ‘I didn’t: but this here’s what I
sed, sez I, ef that feller, Arch Cooney, don’t
mind which side of his bread’s buttered, I’ll get
hold of him one of those days and make him see
sites.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Well,’ sez he, ‘Uncle Mike, you knows I’m
the most peace’blest feller living, and always
mind which side of my bread’s buttered, and ef
that’s all you sed, ’taint nothin’; so let’s take er
drink.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Then he tuck out er tickler of whiskey, and
arter he’d tuck three or four swallers out’n it, sez
he:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Uncle Mike, obleege me by taking er
horn.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘No,’ sez I, ‘I won’t do no such er dog on
thing, for when I likes er chap, I likes him, and
when I don’t like him, I don’t like him: but if you
wants to fight, I’m your man.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You oughter seen Arch then, I think he was
the most maddest man that ever wobbled on two
’hind legs.’ He rar’d an’ pitched, an’ cussed an’
swore like anything.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“When I see him cuttin’ up that way, I commence
getting mad, too, an’ my knees they begin
to shake, sorter like I had er chill, an’ skeered—no,
Sir—an’ I s’posed thar was gwine to be thar
devil to pay, I give you my word. I ain’t been so
wrathy before once since, and that was t’other day
when that Cain, the blacksmith, drunk up my last
bottle of ‘bullface;’ and when I tacked him ’bout
it, sed he thought it was milk.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But that ein’t neither here, nor thar. As I
was a sayin’, Arch he cussed at me, an’ I cussed at
him, an’ the fellers what was along of me sed I beat
him all holler. Torectly I begin to get tired of
jawin’ away so much, and sez I:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Arch, what’s the use of makin’ such er
all-fired rackit ’bout nothin’. S’pose we make it
up?’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Good as wheat,’ sez he.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Well,’ sez I, ‘give us your paw,’ sez I, ‘but,’
sez I, ‘thar’s one thing you sed, what sorter sticks
in my craw yet, an’ if you don’t pollogize, I’ll wallop
you for it right now.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What does you mean?’ sez he.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Sez I, ‘Didn’t you sed one day that my preachin’
warn’t nothin’ but loud hollerin’?’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Yes,’ sez he, ‘but didn’t you send me word
one time that you b’lieved I was skeered of you, an’
the fust chance you got you’d take the starch out’n
me, as sure as er gun.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Sez I, ‘Yes, but what does that signify?’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Well,’ sez he, ‘ef you’ll take back what you
sed, I’ll take back what I sed.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Then I begin to get as mad as all wrath, and,
sez I:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You eternal sheep-stealin’ whiskey-drinkin’,
nigger-lammin’, bow-legged, taller-faced rascal, does
you want me to tell er lie, by chawin’ up my own
words? Ef that’s what you’re arter, jest come on,
and I’ll larrup you till your mammy won’t know
you from a pile of sassage-meat.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“So we kep er ridin’ on, and er cussin’ one
another worse than two Choctaw Injuns, an’ torectly
we cum to the ferry-boat—whar we had to cross
the river. Soon as we got thar, Arch he hopped
down off’n his ole hoss, an’ commenced shuckin’
hisself fur er fight, an’ I jumped down too. I see
the devil was in him as big as er bull, so I begin
gritten my teeth, an’ lookin’ at him as spunky as er
Dominecker rooster; and now, sez I:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Mr. Arch Coony,’ I sed, ‘I’ll make you see
sites, an’ the fust thing you know I’ll show them to
you.’ Then I pulled off my ole Sunday go-to-meetin’-coat,
an’ slammed it down on er stump,
and, sez I: ‘Lay thar, ole Methodist, till I learn
this ’coon some sense.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I soon see thar was gwine to be thar bustinest
fight that ever was, so I rolled up my sleeves,
an’ Arch rolled up hisn, and we was gwine at
at it reglar.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Now,’ sez he, ‘ole pra’r-meetin’ pitch in.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, I jist begin sidelin’ up, an’ he begin sidelin’
up. As soon as I got close ’nuff to him, so I
could hit him a go-darter, sez he:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Hole on er minnit, this ground’s too rooty;
wait till I clear the sticks away from here, so as I
can have a fair chance to give it to you
good.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Don’t hollar till you’re out’n the woods,’ sez
I; ‘p’raps when I’m done you won’t say my
preachin’ ain’t nothin’ but hollerin’, I spec.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“When he’d done scrapen’ off the ground, it
looked jist like two bulls had been pawing up the
dirt, I give you my word it did.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, as I sed before, he sidled up, an’ I
sidled up, and now, sez I:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Look out for your bread-basket, ole stud, for
ef I happen to give you er jolt thar, p’raps it ’ill
tarn your stomach.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“So thar we stood, head an’ tail up, jest like
two chicken-cocks in layin’ time, an’ sez I to him:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Arch, I’m gwine to maul you till you won’t
know yourself.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Soon as we got close enuff, an’ I see he was
about to make er lunge at me, sez I:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Hole on, dod drot you, wait till I unbutton
my gallowses, an’ may be so then I’ll show you
them sites what we was talkin’ ’bout.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, all the fellers was stannin’ round ready
to take sides in the fight, an’ toreckly the chap
what kep’ the ferry begin to get tired of keepin’
thar ferry-boat waitin’, an’, sez he:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Cuss your pictures! I’m not gwine to keep
this here ferry-boat waitin’ no longer, an’ people
on t’other side waitin’ to go over, so if you want to
fight, come over on this side an’ fight there.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Good as ole wheat,’ sez I, anything to keep
peace away, ‘ef you say so, let’s get into the boat,
and settle it over thar.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, they all agreed to that without sayin’ a
word, an’ Arch he got into the ferry-boat. I
jumped into the eend of it, and was gwine to lead
my hoss on too, but the all-fired critter was
skeered to jump on to it, and sez I to the man who
kept the ferry, sez I:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Why don’t you wait till I get’s this durned
four-legged critter into the boat?’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“He didn’t say a word, but kept shovin’ the
boat out, and toreckly my hoss begin pullin’ back
with the bridle, an’ I er holein’ on to it, an’ the
furst thing I knowed, I went kerswash into the
drink. So you see, in about er minit, thar was I
on to this side, and thar was Arch on t’other, and
no chance for me to git at him. Tell you what,
I was hot then—and what was worser, Arch he
hollered out and sed he b’leved I skeered the hoss
and made him pull back, on purpose to get out’n
the scrape. When I hearn him say that, I was so
mad I fairly biled. Howsever, I soon see ’twarn’t
no use raisen er racket ’bout what couldn’t be
helped, so I ’cluded I’d have my satisfaction out’n
him any way. An’ I begin shakin’ my fist at him,
an’ er cussin’ him. Sez I:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You eternal yaller-faced, suck-egg son of
er ——, what is it you ain’t mean ’nuff for me
to call you? I tell you what!’ (an’ I hope to be
forgiven for swearin’) I cussed him blue.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, I was so outdone I didn’t wait for the
boat to come back, for it was gettin’ ’most dark
and too late for bar-huntin’ that day; ’sides, my
wife she would be ’spectin’ me at the house, and
might rais pertickler dust if I didn’t get thar in
time; so I jumped on my ole hoss, an’ put for
home. But the way I cussed and ’bused Arch
when I got on the hoss, was er sin, an’ the further
I got away from him the louder I hollered! I
pledge you my word, you might er hearn me er
mile.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“To make a long story short, the last word I sed
to him, sez I:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Arch, you’ve ’scaped me this time by er axident,
but the next time you cross my path, I’ll
larrup you worse nor the devil beatin’ tan-bark!
I will, by hokey!’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Whew!” whistled Mike, drawing a long breath.
“I tell you what, I come the nearest wollopin’ that
feller, not to do it, that ever you saw.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>At this moment Mike donned his coon-skin cap,
and giving it a terrific <span class='it'>slam</span>, that brought it over
his eyes, vanished.</p>
<div><h1 id='ch6'>VI.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>AN INTERESTING INTERVIEW.</span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>I hope the day is not far distant, when drunkenness
will be unknown in our highly-favoured
country. The moral world is rising in its strength
against the all-destroying vice, and though the
monster still struggles, and stings, and poisons, with
deadly effect, in many parts of our wide-spread
territory, it is perceptibly wounded and weakened;
and I flatter myself, if I should live to number ten
years more, I shall see it driven entirely from the
higher walks of life at least, if not from all grades
of society. For the honour of my contemporaries,
I would register none of its crimes or its follies;
but, in noticing the peculiarities of the age in which
I live, candour constrains me to give this vice a
passing notice. The interview which I am about
to present to my readers, exhibits it in its mildest
and most harmless forms.</p>
<p class='pindent'>In the county of ——, and about five miles
apart, lived old Hardy Slow and old Tobias Swift.
They were both industrious, honest, sensible
farmers, when sober; but they never visited their
county-town without getting drunk; and then
they were—precisely what the following narrative
makes them.</p>
<p class='pindent'>They both happened at the Court-House on the
same day, when I last saw them together; the
former accompanied by his wife, and the latter by
his youngest son, a lad about thirteen. Tobias was
just clearly on the wrong side of the line, which
divides drunk from sober; but Hardy was “<span class='it'>royally
corned</span>” (but not falling) when they met, about
an hour by sun in the afternoon, near the rack at
which their horses were hitched.</p>
<p class='pindent'>They stopped about four feet apart, and looked
each other full in the face for about half a minute,
during all which time, Toby sucked his teeth,
winked, and made signs with his shoulders and
elbows to the by-standers that he knew Hardy was
drunk, and was going to quiz him for their amusement.
In the meantime, Hardy looked at Tobias,
like a polite man dropping to sleep in spite of
himself under a dull long story.</p>
<p class='pindent'>At length Toby broke silence:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“How goes it, Uncle Hardy?” (<span class='it'>winking to the
company, and shrugging his shoulders</span>.)</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, Toby!—is that you? Well—upon my—why,
Toby!——Lord—help—my—soul and——Why,
Toby! what, in, the, worl’, set, you, to,
gitt’n, drunk—this, time o’ day? Swear, poin’
blank, you’re drunk! Why—you—must be, an
old, fool—to, get, drunk, right, before, all these,
gentlemen——a’ready, Toby.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, but, now you see (<span class='it'>winking</span>), Uncle Hardy,
a gill-cup an’t a quart-pot, nor a quart-pot an’t a
two-gallon jug; and therefore (<span class='it'>winking and chuckling</span>),
Uncle Hardy, a thing is a thing, turn it which
way you will, it just sticks at what it was before you
give it first ex—ex—ploit.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, the Lord, help, my——Why, Toby!
what, is the reas’n, you, never, will, answer, me
this, one—circumstance——and, that, is——I,
always, find, you, drunk, when, I come, here.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, now, but Uncle Hardy, you always know
circumstances alters cases, as the fellow said; and
therefore, if one circumstance alters another circumstance——how’s
your wife and children?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I, swear, poin’ blank, I shan’t tell you—because,
you r’ally, is, too drunk, to know, my wife,
when, you, meet, her, in the street, all, day, long,
and, she’ll, tell, you, the, very, same, thing, as, all,
these, gentlemen, can—testimony.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, but now you see, Uncle Hardy, thinking’s
one thing and knowing’s another, as the
fellow said; and the proof o’ the pudding’s chawin’
the bag, as the fellow said; and you see—toll-doll-diddle-de-doll-doll-day
(<span class='it'>singing and capering</span>), you
think I can’t dance? Come, Uncle Hardy, let’s
dance.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, Toby!—you—come—to this? <span class='it'>I</span> didn’t
make, you, drunk, did I? You, an’t, took, a drink,
with, me, this, live, long, day—is you? I, say, is
you, Toby?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, Uncle Har—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, then, let’s go, take a drink.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, but you see, Uncle Hardy, drinkin’s
drinkin’; but that’s neither here nor there, as the
fellow said.</p>
<div class='blockquote'>
<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' -->
<p class='line0'>“ ‘Come (<span class='it'>singing</span>) all ye young sparkers, come listen to me,</p>
<p class='line0'>And I’ll sing you a ditti, of a pretti ladee.’ ”</p>
</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend -->
</div>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, Toby! ha—ha—ha—Well, I r’ally, did,
think, you, was, drunk, but, now I believe——blast
the flies! I b’lieve, they, jest, as li’f, walk,
in my, mouth, as, in, my nose. (<span class='it'>Then looking with
eyes half closed at Toby for several minutes.</span>) Why,
Toby, you, spit ’bacoo spit, all over, your jacket—and,
that’s jist, the very, way, you, got, in your——fix.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>At this moment, Mrs. Slow came up, and immediately
after, Swift’s son, William.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Come,” said the good lady, “old man, let’s go
home; it’s getting late, and there’s a cloud rising;
we’ll get wet.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, Nancy! what in the worl’ has got into
you! Is you drunk, too? Well, ’pon, my word,
and honor, I, b’lieve, every body, in this town, is,
got drunk to-day. Why, Nancy! I never, did, see,
you, in, that fix, before, in, all, my, live, long, born,
days.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, never mind,” said she, “come, let’s go
home. Don’t you see the rain coming up?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, will, it rain, upon, my, corn-field, or my
cotton-patch? Say, Nancy! which one, will it,
rain on? But, Lord, help, my, soul, you are, too
drunk, to tell me, any, thing, about it. Don’
my corn want rain, Nancy? Now, jist, tell me,
that?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes; but let’s go home.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Then, why, upon, the face, of the earth, won’t
you, let it, rain, then? I, rather, it, should rain,
than not.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Come, old man,” said several by-standers,
touched with sympathy for the good lady, “come,
get on your horse and go home, and we will help
you.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh yes, Uncle Hardy,” said Tobias, affecting
to throw all humour aside, and to become very
sober all at once, “go home with the old woman.
Come, gentlemen, let’s help ’em on their horses—they’re
groggy—mighty groggy. Come, old man,
I’ll help you.” (<span class='it'>staggering to Hardy.</span>)</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Jist look at daddy now!” said Billy; “he’s
going to help Mr. Swift, and he’s drunk as Mr.
Swift is. Oh, daddy, come, let’s go home, or we’ll
get mazin’ wet.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Toby stooped down to help Hardy on his horse—before
the horse was taken from the rack—and
throwing his arm round Hardy’s legs, he fell backwards,
and so did Hardy.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why—Lord, bless, my, soul,” said Hardy, “I
b’lieve I’m drunk, too! What, upon the, face, of
the earth, has got, into, all, of us, this day!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, Uncle Hardy,” said Toby, “you pull us
both down together! The old man’s mighty
groggy,” said Toby to me, in a half whisper, and
with an arch wink and smile, as he rose up—I
happening to be next to him at the moment—“s’pose
we help him up, and get him off? The
old woman’s in for it, too,” continued he, winking,
nodding, and shrugging up his shoulders very
significantly.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh no,” said I, “the old woman is perfectly
sober, and I never heard of her tasting a drop in all
my life.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh,” said Toby, assuming the gravity of a
parson, “loves it mightily, mightily! Monstrous
woman for drinking!—at least that’s my opinion.
Monstrous fine woman, though! monstrous fine!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, daddy, for the Lord’s sake let’s go
home; only see what a rain is coming?” said
Billy.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Daddy’ll go presently, my son.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, here’s your horse, git up and let’s go.
Mammy’ll be sure to be sendin’ for us.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Don’t mind him,” said Toby, winking to me;
“he’s nothing but a boy; I wouldn’t take no notice
of what he said. He wants me (<span class='it'>winking and
smiling</span>) to go home with him; now you listen.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, come,” said I to Uncle Toby, “get on
your horse and go home, a very heavy rain is
coming up.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I’ll go presently, but you just listen to Bill,”
said he to me, winking and smiling.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, daddy, for the Lord’s sake let’s go home.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Toby smiled archly at me, and winked.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Daddy, are you going home or not? Jist look
at the rain comin’.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Toby smiled and winked.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, I do think a drunken man is the biggest
fool in the county,” said Bill, “I don’t care who
he is.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Bill!” said the old man, very sternly, “ ‘honour
thy father and thy mother,’ that—that the woman’s
seed may bruise the serpent’s head.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, daddy, tell me if you won’t go home!
You see it’s going to rain powerful. If you won’t
go, may I go?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Bill; ‘Leave not thy father who begot <span class='it'>thee</span>;
for thou art my beloved son Esau, in whom I am
well pleased.’ ”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, daddy, it’s dropping rain now.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Here Bill was relieved from his anxiety by the
appearance of Aaron, a trusty servant, whom Mrs.
Slow had despatched for his master, to whose care
Bill committed him, and was soon out of sight.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Aaron’s custom had long been to pick up his
master without ceremony, put him on his horse, and
bear him away. So used to this dealing had Toby
been, that when he saw Aaron, he surrendered at
discretion, and was soon on the road. But as the
rain descended in torrents, before even Bill could
have proceeded half a mile, the whole of them must
have been drenched to the skin.</p>
<p class='pindent'>As to Hardy, whom in the proper order we ought
to have disposed of first, he was put on his horse by
main force, and was led off by his wife, to whom he
was muttering as far as I could hear him:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, Nancy! How, did, you, get, in, such
a fix? You’ll, fall, off, your, horse, sure, as you’re
born, and I’ll have to put you up again.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>As they were constrained to go in a walk, they
too must have got wringing wet, though they had a
quarter of an hour the start of Toby.</p>
<div><h1 id='ch7'>VII.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>BEN WILSON’S LAST JUG-RACE.</span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>Coming up from Newport, on the pretty little
steamer ‘Perry,’ a few days ago, I fell in with, or
chanced to lay across the track of, a Mississippi
flat-boatman whom I had not seen for three years,
and from having had, once upon a time, a rather
personal adventure with him, you may guess that
the meeting was one of curious congratulation.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Ben and I had both travelled “some” since we
had parted, and he had, as well as myself, many
things to tell.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I was sitting on the upper deck, consulting the
opinions of one of Job Patterson’s A No. 1 Havanas,
when a pretty muscular and sun-burnt specimen of
humanity hove alongside, and brought a rather big
paw down upon my right shoulder with a bim that
made me start <span class='it'>a little</span>.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“How are you old J comp’ny?” was the first
broadside. “I ha’nt set eyes on you sence we had
the scrimmidge down to the Washington ball-room,
Orleans. Rayther a time that ar?” and he winked
his little black eyes until I fancied I heard the lids
snap.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Ben Wilson?” I inquired.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ’Zactly; you’ve hit it on the head this time.
How’ve you ben, and whar?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Travelling generally,” I responded; “been
looking at the Rhode Island Legislature of late.
About health I’m as snug as a kitten, and as hearty
as you seem to be.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I? Yes; ef I’d a had them sinners” (showing
a lump of bones and muscles <span class='it'>something</span> larger than
mine, I think), “when that ar scrimmidge took
place, there’d a been a different report of killed and
wounded at the perlice shop. But that ain’t no
consekense now, tho’ thar is a ugly sort of a seam
on the larboard side of my phizognomy. What’ll
you sample?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Such a polite invitation was not under the circumstances
to be refused, and a liquid strengthener
was presently applied to the in’nards of both. A
couple more of Job’s regalias were lighted, and we
walked forward to look at the sights and enjoy a
little quiet conversation.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You hev’nt got that thar took-pick about you,
hev you?” asked Ben, as we got afront of the wheelhouse.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I’m sorry for that, for I’d a like to had it for
a keepsake, <span class='it'>that</span> knife. You punched it into my
jowl rather vigorously that night.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“And this,” said I, rolling up my right sleeve,
and pointing to a very pretty stiletto scar.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ’Twarn’t mine, by all the broad horns that ever
run in Mississip’!” roared Ben. “ ’Twas the French
bar-keeper did that.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Never mind, Ben,” said I, “I thought ’twas
you at the time; but anyhow, a man hasn’t much
time to debate nice questions when that pile of
ivory” (pointing to his big fist) “is making love to
his windpipe.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No more he han’t, and no more you hadn’t,”
said Ben, “en it’s all forgiv’. Less change the
topick.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Been boating since I met you?” I inquired,
after a short pause.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, yes, mostly,” answered Ben, deliberately.
“Druv a pretty fair business last year; only sunk
one broad-horn, en that war snagged. Saved part
of the load, en lost it agin at a <span class='it'>cre</span>-vasse. I had a
fust-rate openin’ this spring, but a awkward accident
kicked all the fat into the fire.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Bad luck, eh? how was it?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Did you ever jug for buffalo fish?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Never.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Han’t no idee on the <span class='it'>pre</span>-cise way it is done?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Not the least. Yes, I did see something about
it in the ‘Spirit,’ but I’ve forgotten all about it.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Sperit?’ Oh, that’s the sportin’ paper down
to York. Nolan, and Hooper, and Steve Tucker
writes to it. Some jokes in that ar sheet, onst in a
while.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Occasionally, I calculate; but this jugging for
buffaloes.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Sartin. You see it’s as easy as fallin’ off a log.
Git a dozen jugs en two canoes; hitch your lines to
the handles of the jugs, put on your bait, and then
toss them overboard. When you sees a jug begin
to bob, there’s a buffalo thar: en when it begins to
dive and run, you may calk’late there’s one varmint
hooked. Strike out like a pointer, pull up the line,
and the fish is <span class='it'>thar</span>; but you’ve got to keep your
weather eye open, or you lose him.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I understand; but the awkward accident you
spoke of?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, of course; that’ll come in good time.
D’you recollect that feller with the one eye that
stuck by me in that scrimmidg at Orleans?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Perfectly; I <span class='it'>felt</span> him audibly that night.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Joe Stilwell. Wal, Joe and I run together, en
we run sens, tel we fell out on one of these jug
affairs; en then he sot up for hisself—oppersition.
’Bout the last of A-<span class='it'>prile</span> we hap’nd to come
together to Saint Lewis, en started down the river
the same day. Joe had the start five hours, an’ I
were glad of it; for he hadn’t no good feelin’
towards me, en’ I hadn’t none for him, I swar. It
war two days ’fore I see anythink of him, but a man
who got on at Milses wood-yard said Joe wanted to
tackle me; en sez he, ‘Z’likes not he’ll stop to
Ransom’s for freight, for he han’t got more’n two-thirds
his complement,’ Sez I: ‘Ef Joe runs
across my bows, he knows what’ll be the konsekens;’
an’ we didn’t say no more about the
matter.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“It was midnight when we got to Ransom’s, an’
I was debatin’ whether it warn’t better to shove
along then to stop, when I here’s Joe’s voice a usin’
of my name. That was all war wanted to settle
the matter. I tied up, and asked all hands to
licker. Joe he was the fust one to come up, sez
he:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Ben, we’ve had some rily feelin’s, en let’s settle
them rash’nally.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘How?’ sez I, not ’zactly understandin’
him.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Rash’nally,’ sez he. ‘I’ll drink with you,
and you drink with me, en then we’ll call it
squar.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘’Greed!’ sez I, en we lickered round twiste,
en Joe and I shook hands, en squar’d off all old
’counts <span class='it'>pertensively</span>.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Thar was suthin’ in his looks I didn’t like when
we shuck hands; but sez I to myself, ‘this ’coon
sleeps in the day-time maybe, but he’s wide awake
on this yer night.’ Ransom, he seemed glad we’d
made up again ‘fer all time,’ es he said, and we
lickered ’long a him.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“While we was drinkin’ ’long a Ransom, one of
my hands come in en whispered softly in my ear, all
unbeknown to the rest, that somebody hed ben
tryin’ to cut my starn-cable, and then he sneaked
back to watch for the marorder.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I got off pretty soon after, en went aboard a
<span class='it'>leetle</span> riled. But I didn’t tell the boys who I
thought was the rascal, thoar I told em to keep a
sharp watch, en fire to kill, when they did shoot.
But tha’ warn’t nobody come, Joe knew better
than to play with the old fox in his den—Joe
did.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Nex’ mornin’ we were just castin’ off, when Joe
come down to the wharf-boat, en sez he:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You ain’t goin’ off mad, ar you?’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘No,’ sez I.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Wal,’ sez he, ‘less take a partin’ smile.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I didn’t like the idea, but Ransom he said:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Come in, Ben!’ en in I went and drinkt.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What d’you say to a buffalo-juggin?’ said
Joe, arter we’d lickered.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘It’s too airly in the season,’ sez I; ‘b’sides I’m
off for Orleans.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘So’m I,’ said Joe, ‘at eleven; en we’ll go
company.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What’s the blaze?’ said Ransom.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Two canoes, and one jug,’ said Joe.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I knowed what he was after then, for it showed
clean out’n his eyes. Joe war the best swimmer,
en he thort ef we cum together an’ upset the canoes,
he’d have the advantage. He knowed he’d git
catawampously chored up ashore, en <span class='it'>he wanted to
drown me</span>.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“What a devil incarnate! I exclaimed.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“That’s just him ’zactly. I thort a minnit, and
then sez I:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’m your man.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Wal, a skiff tuck out the only jug, en Joe en I
paddled from shore leisurely.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘A bob!’ yelled out Ransom, en we started.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“We was about ten rods apart, en neck-en-neck.
On we swept like greased lightnin’, Joe leadin’ by
’bout <span class='it'>two inches</span>, I should guess. I had not look’t
at Joe sens we left shore, but as we draw’d nigh the
jug I seed he had his coat and jacket off. We was
within ten foot of the jug, en both dropped paddles,
en I shed my coat en jacket a <span class='it'>leetle</span> quicker’n common.
Tha’ warn’t no misunderstandin’ between
us then; en as the canoes come together, both
grappled and went overboard, and underneath the
water.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Ben here paused, took out his bandanna, and
wiped the big drops off of his forehead, as coolly
as if he was recounting the events of a dinner-party.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well,” I urged impatiently, “you both went
under the water?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, that was the <span class='it'>accident</span> happened!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Accident? explain.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, I’ve no more to say’n this. I riz, en got
aboard my broad-horn, en come away.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But Joe—what became of him?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Joe? he was a missin’ ’long with my bowie-knife!</span>”</p>
<p class='pindent'>I parted with Ben, when the ‘Perry’ touched the
wharf at Providence, not caring, <span class='it'>under the circumstances</span>,
to inquire which way he was travelling.</p>
<div><h1 id='ch8'>VIII.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>MIKE FINK IN A TIGHT PLACE.</span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>Mike Fink, a notorious Buckeye-hunter, was
contemporary with the celebrated Davy Crockett,
and his equal in all things relating to human
prowess. It was even said that the animals knew
the crack of his rifle, and would take to their secret
hiding-places, on the first intimation that Mike
was about. Yet strange, though true, he was
but little known beyond his immediate “settlement.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>When <span class='it'>we</span> knew him he was an old man—the
blasts of seventy winters had silvered o’er his head,
and taken the elasticity from his limbs; yet in the
whole of his life was Mike never worsted, except
upon one occasion. To use his own language, he
never “gin in,” used up, to anything that travelled
on two legs or four, but once.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“That <span class='it'>once</span> we want,” said Bill Slasher, as some
dozen of us sat in the bar-room of the only tavern
in the “settlement.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Gin it to us now, Mike; you’ve promised long
enough, and you’re old now, and needn’t care,”
continued Bill.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Right, right, Bill,” said Mike; “but we’ll
open with a <span class='it'>licker</span> all around fust, it’ll kind o’ save
my feelin’s I reckon.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Thar, that’s good. Better than t’other barrel,
if anything.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, boys,” commenced Mike, “you may talk
o’ your scrimmages, tight places and sich like, and
subtract ’em altogether in one all-mighty big ’un,
and they hain’t no more to be compared to the one I
war in, than a dead kitten to an old she-bar, I’ve
fout all kinds of varmints, from a Ingun down to a
rattlesnake, and never was willin’ to quit fust, but
this once, and t’was with a bull!</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You see, boys, it was an awful hot day in
August, and I war near runnin’ off into pure <span class='it'>ile</span>,
when I war thinkin’ that a <span class='it'>dip</span> in the creek mout
save me. Well, thar was a mighty nice place in old
Deacon Smith’s medder for that partic’lar bizziness.
So I went down among the bushes to unharness.
I jest hauled the old red shirt over my head, and
war thinkin’ how scrumptious a feller of my size
would feel a wallerin’ round in that ar water, and
was jest ’bout goin’ in, when I seed the old
Deacon’s bull a makin a b-line to whar I stood.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I know’d the old cuss, for he’d skar’d more
people than all the parsons in the ‘settlement,’
and cum mighty near killin’ a few. Think’s I,
Mike, you’re in rather a tight place. Get your
fixin’s on, for he’ll be drivin’ them big horns o’ his
in yer bowels afore that time. Well, you’ll hev to
try the old varmint naked, I reck’n.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“The bull war on one side o’ the creek, and I on
t’other, and the way he made the ‘sile’ fly for a
while, as if he war diggin’ my grave, war distressin’!</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Come on, ye bellerin’ old heathen,’ said I,
‘and don’t be a standin’ there; for, as the old
Deacon says o’ the devil, yer not comely to look
on.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“This kind o’ reached his understandin’, and
made him more wishious; for he hoofed a little like,
and made a drive. And as I don’t like to stand in
anybody’s way, I gin him plenty sea-room. So he
kind o’ passed by me, and cum out on t’other
side; and as the captain o’ the mud-swamp
ranger’s would say: ‘’bout face for another
charger.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Though I war ready for him this time, he come
mighty nigh runnin’ foul o’ me. So I made up
my minde the next time he went out he wouldn’t be
alone. So when he passed, I grappled his tail, and
he pulled me out on the ‘sile,’ and as soon as we
were both a’top o’ the bank, old Brindle stopped,
and was about comin’ round agin, when I begin
pull’n t’other way.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, I reckon this kind o’ <span class='it'>riled</span> him, for he
fust stood stock still, and look’d at me for a spell,
and then commenced pawin’ and bellerin’, and the
way he made his hind gearing play in the air, war
beautiful!</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But it warn’t no use, he couldn’t <span class='it'>tech</span> me, so
he kind o’ stopped to get wind for suthin’ devilish,
as I <span class='it'>judged</span> by the way he stared. By this time I
had made up my mind to stick to his tail as long
as it stuck to his back-bone! I didn’t like to
holler fur help, nuther, kase it war agin my principles;
and then the Deacon had preached at his
house, and it warn’t far off nuther.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I know’d if he <span class='it'>hern</span> the noise, the hull congregation
would come down; and as I warn’t a married
man, and had a kind o’ hankerin’ arter a gal
that war thar, I didn’t feel as if I would like to be
seed in that ar predicament.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘So,’ ses I, ‘you old sarpent, do yer
cussedst!’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“And so he did; for he drug me over every
briar and stump in the field, until I was sweatin’
and bleedin’ like a fat <span class='it'>bar</span> with a pack o’ hounds
at his heels. And my name ain’t Mike Fink,
if the old critter’s tail and I didn’t blow out
sometimes at a dead level with the varmint’s
back!</p>
<p class='pindent'>“So you may kalkilate we made good time.
Bimeby he slackened a little, and then I had him
for a spell, for I jest dropped behind a stump, and
that snubbed the critter.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Now,’ ses I, ‘you’ll pull up this ’ere white
oak, break you’re <span class='it'>tail</span>, or jist hold on a bit till I
blow.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, while I war settin’ thar, an idea struck
me that I had better be a gettin’ out o’ this in
some way. But <span class='it'>how</span>, adzackly was the <span class='it'>pint</span>! If
I let go and run, he’d be a foul o’ me sure.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“So lookin’ at the matter in all its bearins, I
cum to the conclusion that I’d better let somebody
<span class='it'>know</span> whar I was. So I gin a <span class='it'>yell</span> louder than a
locomotive whistle, and it warn’t long before I seed
the Deacon’s two dogs a comin’ down like as if they
war seein’ which could get thar fust.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I know’d who they war arter—they’d jine the
bull agin me, I war sartin, for they war awful
wenimous, and had a spite agin me.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘So,’ ses I, ‘old Brindle, as ridin’ is as cheap
as walkin’ on this rout, if you’ve no objections,
I’ll jest take a deck passage on that ar back o’
your’n.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“So I wasn’t long gettin’ astride of him, and
then if you’d been thar, you’d ’ave sworn thar
warn’t nothin’ human in that ar <span class='it'>mix</span>; the sile flew
so orrfully as the critter and I rolled round the
field—one dog on one side and one on t’other,
tryin’ to clinch my feet!</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I pray’d and cuss’d, and cuss’d and pray’d,
until I couldn’t tell which I did last—and neither
warn’t of any use, they war so orrfully mix’d
up.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, I reckon I rid about an hour this way,
when old Brindle thought it war time to stop and
take in a supply of wind and cool off a little! So
when we got round to a tree that stood thar, he
nat’rally halted!</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Now,’ ses I, ‘old boy, you’ll lose <span class='it'>one</span> passenger
sartin!’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“So I just clum upon a branch, kalkelating
to roost thar till I starved, afore I’d be rid round
that ar way any more.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I war makin’ tracks for the top of the tree,
when I heard suthin’ a makin’ an orful buzzin’ over
head, I kinder looked up, and if thar warn’t—well
thar’s no use swearin’ now, but it war the biggest
<span class='it'>hornet’s nest</span> ever built!</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You’ll gin in now, I reckon, Mike, case
thar’s no help for you! But an idea struck
me, then, that I’d stand a heap better chance
a ridin’ the old bull than where I war. Ses
I, ‘Old feller, if you’ll hold on, I’ll ride to
the next <span class='it'>station</span> any how, let that be whar it
will!’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“So I jest drapped aboard him agin, and looked
aloft to see what I’d gained in changing quarters;
and, gentlemen, I’m a liar if thar warn’t nigh half
a bushel of the stingen’ varmints ready to pitch
into me when the word ‘go’ was gin!</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, I reckon they got it, for ‘all hands’
started for our <span class='it'>company</span>! Some on ’em hit the
dogs—about a <span class='it'>quart</span> struck me, and the rest
charged old Brindle.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“This time, the dogs led off fust, ‘dead’ beat,
for the old Deacon’s, and as soon as old Brindle and
I could get under way, we <span class='it'>followed</span>. And as I war
only a deck passenger, and had nothin’ to do with
stearin’ the craft, I swore if I had we shouldn’t have
run that channel, any how!</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But, as I said before, the dogs took the lead—Brindle
and I next, and the hornets dre’kly arter.
The dogs yellin’, Brindle bellerin’, and the hornets
buzzin’ and stingin’! I didn’t say nothin’ for it
warn’t no use.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, we’d got bout two hundred yards from
the house, and the Deacon hearn us and cum out.
I seed him hold up his hands and turn <span class='it'>white</span>! I
reckon he war prayin’ then, for he didn’t expect to
be called for so soon, and it warn’t long, neither,
afore the hull congregation, men, women, and
children, cum out, and then all hands went to
yellin’!</p>
<p class='pindent'>“None of ’em had the fust notion that Brindle
and I belonged to this world. I jest turned my
head, and passed the <span class='it'>hull</span> congregation! I seed
the run would be up soon, for Brindle couldn’t
turn an inch from a fence that stood dead ahead.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, we reached that fence, and I went <span class='it'>ashore</span>,
over the old critter’s head, landin’ on t’other side,
and lay thar stunned. It warn’t long afore some
of ’em as war not so scared, come round to see
what I war, for all hands kalkelated that the bull
and I belonged <span class='it'>together</span>! But when Brindle
walked off by himself, they seed how it war, and
one of ’em said:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Mike Fink has got the <span class='it'>worst of the scrimmage
once in his life</span>!’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Gentlemen, from that day I drapped the
<span class='it'>courtin’</span> bizziness, and never spoke to a gal since!
And when my hunt is up on this yearth, thar won’t
be any more F I N K S and it’s all owin’ to
Deacon Smith’s Brindle Bull.”</p>
<div><h1 id='ch9'>IX.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>OUR SINGING-SCHOOL.<br/> <span style='font-size:smaller'>A CHAPTER FROM THE HISTORY OF THE TOWN OF<br/> PIGWACKET.</span></span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>My second cousin by the mother’s side, Benjamin
Blackletter, A.M., who was born and lived all his
lifetime in the ancient town of Pigwacket, has compiled,
with scrupulous accuracy, the annals of that
venerable town, in three volumes folio, which he
proposes to publish as soon as he can find a Boston
bookseller who will undertake the job. I hope this
will be accomplished before long, for Pigwacket is a
very interesting spot, though not very widely known.
It is astonishing what important events are going
on every day, in odd corners of this country, which
the world knows nothing about. When I read
over these trusty folios, which bear the title, “<span class='sc'>The
General History of the Town of Pigwacket</span>,
<span class='it'>from its first settlement until the present day, comprising
an authentic relation of all its civil, military,
ecclesiastical, financial and statistical concerns,
compiled from original records, &c.</span>” and see the
great deeds that have been done in that respectable
town, and the great men that have figured therein,
and reflect that the fame thereof, so far from
extending to the four corners of the earth, has
hardly penetrated as far as Boston, I heave a sigh
for mortal glory.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Knowing that my readers must be impatient for
the appearance of the three folios of the History of
Pigwacket, and as they cannot be put to press for
some months, I avail myself of this chance to feed
their curiosity by an extract, as the cook at Camancho’s
wedding gave Sancho a couple of pullets
to stay his stomach till dinner-time. Take then
the portion contained in Chapter CLXXXVIII.,
which begins as follows:</p>
<div class='blockquote'>
<p class='pindent'>It becomes my lot at this period of the narrative,
to chronicle an event that formed quite an epoch in
the history of the town, or rather of that part which
constituted our parish. This occurrence may not
be deemed by the world quite so momentous as the
Declaration of Independence, or the French Revolution,
but the reader may believe me, it was a
great affair in our community. This was no less
than a mighty feud in church matters about psalm-singing.
The whole parish went by the ears about
it, and the affair gave the community such a rouse,
that many people feared we should never fairly
recover the shock. The particulars were these:</p>
<p class='pindent'>From time immemorial we had continued to sing
psalms at meeting, as became good Christians and
lovers of harmony. But my readers, accustomed to
the improvements of modern days, have need to be
informed that up to this period, our congregation
had practised this accomplishment according to that
old method of psalmody, known by the designation
of “read-a-line-and-sing-a-line.” This primitive
practice, which had first come into use when hymn-books
were scarce, was still persisted in, though the
necessity for its continuance no longer existed. Our
church music, therefore, exhibited the quaint and
patriarchal alternation of recitation and melody, if
melody it might be called, while some towns in the
neighbourhood had adopted the new fashion, and
surprised us by the superiority of their performances
over the rude and homely chants of old.</p>
<p class='pindent'>But it was not long ere the wish to improve our
style of singing began to show itself among us. At
the first announcement of such a design, the piety
of many of the old members took the alarm, and
the new method was denounced as heathenish and
profane.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The chief personage who figured in the troubles
which arose upon this matter was Deacon Dogskin,
a man of scrupulous orthodoxy, highly dogmatical
on theological points, and a leader of powerful influence
in the church. This dignitary, whose office
it had been to give out the several lines of the
psalm as they were sung, was one of the sturdiest
opponents of the new-fangled psalmody, and set his
face against the innovation with all the zeal and
devotion of a primitive Christian. Unfortunately
for him, Deacon Grizzle, his colleague, took the
opposite side of the question, exemplifying the
vulgar saying, “Two of a trade can never agree.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The discordancy, to tell the whole truth, between
these two worthies lay in more interests than one,
and it is to be doubted whether they would have
come to a rupture in church affairs, had not their
mutual animosities been quickened by certain temporal
janglings; for so it happened that the two
deacons kept each a grocery store, and neither of
them ever let a chance slip of getting away the
other’s custom. Sorry I am to record the frailties
of two such reputable personages, who looked upon
themselves as burning and shining lights in our
community; but I am afraid that the fact cannot
be concealed, that the petty bickerings which
arose between them on these little matters of filthy
lucre were suffered to intrude within the walls of
the sanctuary, and stir up the flame of discord in
the great psalm-singing feud; whereby, as our
neighbour Hopper Paul sagely remarked, the world
may learn wisdom, and lay it down as a maxim,
that church affairs can never thrive when the deacons
are grocers.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Deacon Grizzle, therefore, partly from conscience
and partly from spite, placed himself at the head of
the innovators, and took every occasion to annoy
his associate with all sorts of ingenious reasons
why the singing should be performed without any
intermixture of recitation. The younger part of
the congregation were chiefly ranged under his
banner, but the older people mustered strong on
the opposite side. To hear the disputes that were
carried on upon this point, and the pertinacity with
which each one maintained his opinion, an uninformed
spectator would have imagined the interests
of the whole Christian world were at stake.
In truth, a great many of the good old souls really
looked upon the act of altering the mode of singing
as a departure from the faith given unto the saints.
It was a very nice and difficult thing to come to
a conclusion where all parties were so hotly interested,
but an incident which fell out not long
afterward, contributed to hasten the revolution.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Deacon Dogskin, as I have already remarked,
was the individual on whom devolved, by prescriptive
right, the duty of giving out the psalm. The
Deacon was in all things a stickler for ancient
usages; not only was he against giving up a hair’s
breadth of the old custom, but his attachment to
the antique forms went so far as to embrace all the
circumstances of immaterial moment connected
with them. His predilection for the old tone of
voice was not to be overcome by any entreaty, and
we continued to hear the same nasal, snuffling
drawl, which, nobody knows how, he had contracted
in the early part of his deaconship, although on
common occasions he could speak well enough.
But the tone was a part of his vocation; long use
had consecrated it, and the Deacon would have his
way. His psalm-book, too, by constant use had
become to such a degree thumbed and blurred and
torn and worn, that it was a puzzle how, with his
old eyes, he could make anything of one half the
pages. However, a new psalm-book was a thing he
would never hear spoken of, for, although the thing
could not be styled an innovation, inasmuch as it
contained precisely the same collocation of words
and syllables, yet it was the removal of an old familiar
object from his sight, and his faith seemed to
be bound up in the greasy covers and dingy leaves
of the volume. So the Deacon stuck to his old
psalm-book, and, by the help of his memory where
the letter-press failed him, he made a shift to keep
up with the singers, who, to tell the truth, were not
remarkable for the briskness of their notes, and
dealt more in semibreves than in demi-semi-quavers.</p>
<p class='pindent'>But, on a certain day, it happened that the Deacon,
in the performance of his office, stumbled on
a line which happened to be more than usually
thumbed, and defied all his attempts to puzzle it
out. In vain he wiped his spectacles, brought the
book close to his nose, then held it as far off as
possible, then brought his nose to the book, then
took it away again, then held it up to the light,
then turned it this way and that, winked and
snuffled and hemmed and coughed—the page was
too deeply grimed by the application of his own
thumb, to be deciphered by any ocular power.
The congregation were at a dead stand. They waited
and waited, but the Deacon could not give out the
line; every one stared, and the greatest impatience
began to be manifested. At last Elder Darby, who
commonly took the lead in singing, called out:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“What’s the matter, Deacon?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I can’t read it,” replied the Deacon in a
dolorous and despairing tone.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Then spell it,” exclaimed a voice from the
gallery.</p>
<p class='pindent'>All eyes were turned that way, and it was found
to proceed from Tim Crackbrain, a fellow known for
his odd and whimsical habits, and respecting whom
nobody could ever satisfy himself whether he was
knave, fool, or madman. The Deacon was astounded,
the congregation gaped and stared, but there
was no more singing that day. The profane behaviour
of Tim caused great scandal, and he
was severely taken in hand by a regular kirk
session.</p>
<p class='pindent'>This, however, was not the whole, for it was
plainly to be perceived that the old system had
received a severe blow in this occurrence, as no one
could deny that such an awkward affair could never
have happened in the improved method of psalmody.
The affair was seized by the advocates of improvement,
and turned against their opponents. Deacon
Dogskin and his old psalm-book got into decidedly
bad odour; the result could no longer be doubtful;
a parish meeting was held, and a resolution passed
to abolish the old system, and establish a singing
school. In such a manner departed this life, that
venerable relic of ecclesiastical antiquity,
read-a-line-and-sing-a-line, and we despatched our old
acquaintance to the tomb of oblivion, unwept, unhonoured,
but not unsung.</p>
<p class='pindent'>This event, like all great revolutions, did not fail
to give sad umbrage to many in the church; and as
to Deacon Dogskin, who had fought as the great
champion of the primitive system, he took it in
such dudgeon that he fell into a fit of the sullens,
which resulted in a determination to leave a community
where his opinion and authority had been
so flagrantly set at nought. Within two years,
therefore, he sold off his farm, settled all his concerns
both temporal and spiritual in the town, and
removed to a village about fifteen miles distant.
His ostensible motive for the removal was his
declining age, which he declared to be unequal
to the cultivation of so large a farm as he possessed
in our neighbourhood; but the true reason was
guessed at by every one, as the Deacon could never
speak of the singing-school without evident marks
of chagrin.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Be this as it may, we proceeded to organise the
singing-school forthwith, for it was determined to
do things in style. First of all, it was necessary
to find a singing-master who was competent to
instruct us theoretically in the principles of the art,
and put us to the full discipline of our powers. No
one, of course, thought of going out of the town
for this, and our directors shortly pitched upon a
personage known to every body by the name of
Hopper Paul. This man knew more tunes than
any person within twenty miles, and, for aught we
knew, more than any other man in the world. He
could sing Old Hundred, and Little Marlborough,
and Saint Andrews, and Bray, and Mear, and
Tanzar, and Quercy, and at least half a dozen others
whose names I have forgotten, so that he was
looked upon as a musical prodigy.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I shall never forget Hopper Paul, for both the
sounds and sights he exhibited were such as could
hardly be called earthly. He was about six feet
and a half high, exceedingly lank and long, with a
countenance which at the first sight would suggest
to you the idea that he had suffered a <span class='it'>face-quake</span>,
for the different parts of his visage appeared to have
been shaken out of their places and never to have
settled properly together. His mouth was capable
of such a degree of dilation and collapse and
twisting, that it looked like a half a dozen pair of
lips sewed into one. The voice to which this
comely pair of jaws gave utterance might have been
compared to the lowing of a cow, or the deepest
bass of an overgrown bull-frog, but hardly to any
sound made by human organs.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Hopper Paul, possessing all these accomplishments,
was therefore chosen head singer, and
teacher of the school, which was immediately
set on foot. This was a great affair in the eyes of
all the young persons of both sexes, the thing being
the first of that sort which had ever been heard of
in our parts; for though the natives of the town
were a psalm-singing race, like all genuine New
Englanders, yet they had hitherto learned to sing
much in the same way as they learned to talk, not
by theory, but in the plainest way of practice, each
individual joining in with the strains that were
chanted at meeting according to the best of his
judgment. In this method, as the reader may
suppose, they made but a blundering sort of melody,
yet as the tunes were few, and each note drawled
out to an unconscionable length, all were more or
less familiar with their parts, or if they got into
the wrong key, had time to change it ere the line
was ended. But things were now to be set on
a different footing; great deeds were to be done,
and each one was anxious to make a figure in the
grand choir. All the young people of the parish
were assembled, and we began operations.</p>
<p class='pindent'>How we got through our first essays, I need not
say, except that we made awkward work enough of
it. There were a great many voices that seemed
made for nothing but to spoil all our melody: but
what could we do? All were determined to learn
to sing, and Hopper Paul was of opinion that the
bad voices would grow mellow by practice, though
how he could think so whenever he heard his own,
passes my comprehension. However, we could all
raise and fall the notes, and that was something.
We met two evenings in each week during the
winter, and by the beginning of spring we had got
so well drilled in the gamut that we began to practise
regular tunes. Now we breathed forth such
melodies as I think have seldom been heard elsewhere;
but as we had no standard of excellence to
show us the true character of our performances, we
could never be aware that our music was not equal
to the harmony of the spheres.</p>
<p class='pindent'>It was thought a peculiar excellence to sing
through the nose, and take a good reasonable time
to swell out every note. Many of us were apt to
get into too high a key, but that was never regarded,
provided we made noise enough. In short,
after a great deal more practice we were pronounced
to be thoroughly skilled in the science, for our lungs
had been put to such a course of discipline that every
one of us could roar with a most stentorian grace;
and as to our commander-in-chief, no man on earth
ever deserved better than he, the name of Boanerges,
or Son of Thunder.</p>
<p class='pindent'>It was decided, therefore, that on Fast day next
we should take the field; so we were all warned to
prepare ourselves to enter the singing seats at the
meeting on that eventful day. Should I live a
thousand years, I shall never forget it; this was to
be the first public exhibition of our prowess, and we
were exhorted to do our best. The exhortation was
unnecessary, for we were as ambitious as the most
zealous of our friends could desire, and we were
especially careful in rehearsing the tunes before
hand.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The day arrived, and we marched in a body to
take possession. No stalwart knights, at a tournament,
ever spurred their chargers into the lists with
more pompous and important feelings than we
entered the singing seats. The audience, of
course, were all expectation, and when the
hymn was given out, we heard it with beating
hearts.</p>
<p class='pindent'>It was amusing, however, in the midst of our
trepidation, to witness the countenance of Deacon
Dogskin, who was obliged to sit facing us during
the whole service. His looks were as sour and
cynical as if he could have driven us out of the
house, and he never vouchsafed to cast a glance at
us from beginning to end of the performance.
There was another person who had been a great
stickler for the ancient usage. This was Elder
Darby, who had been head singer under the Deacon’s
administration, and looked upon himself as dividing
the honours of that system with the Deacon himself.
He accordingly fought hard against the innovation,
and was frequently heard to declare that the whole
platform of christian doctrine would be undermined,
if more than one line was suffered to be sung at a
time. In fact, this personage, being what is emphatically
called a “weak brother,” but full of zeal
and obstinacy, gave us a great deal more trouble
than the Deacon, who was not deficient in common
shrewdness, notwithstanding his oddities. This
was a bitter day, therefore, to Elder Darby, who
felt very awkward at finding his occupation
gone, and his enemies triumphant all in the same
moment.</p>
<p class='pindent'>But we were now called upon to sing, and every
eye, except those of the Deacon and a few others,
was turned upward: the hymn was given out,
Hopper Paul brandished his pitch-pipe and set the
tune, and we began with stout hearts and strong
lungs. Such sounds had never been heard within
those walls before. The windows rattled, and the
ceiling shook with the echo, in such a manner that
some people thought the great chandelier would
have a down-come. Think of the united voices of
all the sturdy, able-bodied lads and lassies of the
parish pouring forth the most uproarious symphony
of linked sweetness long drawn out, that their lungs
could furnish, and you will have some faint idea of
our melodious intonations. At length we came to
a verse in the hymn where the words chimed in
with the melody in such a striking and effective
manner that the result was overpowering. The
verse ran thus:</p>
<div class='blockquoter9'>
<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' -->
<p class='line'>“So pilgrims on the scorching sand,</p>
<p class='line'>  Beneath a burning sky,</p>
<p class='line'>Long for a cooling stream at hand,</p>
<p class='line'>  And they must drink, or die.”</p>
</div></div> <!-- end rend -->
</div>
<p class='noindent'>When we struck one after another into the third
line, and trolled forth the reiterations,</p>
<div class='blockquoter9'>
<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' -->
<p class='line'>“Long for a cooling—</p>
<p class='line'>Long for a cooling—</p>
<p class='line'>Long for a cooling—coo—oo—ooling,”</p>
</div></div> <!-- end rend -->
</div>
<p class='noindent'>we verily thought, one and all, that we were soaring
up—up—upwards on the combined euphony of the
tune and syllables, into the seventh heaven of harmony.
The congregation were rapt into ecstasies,
and thought they had never heard music till then.
It was a most brilliant triumph for us; every voice,
as we thought, though of course the malcontents
must be excepted, struck in with us, and swelled the
loud peal till the walls rung again. But I must
not omit to mention the strange conduct of Elder
Darby, who, in the midst of this burst of enthusiastic
approbation, never relaxed the stern and sour
severity of his looks, but took occasion of the first
momentary pause in the melody, to utter a very
audible and disdainful expression of “Chaff! chaff!
chaff! chaff! chaff!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Deacon Grizzle was by no means slow in perceiving
these manifestations of the Elder’s mortified
feelings, and did not fail to join him on his way
home from meeting, for the express purpose of
annoying him further by commendations of the
performances. All he could get in reply was a
further exclamation of “Chaff! chaff! chaff! chaff!
chaff!” In fact, the Elder’s obstinacy was incurable;
he was seized during the following week
with a strange deafness in one of his ears, and as it
happened very strangely too, to be that ear which
was turned towards the singing seats when he sat
in his pew, he declared it would be impossible to
hear sufficiently well on that side of his head, to
accompany the singers: as to altering his position,
it was not to be thought of: he had occupied the
same spot for forty years, and could no more be
expected to change his seat than to change his
creed. The consequence was, that on the day we
began singing, the Elder left off. From that time
forth, he never heard the subject of church psalmody
alluded to, without a chop-fallen look, a rueful
shake of the head, a sad lamentation over the decline
of sound christian doctrine, and a peevish and
indignant exclamation of “Chaff! chaff! chaff!
chaff! chaff!”</p>
</div>
<div><h1 id='ch10'>X.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>WHERE JOE MERIWEATHER WENT TO.</span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>“I do believe that’s Bill Meriweather,” said the
old lady hostess of the sign of “The Buck” tavern,
as attracted by the noise of a horse’s hoofs, she
raised her eyes from her occupation of stringing
dried slips of pumpkin, and descried, this side of
the first bend in the road, a traveller riding a
jaded horse towards the mansion.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I do believe that’s Bill Meriweather. It’s about
time for him to be round agin a buyin’ shoats. But
whar’s Joe? Phillisy Ann,” continued Mrs. Harris,
raising her voice, “catch a couple of young chickens,
and get supper ready soon as ye can, you dratted lazy
wench you, for here comes Bill Meriweather. But
whar’s Joe? How do you do, Mr. Meriweather,”
concluded the old lady, as the stranger arrived in
front of the porch.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Lively,” replied that individual as he proceeded
to dismount and tie his horse. “How do you come
on yourself, old ’omen.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Pretty well, Bill; how’s craps down in your
parts?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Bad, uncommon bad,” replied Bill, “there’s a
new varmint come around in our country, that’s
got a mortal likin’ fur the tobacker crap. They
looks a good deal like a fox, but are as big as a
three year old nigger, and kin climb a tree like a
squearl, and they steals a dozen or so ‘hands’
every night, and next mornin’ if you notice, you’ll
see all the tops of the pine-oaks around the plantation
kivered with them a dryin’, and the infernal
chawtobacks—that’s what we call ’em—a settin’ up
in a crotch, a chawin’ what is <span class='it'>cured</span>, and squirtin’
ambeer all over the country. Got any on ’em up
here yet?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“The goodness, Lord ha’ mercy, no, Bill! But
whar’s Joe?” Up to this time Mr. Meriweather
had been as pleasant and jovial a looking Green
River man, as you might find in a week’s ride along
the southern border of Kentucky, and had finished
his lecture on the natural history of the chawtoback,
and the unsaddling his horse at the same
time; but no sooner had the old lady asked the
question, “Whar’s Joe?” than he instantaneously
dropped on the bench alongside the questioner, gave
her an imploring look of pity and despair, let his
head fail into his open palms, and bending down
both until they nearly touched his knees, he uttered
such a sigh as might a Louisville and New Orleans
eight boiler steam-packet in the last stage of collapsed
flues.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Goodness, gracious, Bill! what’s the matter?”
cried the old lady, letting her stringing apparatus
fall. “Hev you got the cramps? Phillisy Ann,
bring that bottle here outen the cupboard, quick,
and some pepper pods!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Ah—h! no!” sighed the sufferer, not changing
his position, but mournfully shaking his head,
“I ain’t got no cramps.” However, Phillisy Ann
arriving in “no time” with the article of household
furniture called for, that gentleman, utterly disregarding
the pepper pods, proceeded to pour out
into a tumbler, preparatory to drinking, a sufficient
quantity of amber coloured fluid to utterly exterminate
any cramps that might, by any possibility, be
secretly lingering in his system, or fortify himself
against any known number that might attack him
in the distant future; and having finished, immediately
assumed his former position, and went into
most surprisingly exact imitations of a wheezy locomotive
on a foggy morning.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Merciful powers! what can the matter be?”
exclaimed the widow, now thoroughly excited, as
Mr. Meriweather appeared to be getting no better,
but was rocking himself up and down, “like a
man who is sawing marble,” groaning and muttering
inarticulate sounds, as if in the last extremity
of bodily anguish. But Mr. Meriweather
was for some time unable to make any reply that
could be understood, until at length, at the conclusion
of a very fierce paroxysm, the widow thought
she could catch the two words, “Poor Joe!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Is there anything the matter with Joe?” asked
the old lady. If it were possible for any <span class='it'>one</span> man
to feel and suffer, as far as appearances went, all the
agony and misery that a half dozen of the most
miserable and unfortunate of the human family ever
have felt and suffered, and yet live, Mr. Meriweather
certainly was that individual, for he immediately
went off into such a state of sighs,
groans, and lamentations, mingled with exclamations
of “Poor Joe!” “Poor Brother Joe!” that
the widow, aroused to the highest state of sympathy
and pity, could do nothing but wipe her
eyes with her apron, and repeat the question.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Whar is Joe, Mr. Meriweather, is he sick?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh—h—no!” groaned his mourning brother.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Is he dead then? poor Joe!” faintly inquired
the old lady.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know that,” was the broken reply.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“The Lord ha’ mercy on our sinful sowls! then
<span class='it'>whar</span> is he?” cried the widow, breaking out afresh.
“Is he run away to Orleans—or gone to Californey?
Yes, that’s it! and the poor boy’ll be eaten’ up by
them ‘diggers’ that they say goes rootin’ round that
outlandish country, like a set of mean stinkin’
ground-hogs. Poor Joe! he was a fine little
fellow, an’ it was only the other day last year, when
you was on your rounds, that he eat all my little
bo——.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, he ain’t gone to Californey as I know,”
interrupted his brother.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Then, for mercy’s sake! do tell a body what’s
become on him!” rather tartly inquired the old
lady.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, you see, Mrs. Harris,” replied Mr. Meriweather,
still keeping the same position, and interrupting
the narrative with several bursts of grief,
(which we’ll leave out). “You see, Mrs. Harris,
Joe and I went up airly in the spring to get a boat
load of rock from Boone county, to put up the
foundation of the new houses we’re buildin’, fur
there ain’t no rock down in them rich sily bottoms
in our parts. Well, we got along pretty considerable,
fur we had five kegs of blast along, and what
with the hire of some niggers, we managed to get
our boat loaded, an’ started fur home in about three
weeks. You never did see anythin’ rain like it did
the fust day we was floatin’ down, but we worked
like a cornfilled nigger ov a Crismus week and
pretty near sundown we’d made a matter ov nigh
twenty mile afore we were ashore and tied up.
Well, as we didn’t have any shelter on the flat, we
raised a rousin’ big fire on the bank, close to whar
she was tied up, and cooked some grub; and I’d
eaten a matter of two pounds of side, and half of a
possum, and was sittin’ on a log, smokin’ a Kaintuck
regaly, and a talkin’ to Brother Joe, who was a
standin’ chock up agin the fire, with his back to it.
You recollex, Mrs. Harris, Brother Joe allers was a
dressy sort of a chap—fond of brass buttons on his
coat and the flaim’est kind of red neckerchers; and
this time he had buckskin breeches, with straps
under his boots. Well, when I was a talkin’ to him
ov the prospect fur the next day, all ov a sudden I
thought the little feller was a growin’ uncommon
tall; till I diskivered that the buckskin breeches,
that wur as wet as a young rooster in a spring rain,
wur beginning to smoke and draw up kinder, and
wur a liftin’ Brother Joe off the ground.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Brother Joe,’ sez I, ‘you’re a goin’ up.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Brother Bill,’ sez he, ‘I ain’t a doin’ anythin’
else.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“And he scrunched down mighty hard; but it
warn’t ov no use, fur afor long he wur a matter of
some fifteen feet up in the air.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Merciful powers,” interrupted the widow.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Brother Joe,’ sez I.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’m here,’ sez he.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Catch hold ov the top ov that black-jack,’
sez I.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Talk!’ sez Brother Joe, and he sorter leaned
over and grabbed the saplin’, like as maybe you’ve
seed a squ’el haul in an elm switch ov a June
mornin’. But it warn’t ov no use, fur, old ’omen,
ef you’ll believe me, it gradually begun to give way
at the roots, and afore he’d got five foot higher, it
jist slipped out er the ground, as easy as you’d pull
up a spring reddish.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Brother Joe!’ sez I agin.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘I’m a list’nin’,’ sez he.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Cut your straps!’ sez I, for I seed it was his
last chance.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Talk!’ sez Brother Joe, tho’ he looked sort a
reproachful like at me fur broachin’ such a subject;
but arter apparently considerin’ awhile, he outs
with his jack-knife, an’ leanin’ over sideways, made
a rip at the sole of his left foot. There was a considerable
deal ov cracklin’ fur a second or two,
then a crash sorter like as if a waggon-load of wood
had bruck down, and the fust thing I know’d,
the t’other leg shot up like, and started him; and
the last thing I seed ov Brother Joe, he was <span class='it'>a
whirlin’ round like a four-spoked wheel with the
rim off, away overclost toward sundown</span>!”</p>
<div><h1 id='ch11'>XI.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>GEORGIA THEATRICS.</span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>If my memory fail me not, the 10th of June,
18— found me, at about eleven o’clock in the forenoon,
ascending a long and gentle slope in what was
called “The Dark Corner” of Lincoln. I believe
it took its name from the moral darkness which
reigned over that portion of the county at the time
of which I am speaking. If in this point of view,
it was but a shade darker than the county, it was
inconceivably dark. If any man can name a trick
or sin which had not been committed at the time of
which I am speaking in the very focus of all the
county’s illumination (Lincolnton), he must himself
be the most inventive of the tricky, and the very
Judas of sinners. Since that time, however (all
humour aside), Lincoln has become a living proof
“that light shineth in darkness.” Could I venture
to mingle the solemn with the ludicrous, even for
the purposes of honourable contrast, I could adduce
from this county instances of the most numerous
and wonderful transitions, from vice and folly to
virtue and holiness, which have ever perhaps been
witnessed since the days of the Apostolic ministry.</p>
<p class='pindent'>So much, lest it should be thought by some that
what I am about to relate is characteristic of the
county in which it occurred.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Whatever may be said of the moral condition of
the Dark Corner, at the time just mentioned, its
natural condition was anything but dark. It smiled
in all the charms of spring; and spring borrowed
new charms from its undulating grounds, its luxuriant
woodlands, its sportive streams, its vocal
birds, and its blushing flowers.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Rapt with the enchantment of the season, and
the scenery around me, I was slowly rising the
slope, when I was startled by loud, profane, and
boisterous voices, which seemed to proceed from a
thick covert of undergrowth about two hundred
yards in the advance of me and about one hundred
to the right of my road:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You kin, kin you?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I kin, and am able to do it! Bo—oo—oo!
Oh, wake snakes, and walk your chalks! Brimstone
and fire! don’t hold me, Nick Stoval! The
fight’s made up, and let’s go at it. My soul, if I
don’t jump down his throat and gallop every chitterling
out of him before you can say ‘quit!’ ”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Now, Nick, don’t hold him. Jist let the wild
cat come, and I’ll tame him. Ned’ll see me a fair
fight, won’t you Ned?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh yes, I’ll see a fair fight, blame my old shoes
if I don’t.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“That is sufficient, as Tom Haynes said when he
saw the elephant. Now let him come!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Thus they went on, with countless oaths interspersed,
which I dare not even hint at, and with
much that I could not distinctly hear.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“In mercy’s name,” thought I, “what band of
ruffians has selected this holy season and this
heavenly retreat for such Pandemonian riots?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>I quickened my gait, and had come nearly opposite
to the thick grove whence the noise proceeded,
when my eye caught indistinctly and at intervals,
through the foliage of the dwarf oaks and hickories
which intervened, glimpses of a man or men who
seemed to be in a violent struggle, and I could
occasionally catch those deep-drawn emphatic oaths
which men in conflict utter when they deal blows.
I dismounted, and hurried to the spot with all
speed. I had overcome about half the space which
separated it from me, when I saw the combatants
come to the ground, and after a short struggle, I
saw the uppermost one (for I could not see the
other) make a heavy plunge with both his thumbs,
and at the same instant I heard a cry:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Enough! my eye’s out!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>I was so completely horror-struck that I stood
transfixed for a moment to the spot where the cry
met me. The accomplices in the hellish deed which
had been perpetrated had all fled at my approach;
at least I supposed so, for they were not to be
seen.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Now, you old corn-shucking rascal,” said the
victor (a youth about eighteen years old), as he rose
from the ground, “come cutt’n your shines ’bout
me agin, next time I come to the Court-House, will
you? Get your owl eye in again, if you can.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>At this moment he saw me for the first time.
He looked excessively embarrassed, and was moving
off, when I called to him in a tone emboldened by
my office and the iniquity of his crime:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Come back, you villain, and assist me in relieving
your fellow-mortal, whom you have ruined
for ever!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>My rudeness subdued his embarrassment in an
instant, and with a taunting curl of the nose he
replied:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You needn’t kick before you’re spurred. There
ain’t nobody there, nor han’t been nother. I was
jist seein’ how I could ’a fou’t.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>So saying, he bounded to his plough, which stood
in the fence about fifty yards beyond the battleground.</p>
<p class='pindent'>And would you believe it, gentle reader, his
report was true? All that I had heard and seen
was nothing more or less than a Lincoln rehearsal,
in which the youth who had just left me had played
all the parts of all the characters in a Court-House
fight.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I went to the ground from which he had risen,
and there were the prints of his two thumbs plunged
up to the balls in the mellow earth, about the distance
of a man’s eyes apart, and the ground around
was broken up, as if two stags had been engaged
upon it.</p>
<div><h1 id='ch12'>XII.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>TAKING THE CENSUS.</span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>Our next encounter was with an old lady,
notorious in her neighbourhood for her garrulity
and simple-mindedness. Her loquacity knew no
bounds; it was constant, unremitting, interminable,
and sometimes laughably silly. She was interested
in quite a large Chancery suit, which had been
dragging its slow length for several years, and
furnished her with a conversational fund, which she
drew upon extensively, under the idea that its
merits could never be sufficiently discussed.
Having been warned of her propensity, and being
somewhat hurried when we called upon her, we
were disposed to get through business as soon as
possible, and without hearing her enumeration of
the strong points of her law case. Striding into
the house, and drawing our papers:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Taking the census, Ma’am,” quoth we.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Ah, well, yes! bless your soul, take a seat.
Now do! Are you the gentlemen that Mr. Fillmore
has sent out to take the censis? I wonder—well,
good Lord, look down! how was Mr. Fillmore
and family when you seed him?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>We told her we had never seen the President;
didn’t know him from a piece of sole-leather; “we
had been written to to take the census.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well now, there agin! love your soul! Well,
I s’pose Mr. Fillmore writ you a letter, did he?
No! Well, God be praised, there’s mighty little
<span class='it'>here</span> to take down; times is hard, God’s will be
done! but looks like people can’t get their rights
in this country, and the law is all for the rich, and
none for the poor, praise the Lord! Did you ever
hear tell of that case my boys has got agin old
Simpson? Looks like they will never get to the
end on it, glory to His name! The children will
suffer, I’m mighty <span class='it'>afeard</span>, Lord give us grace!
Did you ever see Judge B.? Yes! Well, the
Lord preserve us! Did you ever hear him say
what he’s agwine to do in the boys’ case agin
Simpson? No! Good Lord! Well, Squire,
will you ax him the next time you see him, and
write me word, and tell him what I say? I’m
nothing but a poor widow, and my boys has got no
larnin’, and old Simpson tuk ’em in. It’s a mighty
hard case, and the will ought never to a been broke,
but—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Here we interposed, and told the old lady that
our time was precious—that we wished to take
down the number of her family, and the produce
raised by her last year, and be off. After a good
deal of trouble, we got through with the description
of the members of her family, and the “statistical
table,” as far as the article “cloth.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“How many yards of cotton cloth did you weave
in 1850, Ma’am?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well now, the Lord have mercy! less see.
You know Sally Higgins that used to live in the
Smith settlement? Poor thing! her daddy drove
her off all on the ’count of Jack Miller, poor
creetur! poor gal! she couldn’t help it, I dare say.
Well, Sally she come to stay ’long wi’ me when
the old man druv her away, and she was a powerful
good hand to weave, and I <span class='it'>did</span> think she’d help
me a power. Well, arter she’d bin here awhile,
her baby hit took sick, and Old Miss Stringer she
undertook to help it. She’s a powerful good hand,
old Miss Stringer, on roots and yearbs and sich
like! Well, the Lord look down from above! she
made a sort of a tea, as I was a tellin’, and she
gin it to Sally’s baby; it got wuss—the poor
creetur—and she gin it tea, and looked like the
more she gin it tea, the more—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“My dear Madam, I’m in a hurry—please tell
me how many yards of cotton you wove in 1850.
I want to get through and go on.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, well, the Lord have mercy! who’d a
thought you’d a bin so snappish! Well, as I was
a sayin’, Sally’s child it kept gittin’ wus, and old
Miss Stringer she kept a givin’ it the yearb tea,
till at last the child hit looked like hit would die
anyhow. And ’bout the time the child was at its
wust, Old Daddy Sikes he come along, and he
said if we git some nightshed berries and stew them
with a little cream and some hog’s lard. Now Old
Daddy Sikes is a mighty fine old man, and he
giv the boys a heap of mighty good counsel about
that case.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Boys,’ said he ‘I’ll tell you what you do; you
go and—’ ”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“In the name of goodness, old lady,” said we,
“tell about your cloth; and let the sick child
and Miss Stringer, Daddy Sikes, the boys, and
the law-suit, go the Old Scratch. I’m in a
hurry!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Gracious, bless your dear soul! don’t git aggravated.
I was jist a tellin’ you how it come I didn’t
weave no cloth last year.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, well you didn’t weave any cloth last year.
Good! We’ll go on to the next article.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes; you see the child hit begun to swell and
turn yaller, and hit kept a wallin’ its eyes, and a
moanin’, and I know’d—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Never mind about the child—just tell me the
value of the poultry you raised last year.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, well—yes—the chickens, you means. Why,
the Lord love your poor soul; I reckon you never
in your born days see a creetur have the luck that
I did—and looks like we never shall have any good
luck agin; for ever since old Simpson tuk that case
up to the Chancery Court—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Never mind the case, let’s hear about the
chickens, if you please.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“God bless you, honey! the owls destroyed in
and about the best half that I did raise. Every
blessed night that the Lord did send, they’d come
and set on the comb of the house, and hoo, hoo;
and one night in particklar I remember, I had just
got up with the nightshed salve to ’int the little gal
with—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, well, what was the value of what you did
raise?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“The Lord above look down! They got so bad—the
owls did—that they tuk the old hens as well
as the young chickens. The night I was a tellin’
’bout, I heard somethin’s s-q-u-a-l-l! s-q-u-a-l-l!
and says I: ‘I’ll bet that’s old Speck, that nasty
awdacious owl’s got, for I see her go to roost with
the chickens up in the plum-tree, forenenst the
smoke-house.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“So I went to whar old Miss Stringer was
sleepin’, and says I:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Miss Stringer! oh, Miss Stringer! sure’s
you’re born, that owl’s got old Speck out’n the
plum-tree.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, old Miss Stringer she turned over ’pon
her side like, and says she:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What did you say, Miss Stokes?’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“And says I:—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>We began to get very tired, and signified the
same to the old lady, and begged her to answer us
directly, and without circumlocution.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“The Lord Almighty love your dear heart, honey,
I’m tellin’ you as fast I kin. The owls they got
worse, and worse; after they’d swept old Speck
and all <span class='it'>her</span> gang, they went to work on t’others;
and Bryant (that’s one of my boys), he ’lowed he’d
shoot the pestersome creeturs. And so one night
arter that we hearn one holler, and Bryant he tuk
the old musket and went out, and sure enough
there was owley (as he thought) a sittin’ on the
comb of the house, so he blazed away, and down
come—what on airth <span class='it'>did</span> come down, do you reckon,
when Bryant fired?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“The owl, I suppose.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No sich thing; no sich thing; the owl warn’t
thar. ’Twas my old house cat came a tumblin’
down spittin’, sputterin’, and scratching and the fur
a flyin’ every time she jumped, like you’d busted a
feather-bed open. Bryant he said the way he come
to shoot the cat, instead of the owl, he seed somethin’
white—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“For heaven’s sake, Mrs. Stokes, give me the
value of your poultry, or say you will not. Do one
thing or the other.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, well, dear love your heart, I reckon I
had last year nigh about the same as I’ve got
this.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Then tell me how many dollars’ worth you have
now, and the thing’s settled.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I’ll let you see for yourself,” said Widow
Stokes; and taking an ear of corn between the logs
of the cabin, and shelling off a handful, she commenced
scattering the grain, all the while screaming
or rather screeching: “Chick! chick! chick!
chickee! chickee! chickee-ee!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Here they came, roosters, hens, pullets, and little
chicks; crowing, cackling, chirping, flying, and
fluttering against her sides, pecking at her hands,
and creating a din and confusion altogether indescribable.
The old lady seemed delighted, thus to
exhibit her feathered “stock,” and would occasionally
exclaim:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“A nice passel! ain’t they a nice passel!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>But she never would say what they were worth,
and no persuasion could bring her to the point.
Our papers at Washington contain no estimate
of the value of the Widow Stokes’s poultry, though,
as she said herself, she had a “mighty nice
passel.”</p>
<div><h1 id='ch13'>XIII.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>A FAMILY PICTURE.<a id='r9'/><a href='#f9' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[9]</span></sup></a></span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>Mr. Hill, in one of his many visits “down
east,” was belated one evening, and was compelled
to seek shelter at a small farm-house. He thus
describes the family party and the family doings on
that evening.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The heads of the family were a Mr. and Mrs.
Jones, who were honoured, on this occasion, with a
visit from a plain sort of man, who told me, said
Mr. Hill, that he teached school in winter, and
hired out in haying time. What this man’s name
was, I do not exactly recollect. It might have been
Smith, and for convenience sake, we will call him
John Smith. This Mr. Smith brought a newspaper
with him, which was printed weekly, which Mr.
Jones said—as it did not agree with his politics—was
a very weakly consarn.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Mr. Jones was seated one side of an old pine
table, and Mr. Smith on the other. Mrs. Jones
sat knitting in one corner, and the children under
the fire-place—some cracking nuts, others whittling
sticks, &c. Mr. Jones, after perusing the
paper for some time, observed to Mrs. Jones, “My
dear!”</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. Jones.</span> Well.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mr. Jones.</span> It appears.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. J.</span> Well, go on.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mr. J.</span> I say, it appears.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. J.</span> Well, law souls, I heard it; go on.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mr. J.</span> I say, it appears from a paragraph——</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. J.</span> Well, it don’t appear as if you were ever
going to appear.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mr. J.</span> I say, it appears from a paragraph in this
paper——</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. J.</span> There—there you go again. Why on
airth, Jones, don’t you spit it out.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mr. J.</span> I say, it appears from a paragraph in this
paper——</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. J.</span> Well, I declare, Jones, you are enough to
tire the patience of Job. Why on airth don’t you
out with it.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mr. J.</span> Mrs. Jones, will you be quiet. If you
get my dander up, I’ll raise Satan round this house,
and you know it, tew. Mr. Smith you must excuse
me. I’m obliged to be a little peremptory to my
wife, for if you wasn’t here she’d lick me like all
natur. Well, as I said, it appears from this paper,
that Seth Slope—you know’d Seth Slope, that used
to be round here?</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. J.</span> Yes; well, go on; out with it.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mr. J.</span> Well, you know he went out in a
whalin’ voyage.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. J.</span> Yes, well.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mr. J.</span> Well, it appears he was settin’ on the
stern, when the vessel give a lee lurch, and he was
knocked overboard, and hain’t written to his friends
since that time.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. J.</span> La, souls! you don’t say so.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Before going further, I will endeavour to give
you some idea of this Seth Slope. He was what
they term down-east, “a poor shote;” his principal
business was picking up chips, feeding the
hogs, &c., &c. I will represent him with his hat.
(<span class='it'>Puts on hat.</span>)</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. Jones says I don’t know nothin’, and Mr.
Jones says I don’t know nothin’, (<span class='it'>laughs</span>;) and
everybody says I don’t know nothin’; and I say I
<span class='it'>do</span> know nothin’, (<span class='it'>laughs</span>.) Don’t I pick up all the
chips to make the fires? And don’t I feed the
hogs, and the ducks, and the hens? (<span class='it'>Laughs.</span>)
And don’t I go down to the store every morning,
for a jug of rum? And don’t I take a good suck
myself? I don’t know nothin’—ha—(<span class='it'>laughs</span>.)
And don’t I go to church every Sunday? and don’t
I go up stairs, and when the folks go to sleep, don’t
I throw corn on ’em to wake ’em up? And don’t I
see the fellers winking at the gals, and the gals
winking at the fellers? And don’t I go home and
tell the old folk; and when they come home, don’t
the old folk kick up the darndest row? (<span class='it'>Laughs.</span>)
And don’t I drive the hogs out of the garden, to
keep ’em from rooting up the taters? And don’t
I git asleep there, sometimes, and don’t they root
<span class='it'>me</span> up. (<span class='it'>Laughs.</span>) And didn’t I see a fly on
Deacon Stoke’s red nose, t’other day; and didn’t I
say, ‘Take care, Deacon Stokes, you’ll burn his
feet?’ I don’t know nothin’, eh!” (<span class='it'>Laughs.</span>)</p>
<p class='pindent'>This Mrs. Jones I have spoken of, was a very
good kind of woman, and Mr. Jones was considered
a very good sort of man; but was rather fond of
the bottle. On one occasion, I recollect particularly,
he had been to a muster, and came home so much
intoxicated, that he could hardly stand, and was
obliged to lean against the chimney-piece, to prevent
himself from falling, and Mrs. Jones says to
him, “Now, Jones, aint you ashamed of yourself?
Where on airth do you think you’d go to, if you
was to die in that sitiwation?”</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Jones, (very drunk).</span> Well, I don’t know where
I should go to; but I shouldn’t go far, without I
could go faster than I do now.</p>
<p class='pindent'>As soon as Mr. Jones had finished the paragraph
in the paper, Mrs. Jones threw on her shawl, and
went over to her neighbours to communicate the
news. I will endeavour to give you an idea of Mrs.
Jones, by assuming this shawl and cap. (<span class='it'>Puts on
shawl and cap.</span>)</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, Mrs. Smith, I suppose you ain’t heard
the news?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“La, no, what on airth is it?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You recollect Seth Slope, that used to be about
here?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, very well.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You know he went a whalin’ voyage?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, it appears, from an advartisement in the
papers, that he was sittin’ on the starn of the
vessel, when the vessel give a lee lurch, that he was
knocked overboard and was drowned, and that he
has not written to his friends ever since. Oh, dear!
it’s dreadful to think on. Poor critter!—he was
such a clever, good-natured, kind soul. I recollect
when he was about here, how he used to come into
the house and set down, and get up and go out, and
come in agin, and set down, and get up and go
out. Then he’d go down to the barn, and throw
down some hay to the critters, and then he’d come
into the house agin, and get up and go out, and go
down to the store and get a jug of rum,—and sometimes
he’d take a little suck of it himself. But, la,
souls! I never cared nothing about that. Good,
clever critter! Then arter he’d come back with the
rum, he’d set down a little while, and get up and
go out, and pick up chips, and drive the hogs out
of the garden; and then he’d come into the house
and kick over the swill-pail, and set down, and
stick his feet over the mantel-piece, and whittle all
over the hearth, and spit tobacco juice all over the
carpet, and make himself so <span class='it'>sociable</span>. And poor
fellow! now he’s gone. Oh, dear! how dreadful
wet he must have got! Well, Mrs. Smith, it
goes to show that we are all accountable <span class='it'>critters</span>.”</p>
<hr class='footnotemark'/>
<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_9'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f9'><a href='#r9'>[9]</a></div>
</td><td>
<p class='pindent'>By G. H. Hill.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<div><h1 id='ch14'>XIV.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>COLONEL JONES’S FIGHT.<br/> <span style='font-size:smaller'>A STORY OF KENTUCKY.</span></span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>Col. Dick Jones was decidedly the great man of
the village of Summerville. He was Colonel of
the regiment—he had represented his district in
Congress—he had been spoken of as candidate for
Governor—he was at the head of the bar in
Hawkins’ county, Kentucky, and figured otherwise
largely in public life. His legal opinion
and advice were highly valued by the senior part of
the population—his dress and taste were law to the
juniors—his easy, affable, and attentive manner
charmed all the matrons, his dignified politeness
captivated the young ladies—and his suavity and
condescension delighted the little boarding-school
misses. He possessed a universal smattering of
information—his manners were the most popular;
extremely friendly and obliging, lively and witty;
and, in short, he was a very agreeable companion.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Yet truth requires it to be admitted, that Col.
Dick Jones was professionally more specious than
deep, and that his political advancement was owing
to personal partiality more than superior merit—that
his taste and dress were of questionable propriety:
for instance, he occasionally wore a hunting-shirt
white fringed, or a red waistcoat, or a
fawn-skin one, or a calico morning-gown of a small
yellow pattern, and he indulged in other similar
vagaries in clothing. And in manners and deportment,
there was an air of harmless (true Virginian
bred and Kentucky raised) self-conceit and swagger,
which, though not to be admired, yet it
gave piquancy and individuality to his character.</p>
<p class='pindent'>If further particulars are required, I can only
state that the Colonel boarded at the Eagle hotel—office,
in the square, fronted the court-house—he
was a manager of all the balls—he was vice-president
of the Summerville Jockey Club—he
was trustee of the Female Academy—he
gallanted the old ladies to church, holding his
umbrella over them in the sun, and escorted the
young ladies, at night, to the dances or parties,
always bringing out the smallest ones. He rode a
high headed, proud-looking sorrel horse, with a
streak down his face; and he was a general referee
and umpire, whether it was a horse-swap, a race, a
rifle match, or a cock fight.</p>
<p class='pindent'>It so chanced, on a time, though Colonel Jones
was one of the best-natured of men, that he took
umbrage at some report circulated about him in an
adjoining county and one of his districts, to the
effect that he had been a federalist during the last
war; and, instead of relying on the fact of his being
a school-boy on Mill Creek at that time, he proclaimed,
at the tavern table, that the next time he
went over the mountain to court, Bill Patterson, the
reputed author of the slander, should either sign a
<span class='it'>liebill</span>, fight, or run.</p>
<p class='pindent'>This became narrated through the town,—the
case and argument of the difference was discussed
among the patriarchs of the place, who generally
came to the conclusion that the colonel had good
cause of quarrel, as more had been said of him than
an honourable man could stand. The young store
boys of the village became greatly interested, conjectured
how the fight would go, and gave their
opinions what they would do under similar circumstances.
The young lawyers, and young M.D.’s,
as often as they were in the colonel’s company,
introduced the subject of the expected fight. On
such occasions, the colonel spoke carelessly and banteringly.
Some good old ladies spoke deprecatingly,
in the general and in the particular,
that so good and clever a young man as Colonel
Dick should set so bad an example; and the
young ladies, and little misses, bless their dear
little innocent souls, they only consulted their own
kind hearts, and were satisfied that he must be a
wicked and bad man that Colonel Jones would
fight.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Spring term of the courts came on, and the
lawyers all started on their circuit, and, with them,
Colonel Jones went over the mountain. The whole
town was alive to the consequences of this trip, and
without much communion or understanding on the
subject, most of the population either gathered
at the tavern at his departure, or noticed it
from a distance, and he rode off, gaily saluting
his acquaintances, and raising his hat to the ladies,
on both sides of the street, as he passed out of
town.</p>
<p class='pindent'>From that time, only one subject engaged the
thoughts of the good people of Summerville; and
on the third day the common salutation was:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Any news from over the mountain?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Has any one come down the road?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The fourth, fifth, and sixth came, and still the
public anxiety was unappeased: it had, with the
delay, become insufferable, quite agonizing; business
and occupation was at a stand still; a doctor or
a constable would not ride to the country lest news
of the fight might arrive in their absence. People
in crossing the square, or entering or coming out of
their houses, all had their heads turned up that
road. And many, though ashamed to confess it,
sat up an hour or two past their usual bed-time,
hoping some one would return from court. Still all
was doubt and uncertainty. There is an unaccountable
perversity in these things that bothers conjecture.
I watched the road from Louisville two
days, to hear of Grey Eagle beating Wagner, on
which I had one hundred dollars staked, of borrowed
money, and no one came; though before
that, some person passed every hour.</p>
<p class='pindent'>On the seventh morning, the uneasy public were
consoled by the certainty that the lawyers must be
home that day, as court seldom held a week, and
the universal resolve seemed to be that nothing
was to be attended to until they were satisfied about
the fight. Storekeepers and their clerks, saddlers,
hatters, cabinet-makers, and their apprentices, all
stood out at the doors. The hammer ceased to ring
on the anvil, and the bar-keeper would scarcely
walk in to put away the stranger’s saddle-bags,
who had called for breakfast; when suddenly a
young man, that had been walking from one side of
the street to the other, in a state of feverish anxiety,
thought he saw dust away up the road, and stopped.
I have been told a man won a wager in Philadelphia,
on his collecting a crowd by staring, without
speaking, at an opposite chimney. So no sooner
was this young man’s <span class='it'>point</span> noticed, than there was
a regular reconnoissance of the road made, and
before long, doubt became certainty, when one of
the company declared he knew the colonel’s old
sorrel riding-horse, “General Jackson,” by the blaze
on his face.</p>
<p class='pindent'>In the excited state of the public mind it required
no ringing of the court-house bell to convene
the people; those down street walked up, and those
across the square came over, and all gathered
gradually at the Eagle hotel, and nearly all were
present by the time Colonel Jones alighted. He
had a pair of dark green specks on, his right hand
in a sling, with brown paper bound round his
wrist; his left hand held the bridle, and the
forefinger of it wrapped with a linen rag “with
care.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>One of his ears was covered with a muslin scrap,
that looked much like the countrywomen’s plan of
covering their butter when coming to market: his
face was clawed all over, as if he had had it raked
by a cat held fast by the tail; his head was
unshorn, it being “too delicate an affair,” as
* * * said about his wife’s character. His
complexion suggested an idea to a philosophical
young man present, on which he wrote a treatise,
dedicated to Arthur Tappan, proving that the negro
was only a white well pummelled; and his general
swelled appearance would induce a belief he
had led the forlorn hope in the storming of a beehive.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The Colonel’s manner did not exactly proclaim
“the conquering hero,” but his affability was
undiminished, and he addressed them with:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Happy to see you, gents; how are you all?”
and then attempted to enter the tavern; but Buck
Daily arrested him with:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, Colonel, I see you have had a skrimmage.
How did you make it? You didn’t come out at
the little <span class='it'>eend</span> of the horn, did you?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, not exactly, I had a tight fit of it, though.
You know Bill Patterson; he weighs one hundred
and seventy-five pounds, has not an ounce of
superfluous flesh, is as straight as an Indian, and
as active as a wild-cat, and as quick as powder, and
very much of a man, I assure you. Well, my word
was out to lick him; so I hardly put up my horse
before I found him at the court-house door, and,
to give him a white man’s chance, I proposed
alternatives to him. He said his daddy, long ago,
told him never to give a <span class='it'>liebill</span>, and he was not
good at running, so he thought he had best fight.
By the time the word was fairly out, I hauled off,
and took him in the burr of the ear that raised a
singing in his head, that made him think he was
in Mosquitoe town. At it we went, like killing
snakes, so good a man, so good a boy; we had it
round and round, and about and about, as dead a
yoke as ever pulled at a log-chain. Judge Mitchell
was on the bench, and as soon as the cry of
“fight” was raised, the bar and jury ran off and
left him. He shouted, ‘I command the peace,’
within the court-house, and then ran out to see the
fight, and cried out, ‘I can’t prevent you!’ ‘fair
fight!’ ‘stand back!’ and he caught parson Benefield
by the collar of the coat, who, he thought, was
about to interfere, and slung him on his back at
least fifteen feet.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“It was the evenest and longest fight ever
fought: everybody was tired of it, and I must
admit, in truth, that I was” (<span class='it'>here he made an effort
to enter the tavern</span>.) But several voices called
out:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Which whipped? How did you come
out?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, much as I tell you; we had it round
and round, about and about, over and under. I
could throw him at rastle, but he would manage
some way to turn me. Old Sparrowhawk was
there, who had seen all the best fighting at
Natchez, under the hill, in the days of Dad Girty
and Jim Snodgrass, and he says my gouging was
beautiful; one of Bill’s eyes is like the mouth of an
old ink-bottle, only, as the fellow said, describing
the jackass by the mule, it is more so. But, in
fact, there was no great choice between us, as you
see. I look like having ran into a brush fence of
a dark night. So we made it round and round,
about and about”—(<span class='it'>here again he attempted a
retreat into the tavern</span>.)</p>
<p class='pindent'>But many voices demanded, “Who hollored?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Which gave up?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“How did you hurt your hand?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh! I forgot to tell you, that as I aimed a
sockdollager at him he ducked his head, and he can
dodge like a diedapper, and hitting him awkwardly,
I sprained my wrist; so, being like the fellow who,
when it rained mush, had no spoon, I changed the
suit, and made a trump—and went in for eating.
In the scuffle we fell, cross and pile, and, finding
his appetite good for my finger, I adopted Doctor
Bones’, the toolsmith’s, patent method of removing
teeth without the aid of instruments, and I extracted
two of his incisors, and released my finger. However,
I shall, for some time, have an excuse for
wearing gloves without being thought proud.”
(<span class='it'>He now tried to escape under cover of a laugh.</span>)</p>
<p class='pindent'>But vox populi again.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“So you tanned him, did you?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“How did the fight finish?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You were not parted?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You fought it out, did you?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The colonel resumed, “Why, there is no telling
how the fight might have gone; an old Virginian,
who had seen Francesco, and Otey, and Lewis, and
Blevins, and all the best men of the day, said he
had never seen any one stand up to their fodder
better than we did. We had fought round and
round, and about and about, all over the courtyard,
and, at last, just to end the fight, every body
was getting tired of it; so, at l—a—a—s—t, I
hollored.”—(<span class='it'>Exit Colonel.</span>)</p>
<div><h1 id='ch15'>XV.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>THE FASTEST FUNERAL ON RECORD.<a id='r10'/><a href='#f10' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[10]</span></sup></a></span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>I had just crossed the long bridge leading from
Boston to Cambridgeport, and was plodding my
dusty way on foot through that not very agreeable
suburb, on a sultry afternoon in July, with a very
creditable thunder-cloud coming up in my rear,
when a stout elderly gentleman, with a mulberry
face, a brown coat, and pepper-and-salt smalls,
reined up his nag, and after learning that I was
bound for Old Cambridge, politely invited me to
take a seat beside him in the little sort of tax-cart
he was driving. Nothing loth, I consented, and
we were soon <span class='it'>en route</span>. The mare he drove was a
very peculiar animal. She had few good points to
the eye, being heavy-bodied, hammer-headed, thin
in the shoulders, bald-faced, and rejoicing in a little
stump of a tail which was almost entirely innocent of
hair. But there were “lots of muscle,” as Major
Longbow says, in her hind quarters.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“She aint no Wenus, Sir,” said my new acquaintance,
pointing with his whip to the object of my
scrutiny—“but handsome is as handsome does.
Them’s my sentiments. She’s a rum ’un to look at,
but a good ’un to go.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Indeed?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, <span class='it'>Sir</span>! That there mare, Sir, has made
good time—I may say, <span class='it'>very</span> good time before the
hearse.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Before the hearse?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Before the hearse! S’pose you never heard of
<span class='it'>burying a man on time</span>! I’m a sexton, Sir, and
undertaker—Jack Crossbones, at your service—‘Daddy
Crossbones’ they call me at Porter’s.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Ah! I understand. Your mare ran away with
the hearse.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Ran away! A child could hold her. Oh!
yes, of course she ran away,” added the old gentleman,
looking full in my face with a very quizzical
expression, and putting the forefinger of his right
hand on the right side of his party-coloured
proboscis.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“My dear Sir,” said I, “you have excited my
curiosity amazingly, and I should esteem it as a
particular favour if you would be a little less oracular
and a little more explicit.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know as I’d ought to tell you,” said my
new acquaintance very slowly and tantalizingly.
“If you was one of these here writing chaps, you
might poke it in the ‘Spirit of the Times,’ and then
it would be all day with me. But I don’t care if I
do make a clean breast of it. Honour bright, you
know.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Of course.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, then, I live a piece up beyond Old Cambridge—you
can see our steeple off on a hill to the
right, when we get a little further. Well, one day,
I had a customer (he was carried off by typhus) which
had to be toted into town—cause why? he had a
vault there. So I rubbed down the old mare, and put
her in the fills. Ah! Sir! that critter knows as
much as an Injun, and more than a Nigger. She’s
as sober as a judge when she gets the shop—that’s
what I call the hearse—behind her. You would not
think she was a three-minute nag, to look at her.
Well, Sir, as luck would have it, by a sort of providential
inspiration, the day before, I’d took off the
old wooden springs and set the body on elliptics.
For I thought it a hard case that a gentleman who’d
been riding easy all his life, should go to his grave
on wooden springs. Ah! I deal well by my customers.
I thought of patent boxes to the wheels,
but <span class='it'>I</span> couldn’t afford it, and the parish are desperate
stingy.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, I got him in, and led off the string—fourteen
hacks, and a dearbourn wagon at the tail
of the funeral. We made a fine show. As luck
would have it, just as we came abreast of
Porter’s, out slides that eternal torment, Bill
Sikes, in his new trotting sulky, with the brown
horse that he bought for a fast crab, and <span class='it'>is</span> mighty
good for a rush, but hain’t got nigh so much
bottom as the mare. Bill’s light weight, and his
sulky’s a mere feather. Well, Sir, Bill came up
alongside, and walked his horse a bit. He looked
at the mare and then at me, and then he winked.
Then he looked at his nag and put his tongue in
his cheek, and winked. I looked straight ahead,
and only said to myself, ‘Cuss you, Bill Sikes.’ By
and bye, he let his horse slide. He travelled about
a hundred yards, and then held up till I came
abreast, and then he winked and bantered me again.
It was aggravatin’, that’s a fact. Says I to myself,
says I: ‘That’s twice you’ve done it, my buzzum
friend and sweet-scented shrub—but you doesn’t do
that ’ere again.’ The third time he bantered me I
let him have it. It was only saying, ‘Scat you
brute,’ and she was off—that mare. He had all the
odds, you know, for I was toting a two hundred
pounder, and he ought to have beat me like breaking
sticks, now hadn’t he? He had me at the first
brush, for I told you the brown horse was a mighty
fast one for a little ways. But soon I lapped him.
I had no whip, and he could use his string—but he
had his hands full.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Side by side, away we went—rattle-te-bang!
crack! abuz! thump!—and I afraid of losing my
customer on the road; but I was more afraid of
losing the race. The reputation of the old mare
was at stake, and I swore she should have a fair
chance. We went so fast that the posts and rails
by the road-side looked like a log fence. The old
church and the new one, and the colleges, spun past
like Merry-Andrews.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“The hackmen did not know what was to pay, and,
afraid of not being in at the death, they put the
string on to their teams, and came clattering on
behind as if Satan had kicked ’em on eend. Some
of the mourners was sporting characters, and they
craned out of the carriage windows and waved their
handkerchiefs. The President of Harvard College
himself, inspired by the scene, took off his square
tile as I passed his house, and waving it three times
round his head, cried:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Go it, Boots!’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“It <span class='it'>is a</span> fact. And I beat him, Sir! I beat
him, in three miles, a hundred rods. He gin it up,
Sir, in despair.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“His horse was off his feed for a week, and when
he took to corn again he wasn’t worth a straw. It was
acknowledged on all hands to be the fastest funeral
on record, though I say it as shouldn’t. I’m an
undertaker, sir, and I never yet was over-taken.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>On subsequent inquiry at Porter’s, where the
sporting sexton left me, I found that his story was
strictly true in all the main particulars. A terrible
rumpus was kicked up about the race, but Crossbones
swore lustily that the mare had run away—that
he had sawed away two inches of her lip in
trying to hold her up, and that he could not have
done otherwise, unless he had run her into a fence
and spilled his “customer” into the ditch. If any one
expects to die anywhere near the sexton’s <span class='it'>diggings</span>,
I can assure them that the jolly old boy is still alive
and kicking, the very “Ace of Hearts” and “Jack
of Spades,” and that now both patent boxes
and elliptic springs render his professional conveyance
the easiest running thing on the road.</p>
<hr class='footnotemark'/>
<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_10'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f10'><a href='#r10'>[10]</a></div>
</td><td>
<p class='pindent'>By F. A. Durivage, of Boston.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<div><h1 id='ch16'>XVI.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>OLD TUTTLE’S LAST QUARTER RACE.</span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>As a matter of course a quarter race never goes
off without old Tuttle being thar—and he never
attends without doing some business! So on
Thursday he makes his appearance on the track, on
a bay gelding, (with white hind feet,) which he calls
“Indian Dick,” and allows he’s as good a scrub as
there’ll be on the ground! As old T. is <span class='it'>known</span>,
and Dick has been heard of, the boys are rather
shy—but one of them thinks he’s got a scrub that’s
“some pumpkins!” and would like to know, without
too much cost, how far Dick can beat him; he,
therefore, proposes to run them three hundred yards,
for “sucks all round.” Old T. understands the
game, and says:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, I don’t want yer to treat this crowd,
but I’ll run with yer just to show <span class='it'>yer hoss</span> can’t
run!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>This was what H. wanted, as he thought he
could tell the speed of a horse, even tho’ old T. did
ride him; so back they go to the score, and are
off—with (as might be expected) H. a-head, and
old T. in the rear, whipping and spurring like mad,
and letting his horse go just fast enough to put H.
at about the top of his speed—but he can’t <span class='it'>quite</span>
come it.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“H.’s horse is too smart and can beat him every
inch of the road.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>So says H., and most of the crowd are of the
same opinion.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Old T. says he believes he can beat H. Saturday,
as “Dick’s shoes are loose, and heavy, and he can’t
run in ’em.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>There was nothing more said about it, till old
Tut made his appearance next morning, when the
boys were after him with “Sharp Sticks” and “Hot
Bricks.” One wanted to bet him a horse on H.’s
colt, <span class='it'>versus</span> his Indian Dick—another a V., another
an X., and so on.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Hold yer hosses b’hoys! Don’t be all after
the old man at wunst. Wait a while and he’ll
commerdate yer! He’s an old man, and b’lieves he
knows mor’n all on yer; but he don’t want all yer
money at wunst. He wants to be <span class='it'>onatel</span> with yer,
so he can cum agin.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>This course didn’t set them back any, as they
thought the old man was <span class='it'>scary</span>, and they were after
him the faster.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Some of the more wary cautioned them to look
out, but they <span class='it'>didn’t want no caution—they knew
what they was about</span>. They could beat old Tuttle,
and they were going to “do the State some
service” by skinning him. They’d make the “old
cuss” poor afore they left him!</p>
<p class='pindent'>He took it all very coolly, advised some of them
to save their money for the next time. He was an
old man and b’lieved he knowed more’n all on ’em.
<span class='it'>His father</span> didn’t teach him for nothin’ sixty-five
years ago! But the boys said that was all gass
to scare them off; but ’twouldn’t work! The
old cuss had got to be skinned or back out.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The result was, they got up a horse and fifty
dollars a side, to run on Saturday, at two o’clock,
each one to start and ride his own horse, judge tops
and bottoms—the winning horse take the cakes—and
no back out. Either party refusing to run
forfeits the whole stakes.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Things went on smooth that day—some thinking
old T. was playing some game with the boys, but
what it was, no one could tell. However, before
night, it was known there was <span class='it'>a secret</span> among the
boys. They knew the speed of Dick, and knew
they could slay him; but there mustn’t anything
be said about it, as when they got the old man on
the track and right, they were going into him the
whole amount of his fixins. They’d caught the old
man napping once. They’d got a plaguy sight faster
horse than he thought for, and now they were
going to pay off old scores.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Two o’clock came, and found old T. on the spot
leading Dick round, and telling the boys they’d be
surprised when they see Dick run his best—at the
same time “doing what <span class='it'>business</span> offered,” but
somehow the boys appeared a little <span class='it'>scary</span>. Old T.
was “on hand” for every offer, and no mistake;
and ’twas known he never bet liberally, unless he
“had a sure thing.” So that the betting soon
began to lag, and the old man had the call, but no
takers. Finally the old man said:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I’ve got a little more money, b’hoys, and I
wouldn’t mind givin’ you a chance at two to one
for it.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>But this set them <span class='it'>clar back</span>—no one dare <span class='it'>bite</span>.
There not appearing any more chance for investment,
the old man stripped off his hat, coat, vest,
and boots, tied a red cotton bandanna around his
head (as an old man only can tie it), then pulls off
the cloths and saddle from Dick, and mounts <span class='it'>bare-back</span>,
declaring himself ready.</p>
<p class='pindent'>He mounted, and the word was given to “clear
the track!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Then Old T. says: “Are yer ready?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Go along then!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>And over the score they go, H. a length ahead.
But, oh! Jeminy! see Dick run! Before you could
turn round twice, the ends of Old T.’s bandanna
were pointing out the road for H., and at the outcome
Dick was one, H. nowhere.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Anybody that has seen a “quarter-horse” run by
a “dunghill” knows how this was—no one else can
appreciate it—the thing was out. Old T. really
knew more than all of them, sure enough; but
what was the secret, and how could those in the
secret be so stuck? That’s the idea.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The secret was, “the boys” stole Old Tuttle’s
horse on Thursday night, and run him with H.’s
horse, and <span class='it'>beat him easy</span>. And the way they were
stuck was this: The old man supposing that they
would steal his horse that night, and run him, had
put Dick’s cloths on another horse of the same
colour and marks, and about the same size, and put
him in Dick’s stall, starting a shoe, so that if they
run him they would lose it, and he should know
they had taken the bait good. In the morning the
shoe was gone.</p>
<div><h1 id='ch17'>XVII.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>SPEECH ON THE OREGON QUESTION.<a id='r11'/><a href='#f11' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[11]</span></sup></a></span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>“Whoia! here I am, and intend, in a very few
and expressive terms, to speak my sentiments.
Mr. Speaker, I have come all the way from Oregon,
to see, in behalf of my afflicted neighbours, who live
a considerable distance apart, and I want to know,
what in thunder you’re about here, in this comfortable
location, while your fellow-countrymen, who are
not allowed to emigrate north of the Columbia
River, on account of a raging he-calf who is bla-ting
on the other side; but, thunder and squashes! can
this be borne? No! Can the free inhabitants,
who have emigrated there with the full belief that
protection was to be extended to them from the
great republic, bear the yoke of British law and
British tyranny? <span class='it'>No, Sir!</span> we expect you to
guard us from the sneers and insults of savages
subject and give us aid, and to plant the standard of
our country immutably on the 54–40, and, if anything,
a leetle north.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Powder and gun-flints! must we give up what
is clearly proved by many of our great men—and
though not set down in Webster’s Spelling
Book—to belong to us? will any man, who has
pure American blood coursing through his veins,
say let it go, ’cause we’re afraid to fight? No,
Sir! no! it is not in the natur of <span class='it'>Liberty boys</span>
to allow any usurpation of our rights; let us be
guided by Crockett’s motto: ‘<span class='it'>First, be sure your
right, then go ahead</span>.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I’ve killed four horses, worn out three pair of
trousers and a pair of saddle-bags, besides spending
all my money to come here, and I must know before
I go back, which way the cat <span class='it'>jumps</span>, or both
countries shall hear from me, to their entire satisfaction,
sooner or later. I’ve left my grandmother,
father, wife, three children, six cows, two hosses,
eighteen sheep, a gross of turkeys, geese, hens,
chickens, a black dog, and a grey cat, who fondly
look for my return, and I wish to know, without
the shadow of a doubt, whether we are to be protected,
or not, by this government, or are we tew be
trampled under the iron hoofs of Europe’s roaring
Bull. We are strong and true at heart for our
country, but we are as yet too few in number to
offer just resistance. Give us a chance for a few
years, however, and we will then look out for ourselves.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yet the time is not far off, when the locomotive
will be steaming its way to the Rocky Mountains,
with a mighty big train of cars running
after it. Yes, the whistle of the engine will echo
through the South-west Pass, and sharply hint to
the free people of that great territory the approach
of hundreds and thousands tew, who are to be their
neighbours. No, Sir, the time is not far distant,
when our commerce with China will equal that of
all the world; when the Pacific Ocean will be
crossed with as much ease as the Frog pond on
Boston Common.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Mr. Speaker, as my eloquent friend from
the Hoosier State remarks: ‘Men of blood, and
friends of General Washington, and that old hoss,
General Jackson, I want your attention. <span class='it'>Lightnin’</span>
has burst upon us; and Jupiter has poured out the
ile of his wrath. Thunder has broke loose and
slipped its cable, and is now rattling down the
mighty Valley of the Mississippi, accompanied by
the music of the alligator’s hornpipe. Citizens and
fellers; on the bloody ground on which our fathers
catawampously poured out their claret free as ile, to
enrich the soil over which we now honour and
watch with hyena eyes, let the catamount of the
inner varmint loose and prepare the engines of
vengeance, for the long looked-for day has come.
The crocodile of the Mississippi has gone into his
hole, and the sun that lit King David and his host
across the Atlantic Ocean, looks down upon the
scene, and drops a tear to its memory.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I am with you, and while the stars of Uncle
Sam, and the stripes of his country, triumph and
float in the breeze, whar, whar is the craven, low-lived,
chicken-bred, toad-hoppin’, red-mouthed
mother’s son of ye who will not raise the beacon-light
of triumph, smouse the citadel of the aggressor,
and press onward to liberty and glory?
Wha-ah! Hurrah! where’s the inimy?”</p>
<hr class='footnotemark'/>
<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_11'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f11'><a href='#r11'>[11]</a></div>
</td><td>
<p class='pindent'>By G. H. Hill.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<div><h1 id='ch18'>XVIII.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>BILL DEAN, THE TEXAN RANGER.<a id='r12'/><a href='#f12' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[12]</span></sup></a></span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>Rare wags may be found among the Texas
Volunteers, yet the funniest fellow of all is a happy-go-lucky
chap named Bill Dean, one of Chevallier’s
spy company, and said to be one of the
best “seven-up” players in all Texas. While at
Corpus Christi, a lot of us were sitting out on the
stoop of the Kinney House, early one morning,
when along came Bill Dean. He did not know a
single soul in the crowd, although he knew we were
all bound for the Rio Grande; yet the fact that
the regular formalities of an introduction had not
been gone through with, did not prevent his
stopping short in his walk and accosting us. His
speech, or harangue, or whatever it may be termed,
will lose much in the telling, yet I will endeavour
to put it upon paper in as good a shape as
possible.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, yes,” said he, with a knowing leer of the
eye: “oh, yes; all going down among the robbers
on the Rio Grande, are you? Fine times <span class='it'>you’ll</span>
have, over the left. I’ve been there myself, and
done what a great many of you won’t do—I come
back; but if I didn’t see nateral h—ll—in August
at that—I <span class='it'>am</span> a teapot. Lived eight days on one
poor hawk and three blackberries—couldn’t kill a
prairie rat on the whole route to save us from
starvation. The ninth day come, and we struck a
small streak of good luck—a horse give out and
broke down, plumb out in the centre of an open
prairie—not a stick big enough to tickle a rattlesnake
with, let alone killing him. Just had time
to save the critter by shootin’ him, and that was
all, for in three minutes longer he’d have died a
nateral death. It didn’t take us long to butcher
him, nor to cut off some chunks of meat and stick
’em on our ramrods; but the cookin’ was another
matter. I piled up a heap of prairie grass, for it
was high and dry, and sot it on fire; but it
flashed up like powder, and went out as quick.
But—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But,” put in one of his hearers, “but how did
you cook your horse-meat after that?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“How?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, how?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, the fire caught the high grass close by,
and the wind carried the flames streakin’ across the
prairie. I followed up the fire, holding my chunk
of meat directly over the blaze, and the way we
went it was a caution to anything short of locomotive
doin’s. Once in a while a little flurry of
wind would come along, and the fire would get a
few yards the start; but I’d brush upon her, lap
her with my chunk, and then we’d have it again,
nip and chuck. You never seed such a tight race—it
was beautiful.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Very, we’ve no doubt,” ejaculated one of the
listeners, interrupting the mad wag just in season to
give him a little breath: “but did you cook your
meat in the end?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Not bad I didn’t. I chased that d—d fire a
mile and a half, the almightiest hardest race you
ever heer’d tell on, and never give it up until I run
her right plump into a wet marsh: there the fire
and chunk of horse-meat came out even—a dead
heat, especially the meat.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But wasn’t it cooked?” put in another one of
the listeners.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Cooked!—no!—just crusted over a little. You
don’t cook broken-down horse-flesh very easy, no
how; but when it comes to chasing up a prairie
fire with a chunk of it, I don’t know which is the
toughest, the meat or the job. You’d have laughed
to split yourself to have seen me in that race—to
see the fire leave me at times and then to see me
brushin’ up on her agin, humpin’ and movin’
myself as though I was runnin’ agin some of those
big ten mile an hour Gildersleeves in the old States.
But I’m a goin’ over to Jack Haynes’s to get a
cocktail and some breakfast—I’ll see you all down
among the robbers on the Rio Grande.”</p>
<hr class='footnotemark'/>
<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_12'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f12'><a href='#r12'>[12]</a></div>
</td><td>
<p class='pindent'>By G. W. Kendall.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<div><h1 id='ch19'>XIX.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>THE FIRE-HUNT.</span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>Samuel Sikes was one of the most inveterate
hunters I ever knew. He delighted in no other
pursuit or pastime, and though he pretended to
cultivate a small spot of ground, yet so large a
portion of his time was spent in the pursuit of
game, that his agricultural interests suffered much
for the want of proper attention. He lived a few
miles from town, and as you passed his house,
which stood a short distance from the main road, a
few acres of corn and a small patch of potatoes
might probably attract your notice as standing
greatly in need of the hoe; but the most prominent
objects about Sam’s domicile pertained to his
favourite pursuit. A huge pair of antlers—a
trophy of one of his proudest achievements—occupied
a conspicuous place on the gable end; some
ten or a dozen tall fishing-poles, though modestly
stowed behind the chimney, projected far above the
roof of the little cabin, and upon its unchinked
walls, many a ’coon and deer-skin were undergoing
the process of drying. If all these did not convince
you that the proprietor was a sportsman, the varied
and clamorous music of a score of hungry-looking
hounds, as they issued forth in full cry at
every passer-by, could not fail to force the conviction.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Sam had early found a companion to share with
him his good or ill luck, and though he was yet on
the green side of thirty, he was obliged to provide
for some five or six little tallow-faced “responsibilities;”
so he not only followed the chase from
choice, but when his wife—who hated “fisherman’s
luck” <span class='it'>worse</span> than Sam did a “miss” or a “nibble”—took
him to account for spending so many broken
days, Saturday afternoons, rainy days and odd
hours, to say nothing of whole nights, in the woods,
without bringing home so much as a cut-squirrel or
horney-head, his ready reply was, that he was
“ ’bleeged” to do the best he could to get meat for
her and the “childer.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The Fire-Hunt was Sam’s hobby, and though the
legislature had recently passed an act prohibiting
that mode of hunting, he continued to indulge, as
freely as ever, in his favourite sport, resolutely
maintaining that the law was “unconstitootional
and agin reason.” He had often urged me to
accompany him, just to see how “slick” he could
shine a buck’s eyes; and such were the glowing
accounts he had from time to time given me of his
achievements in that way, that he had drawn from
me a promise to go with him “some of these
times.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>I was sitting one evening, after tea, upon the
steps of the porch, enjoying the cool autumnal
breeze, when my friend Sam Sikes suddenly made
his appearance. He had come for me to go with
him on a fire-hunt, and was mounted on his mule
Blaze, with his pan upon one shoulder, and his
musket on the other. Determined to have everything
in readiness before calling on me, he had
gone to the kitchen and lit a few light-wood
splinters, which were now blazing in his pan, and
which served the double purpose of lighting him
through the enclosure, and of demonstrating to me
the manner of hunting by night. As he approached
the house, his light discovered me where I was
sitting.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Good evenin’, Major,” said he, “I’ve come out
to see if you’ve a mind to take a little hunt to-night.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I believe not, Mr. Sikes,” I replied, feeling
entirely too well satisfied with my pleasant seat in
the cool breeze, to desire to change it for a night-ramble
through the woods. “Not to-night, I thank
you—it looks like rain.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, ’shaw, ’taint gwine to rain, nohow—and
I’m all fixed—come, come along, Major.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>As he spoke, he rode close to the porch, and his
mule made several efforts to crop the shrubbery
that grew by the door, which Sam very promptly
opposed.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“How far are you going, Mr. Sikes?” I inquired,
endeavouring to shake off the lazy fit which inclined
me to keep my seat.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Only jest up the branch a little bit—not beyant
a mile from your fence, at the outside. Look at
him!” he exclaimed in a louder tone, as he gave
the reins a jerk. “Thar’s deer a plenty up at the
forks, and we’ll have r’al sport. Come, you better
go, and—Why, look at him!” giving the reins
another jerk, at the same time that he sent a kick
to his mule’s ribs that might have been heard an
hundred yards, “and I’ll show you how to shine
the eyes of a buck.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>As he sat in his saddle persuading me to go, his
mule kept frisking and turning in such a manner
as to annoy him exceedingly. Upon his left shoulder
he bore his blazing-pan, and upon his right he held
his musket, holding the reins also in his right
hand; so that any efforts on his part to restrain
the refractory movements of his animal was attended
with much difficulty. I had about made
up my mind to go, when the mule evinced a more
resolute determination to get at the shrubbery.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Whoa! wha, now!—confound you! Now, look
at him!”—then might be heard a few good lusty
kicks. “Come, Major, git your gun, and let’s—will
you hold up yer head, you ’bominable fool?—and
let’s take a little round—it’ll do you good.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“As I only go to satisfy my curiosity, I’ll not
take a gun. You will be able to shoot all the deer
we meet.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, any way you mind, Major.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>We were about to start, when suddenly the mule
gave a loud bray, and when I turned to look, his
heels were high in the air, and Sam clinging to his
neck, while the fire flew in every direction. The
mule wheeled, reared and kicked, and still Sam
hung to his neck, shouting, “Look at him!—whoa!—will
you mind!—whoa!—whoa, now!”—but all
to no purpose, until at length the infuriated animal
backed to the low paling fence which enclosed a
small flower-garden, over which he tumbled—Sam,
pan, gun and all, together!</p>
<p class='pindent'>When Sam had disengaged himself, he discovered
that the saddle-blanket was on fire, which had been
the cause of the disaster.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Cus the luck,” said he; “I thought I smelt
something burnin’.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Then addressing himself to the mule in a louder
tone, he continued:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“That’s what comes o’ jerkin’ yer dratted head
about that-a-way. Dod drot you, you’ve split all
my fixins—and here’s my pan, jest as crooked as a
fish-hook!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Then there was a kick or two, and a blow with
the frying-pan:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Take that, you howdacious fool, and hold yer
head still next time, will you? And you’ve skinned
my leg all to flinders, dadfetch your everlastin’
picter to dingnation! Take that under your short
ribs, now, will you? Whoa! I’ve a great mind to
blow yer brains out this very night! And you’ve
broke the Major’s palins down, you unnatural cus.
Whoa! step over now, if you’s satisfied.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>By this time Sam had got the mule out of the
inclosure, and had gathered up most of his “fixins.”
The whole scene, after the upsetting of the pan,
had transpired in the dark, but from the moment I
saw the mule’s heels flying, and Sam clinging to his
neck, it was with the utmost difficulty I restrained
my laughter. During his solo in the inclosure,
I was absolutely compelled to stuff my
handkerchief in my mouth, to prevent his hearing
me.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Did you ever see the likes o’ that, Major?” exclaimed
Sam, as I approached the spot where he
was engaged in readjusting his saddle and putting
other matters to rights that had been deranged by
the struggles of the mule to free himself from the
burning blanket.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I am very sorry it happened,” I replied, “as it
will prevent us from taking our hunt.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, I’ll be dadfetcht if it does, tho’—I ain’t to
be backed out that-a-way, Major, not by no means.
You know, ‘a bad beginnin’ makes a good endin’,’
as the old woman said. He isn’t done sich a
monstrous sight o’ harm, nohow—only bent the
handle of my pan a little, and raked some skin off
one o’ my shins—but that’s neither here nor thar.
So if you’ll jest hold Blaze till I go and git a
torch, we’ll have a shoot at a pair o’ eyes yit, to-night.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>I took the bridle, while Sam procured a torch,
and after he had gathered up the faggots which he
had brought to burn in his pan, we set off for the
branch—Sam upon his mule, with a torch in one
hand, while I walked by his side.</p>
<p class='pindent'>It was only necessary for us to go a short distance,
before we were at the designated spot.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Thar,” said Sam, as he dismounted, “here’s as
good a place as any; so I’ll jest hitch Blaze here,
and light our pan.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Accordingly, Blaze was made fast to a stout sappling,
and Sam proceeded to kindle a fire in his
pan, at the same time explaining to me, in a low
voice, the <span class='it'>modus operandi</span> of the Fire-Hunt, which
he accompanied with sundry precautionary hints and
directions for my own especial observance on the
present occasion.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Now, Major,” said he, “you must keep close
to me, and you mustn’t make no racket in the
bushes. You see, the way we does to shine the
deer’s eyes is this—we holds the pan so, on the left
shoulder, and carries the gun at a trail in the right
hand. Well, when I wants to look for eyes, I
turns round slow, and looks right at the edge of
my shadder, what’s made by the light behind me
in the pan, and if ther’s a deer in gun-shot
of me, his eyes’ll shine ’zactly like two balls of
fire.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>This explanation was as clear as Sam could make
it, short of a demonstration, for which purpose we
now moved on through the woods. After proceeding
a few hundred yards, Sam took a survey as
described, but saw no eyes.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Never mind, Major,” said he, “we’ll find ’em—you
see.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>We moved on cautiously, and Sam made his
observations as before, but with no better success.
Thus we travelled on in silence, from
place to place, until I began to get weary of the
sport.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, Mr. Sikes,” I remarked, “I don’t see that
your bad beginning to-night is likely to insure any
better ending.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, don’t git out of patience, Major—you’ll
see.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>We moved on again. I had become quite weary,
and fell some distance behind. Sam stopped, and
when I came up, he said, in a low voice:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You better keep pretty close up, Major, ’case if
I should happen to shine your eyes, you see, I
moughtn’t know ’em from a deer, and old Betsey
here toats fifteen buck-shot and a ball, and slings ’em
to kill.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>I fell behind no more.</p>
<p class='pindent'>We had wandered about for several hours, and
the sky, which had not been the clearest in the
commencement, now began to assume the appearance
of rain. I had more than once suggested
the propriety of going home—but Sam was eager
to show me how to shine the eyes of a buck,
and no argument or persuasion could win him
from his purpose. We searched on as before for
another half hour, and I was about to express my
determination to go home, when Sam suddenly
paused:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Stop, stop,” said he; “thar’s eyes, and whappers
they is, too. Now hold still, Major.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>I raised on tiptoe with eager anticipation—I
heard the click of the lock—there was a moment of
portentous silence—then the old musket blazed forth
with a thundering report, and in the same instant
was heard a loud squeal, and a noise like the snapping
of bridle reins.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Thunder and lightnin’!” exclaimed Sam, as he
dropped gun, pan and all, and stood fixed to the
spot—“I’ve shot old Blaze!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>So soon as he had recovered from the shock, we
hastened to the spot, and, sure enough, there lay
the luckless mule, still floundering in the agonies of
death. The aim had been but too good, and poor
Blaze was hurt “past all surgery.” Sam stood
over him in silent agony, and, notwithstanding the
bitter maledictions he had so recently heaped upon
him, now that he saw the poor animal stretched
upon the ground in death, and knew that his “infernal
picter” would greet him no more for ever, a
flood of tender recollections of past services poured
over his repentant heart. He uttered not a word
until after the last signs of life were extinct—then,
with a heavy sigh, he muttered:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Pore old cretur!—well, well, I reckon I’s
done the business now, sure enough. That’s what
I calls a <span class='it'>pretty</span> night’s work, anyhow!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“A ‘bad beginning doesn’t always make a good
ending,’ Mr. Sikes,” I remarked.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Cus the luck, it will run so sometimes,” said
he in a sullen tone, as he commenced taking the
saddle off his deceased donkey. “I’m blamed if I
see how I got so turned round.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>By this time it had commenced to rain, and we
were anxious to get home; but Sam had dropped
his gun and pan, as the awful truth rushed upon
him, that he had killed the only mule he possessed
in the world, and we now found it difficult to
recover them. After searching about for near half
an hour in the drizzling rain, Sam chanced to
come upon the spot from which he had taken the
hapless aim, and having regained his gun and
pan, we endeavoured to strike a fire; all our
efforts, however, to produce a light, proved ineffectual,
and we essayed to grope our way amid the
darkness.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Hello, Major, whar is you?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Here!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Whar you gwine?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Home!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, that ain’t the way.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, we came this way.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, I reckon not.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I’m sure we didn’t come that way.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Whar, in the devil’s name, is the branch?”
petulantly inquired Sam. “If I could only see the
branch, I could soon find the way.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“It must be down this way,” I replied.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Somehow or other I’m tetotiatiously deluded,
to-night,” remarked Sam, as he came tearing
through the briers with his stirrup-irons dangling
about him, his gun in one hand and frying-pan
in the other. “If I hadn’t a been completely
dumfoozled, I’d never a killed Blaze like I
did.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>I volunteered to carry his gun, but he was in
no humour for the interchange of civilities—“still
harping” on his mule, he trudged on, grumbling to
himself—</p>
<p class='pindent'>“What,” he muttered, “will Polly say now—I’ll
never hear the last of that critter the longest
day I live. That’s worse than choppin’ the coon-tree
across the sittin’ hen’s nest, and I liked never
to hearn the eend o’ that.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>After groping through the brush and briers,
which seemed to grow thicker the farther we proceeded,
for some time, Sam stopped.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I swar, Major, this ain’t the way.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, then, lead the way, and I’ll follow you,”
I replied, beginning, myself, to think I was
wrong.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Changing our direction, we plodded on, occasionally
tumbling over logs and brush, until Sam
concluded that all our efforts to find the way were
useless.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, thunderation!” said he, as he tore away
from a thick jungle of briers in which he had been
rearing and pitching for more than a minute, “it
ain’t no manner of use for us to try to find the way,
Major—so let’s look out a big tree, and stop under
it till morning.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Seeing no alternative, I reluctantly acceded to
his proposal.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Accordingly, we nestled down under the shelter
of a large oak. For a time neither spoke, and all
was still, save the incessant buzz of the countless
hosts of mosquitoes that now seemed intent upon
devouring us. At length I broke silence, by remarking—at
the same time that I gave myself a box
upon the ear, intended for the mosquitoe that was
biting me:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I think this will be my last fire-hunt, Mr.
Sikes.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“The fact is,” replied Sam, “this ’ere ain’t very
incouragin’ to new beginners, Major, that’s a fact—but
you musn’t give it up so. I hope we’ll have a
better showin’ next time.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“My curiosity is satisfied,” I remarked. “I
wouldn’t pass such another night in the woods for
all the deer in Georgia.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ’Shaw, I wouldn’t care a tinker’s cus,” said
Sam, “if I only jest hadn’t a killed Blaze. That’s
what sets me back, monstrous.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“That was indeed an unlucky mistake. I should
think a few such exploits as that would cure you
of your fire-hunting propensity. But I expect you
never had such luck, before to-night.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, not ’zactly—tho’ I’ve had some monstrous
bad luck in my time, too. I reckon you never
hearn about the time I got among the panters.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No—how was that?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, it was ’bout this time last fall, I and
Dudley went out and ’camped on Sperit Creek.
Well, he tuck his pan and went out one way, and I
went another. I went shinin’ along jest like you
seed me to-night, till I got a good bit from the
camp, and bimeby, shore enough, I sees eyes not
more’n forty yards off. I fotched old Betsey up to
my face and cut loose, and the deer drapped right
in his tracks, but somehow in my hurryment I
drapt my pan, jest like I did to-night when I heard
old Blaze squeel. While I was tryin’ to kindle up
a light, what should I see but more eyes shinin’
way down in the holler. I drapt the fire and
loaded up old Betsey as quick as I could, to be
ready for the varmint, whatever it was. Well, the
eyes kep comin’ closer and closer, and gettin’ bigger
and brighter, and the fust thing I know’d ther was
a whole grist of ’em all follerin’ right after the fust
ones, and dodgin’ up and down in the dark like
they was so many dancin’ devils. Well, I begun to
feel sort o’ jubous of ’em, so I raised old Betsey and
pulled at the nearest eyes, but she snapped—I
primed her agin, and she flashed—and when I
flashed, sich another squallin’ and yellin’ you never
did hear, and up the trees they went all round me.
Thinks I them must be somethin’ unnatural, bein’
as my gun wouldn’t shoot at ’em—so I jest drapt
old Betsey, and put out for the camp as hard as I
could split. Well, we went back the next mornin’,
and what do you think them infernal critters had
done?—eat the deer up slick and clean, all but the
bones and horns, and a little ways off lay old Betsey,
with four fingers of buck-shot and bullets, but not a
bit of powder in her. Then I know’d they was
panters.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, they might have eaten you too.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“That’s a fact. Dudley said he wondered they
didn’t take hold of me.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The drizzling shower which had already nearly
wet us to the skin, now turned to a drenching
storm, which continued for more than an hour
without intermission. When the storm abated, we
discovered the dawn approaching, and, shortly
after, were enabled to ascertain our whereabouts.
We were not more than five hundred yards from
the clearing, and probably had not been, during
the night, at a greater distance than a mile from
the house which we had left in the evening.</p>
<p class='pindent'>As we stepped from the wood into the open road,
I contemplated, for a moment, the ludicrous appearance
of my unfortunate companion. Poor
Sam!—daylight, and the prospect of home, brought
no joy to him—and as he stood before me, with the
saddle and bridle of the deceased Blaze girded
about his neck, his musket in one hand, and pan in
the other, drenched with rain, his clothes torn, and
a countenance that told of the painful conflict
within, I could not but regard him as an object of
sympathy rather than ridicule.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well,” said he, with a heavy sigh, and
without looking me in the face, “good mornin’,
Major.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Good morning,” I replied, touched with sympathy
for his misfortune, and reproaching myself
for the mirth I had enjoyed at his expense—“Good
morning, Mr. Sikes. I am very sorry for your
loss, and hope you will have better luck in
future.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Major,” said he, “it ain’t the vally of the
mule that I minds so much—though old Blaze was
a monstrous handy cretur on the place. But thar’s
my wife—what’ll she say when she sees me comin’
home in this here fix? Howsomedever, what can’t
be cured must be indured, as the feller said when
the monkey bit him.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“That’s the true philosophy,” I remarked,
seeing that he endeavoured to take courage from
the train of reasoning into which he had fallen;
“and Mrs. Sikes should bear in mind that accidents
<span class='it'>will</span> happen, and be thankful that it’s no
worse.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“To be sure she ought,” replied Sam, “but that
ain’t the way with her—she don’t believe in accidents,
nohow; and then she’s so howdacious unreasonable
when she’s raised. But, she better
not,” he continued, with a stern look as he spoke—“she
better not come a cavortin’ ’bout me with any
of her rantankerous carryin’s on this mornin’, for I
ain’t in no humour nohow!” and he made a threatening
gesture with his head, as much as to say he’d
make the fur fly if she did.</p>
<p class='pindent'>We parted at the gate, Sam for his home, and I
for my bed; he sorely convinced that a “bad beginning”
does not <span class='it'>always</span> “make a good ending,” and
I fully resolved that it should be my first and last
<span class='sc'>fire-hunt</span>.</p>
<div><h1 id='ch20'>XX.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>A PAIR OF SLIPPERS; OR, FALLING WEATHER.</span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>Whenever we look upon the crowded thoroughfare,
or regard the large assembly, we are compelled
to admit that the infinite variety of form in the
human race contributes largely to the picturesque.
The eye travels over the diversity of shape and size
without fatigue, and renews its strength by turning
from one figure to another, when, at each remove,
it is sure to find a difference. Satiated with gazing
at rotundity, it is refreshed by a glance at lathiness:
and, tired with stooping to the lowly, it can mount
like a bird to the aspiring head which tops a maypole.</p>
<p class='pindent'>But, while the potency of these pictorial beauties
is admitted, it must be conceded that the variations
from the true standard, although good for the eyesight,
are productive of much inconvenience; and
that, to consider the subject like a Benthamite,
utility and the general advantage would be promoted
if the total amount of flesh, blood, bone, and muscle
were more equally distributed. As affairs are at
present arranged, it is almost impossible to find a
“ready-made coat” that will answer one’s purpose,
and a man may stroll through half the shops in
town without being able to purchase a pair of boots
which he can wear with any degree of comfort. In
hanging a lamp, every shop-keeper, who “lights
up,” knows that it is a very troublesome matter so
to swing it, that, while the short can see the commodities,
the tall will not demolish the glass. If
an abbreviated “turnippy” man, in the goodness of
his heart and <span class='it'>in articulo mortis</span>, bequeaths his
wardrobe to a long and gaunt friend, of what service
is the posthumous present? It is available merely
as new clothing for the juveniles, or as something
toward another kitchen carpet. Many a martial
spirit is obliged to content himself with civic employment,
although a mere bottle of fire and wrath,
because heroism is enlisted by inches, and not by
degree.</p>
<p class='pindent'>If under “five foot six,” Cæsar himself could find
no favour in the eye of the recruiting-sergeant, and
Alexander the Great would be allowed to bestride no
Bucephalus in a dragoon regiment of modern times.
Thus, both they who get too much, and they who
get too little, in Dame Nature’s apportionment bill,
as well as those who, though abundantly endowed,
are not well made up, have divers reasons for
grumbling, and for wishing that a more perfect
uniformity prevailed.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Some of the troubles which arise from giving a
man more than his share in altitude, find illustration
in the subjoined narrative:</p>
<p class='pindent'>Linkum Langcale is a subject <span class='it'>in extenso</span>. He
is, to use the words of the poet, suggested by his
name,</p>
<div class='blockquoter9'>
<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' -->
<p class='line'>            “. . . . . . <span class='it'>A bout</span></p>
<p class='line'><span class='it'>Of linked sweetness long drawn out:</span>”</p>
</div></div> <!-- end rend -->
</div>
<p class='noindent'>and, in speaking of him, it is not easy to be brief.
Linkum is entirely too long for his own comfort—something
short—if the word <span class='it'>short</span> may be used in
this connection—something short of the height of
the Titans of old, who pelted Saturn with brickbats;
but how much, has never yet been ascertained, none
of his acquaintances being sufficiently acquainted
with trigonometry to determine the fact. He is
one of those men who, like the gentle Marcia,
“tower above their sex,” and must always be called
down to their dinner, as no information can be imparted
to them unless it be hallooed up, and in conversing
with whom, it is always necessary to begin
by hailing the maintop.</p>
<p class='pindent'>There is not, however, more material in Linkum
than enough for a man of ordinary length. The
fault is in his not being properly made up. He is
abominably wire-drawn—stretched out, as Shakspeare
says, almost to the crack of doom. It is
clear that there has been an attempt to make too
much of him, but the frame of the idea has not
been well filled out. He is the streak of a Colossus,
and he resembles the willow wand at which Locksley
shot his gray goose shaft in the lists of Ashby de la
Zouche. The consequence is, that Linkum is a
crank vessel. If he wore a feather in his cap, he
would be capsized at every corner; and as it is, he
finds it very difficult to get along on a windy day,
without a paving stone in each coat-pocket to preserve
the balance of power. He is, however, of a
convivial nature, and will not refuse his glass, notwithstanding
the aptitude of alcohol to ascend into
the brain, and so to encumber it as to render a
perpendicular position troublesome to men shorter
than himself. When in this condition, his troubles
are numberless, and among other matters, he finds
it very difficult to get a clear fall, there being in
compact cities very little room to spare for the
accommodation of long men tumbling down in the
world.</p>
<p class='pindent'>One evening Linkum walked forth to a convivial
meeting, and supped with a set of jolly companions.
Late at night a rain came on, which froze as it fell,
and soon made the city one universal slide, sufficiently
“glip” for all purposes, without the aid of
saw-dust. Of Linkum’s sayings and doings at the
social board, no record is preserved; but it is
inferred that his amusements were not of a nature
to qualify him for the safe performance of a journey
so slippery as that which it was necessary to undertake
to reach home. No lamps were lighted, they
who were abroad being under the necessity of supposing
the moonshine, and of seeing their way as
they walked, or of gathering themselves up, when
they fell, by the lantern of imagination.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Good night, fellers,” said Linkum, at the top of
the steps, as the door closed after him.</p>
<p class='pindent'>He pulled his hat over his eyes determinedly,
buttoned his coat with resolution, and sucked at
his cigar with that iron energy peculiar to men
about to set forth on their way home on a cold,
stormy night. The fire of the cigar reflected
from his nose was the only illumination to be
seen; and Linkum, putting his hands deep
into his pockets, kept his position on the first
step of the six which were between him and the
pavement.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I’ve no doubt,” said he, as he puffed forth
volumes of smoke, and seemed to cogitate deeply—“I’ve
not the slightest doubt that this is as beautiful
a night as ever was; only it’s so dark you can’t
see the pattern of it. One night is pretty much
like another night in the dark; but it’s a great
advantage to a good-looking evening, if the lamps
are lit, so you can twig the stars and the moonshine.
The fact is, that in this ’ere city, we do
grow the blackest moons, and the hardest moons to
find, I ever did see. Sometimes I’m most disposed
to send the bellman after ’em—or get a full-blooded
pinter to pint ’em out, while I hold a candle to see
which way he pints. It wouldn’t be a bad notion
on sich occasions to ask the man in the steeple to
ring which way the moon is. Lamps is lamps, and
moons is moons, in a business pint of view, but
practically they ain’t much if the wicks ain’t a-fire.
When the luminaries are, as I may say, in the raw,
it’s bad for me. I can’t see the ground as perforately
as little fellers, and every dark night I’m
sure to get a hyst—either a forred hyst, or a
backerd hyst, or some sort of a hyst—but more
backerds than forrerds, ’specially in winter. One
of the most unfeeling tricks I know of, is the way
some folks have got of laughing out, yaw-haw!
when they see a gentleman ketching a riggler hyst—a
long gentleman, for instance, with his legs in
the air, and his noddle splat down upon the cold
bricks. A hyst of itself is bad enough, without
being sniggered at: first, your sconce gets a crack;
then, you see all sorts of stars, and have free admission
to the fireworks; then, you scramble up,
feeling as if you had no head on your shoulders,
and as if it wasn’t you, but some confounded disagreeable
feller in your clothes; yet the jacksnipes
all grin, as if the misfortunes of human nature was
only a poppet-show. I wouldn’t mind it, if you
could get up and look as if you didn’t care. But
a man can’t rise, after a royal hyst, without letting
on he feels flat. In such cases, however,
sympathy is all gammon; and as for sensibility
of a winter’s day, people keep it all for their
own noses, and can’t be coaxed to retail it by the
small.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Linkum paused in his prophetic dissertation
upon “hysts”—the popular pronunciation, in these
parts, of the word <span class='it'>hoist</span>, which is used—<span class='it'>quasi lucus
a non lucendo</span>—to convey the idea of the most
complete tumble which man can experience. A
fall, for instance, is indeterminate. It may be an
easy slip down—a gentle visitation of mother earth;
but a hyst is a rapid, forcible performance, which
may be done, as Linkum observes, either backward
or forward, but of necessity with such violence as to
knock the breath out of the body, or it is unworthy
of the noble appellation of hyst. It is an apt, but
figurative mode of expression, and it is often carried
still further; for people sometimes say, “lower him
up, and hyst him down.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Our hero held on firmly to the railing, and
peered keenly into the darkness, without discovering
any object on which his vision could rest. The
gloom was substantial. It required sharper eyes
than his to bore a hole in it. The wind was up,
and the storm continued to coat the steps and
pavements with a sheet of ice.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“It’s raining friz potatoes,” observed Linkum;
“I feel ’em, though I can’t see ’em, bumping the
end of my nose; so I must hurry home as fast as
I can.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Heedless and hapless youth! He made a vain
attempt to descend, but, slipping, he came in a
sitting posture upon the top step, and, in that
attitude, flew down like lightning—bump! bump!
bump! The impetus he had acquired prevented
him from stopping on the sidewalk, notwithstanding
his convulsive efforts to clutch the icy
bricks, and he <span class='it'>skuted</span> into the gutter, whizzing over
the curbstone, and splashing into the water, like a
young Niagara.</p>
<p class='pindent'>A deep silence ensued, broken solely by the pattering
of the rain and the bowling of the wind.
Linkum was an exhausted receiver; the hyst was
perfect, the breath being completely knocked out of
him.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Laws-a-massy!” at length he panted, “ketching”
breath at intervals, and twisting about as if
in pain; “my eyes! sich a hyst! Sich a quantity
of hysts all in one! The life’s almost bumped out
of me, and I’m jammed up so tight, I don’t believe
I’m so tall by six inches as I was before. I’m druv
up and clinched, and I’ll have to get tucks in my
trousers.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Linkum sat still, ruminating on the curtailment
of his fair proportions, and made no effort to rise.
The door soon opened again, and Mr. Broad Brevis
came forth, at which a low, suppressed chuckle was
uttered by Linkum, as he looked over his shoulder,
anticipating “a quantity of hysts all in one” for
the new-comer, whose figure, however—short and
stout—was much better calculated for the operation
than Linkum’s. But Brevis seemed to suspect
that the sliding was good, and the skating magnificent.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, you don’t!” quoth he, as he tried the step
with one foot, and recovered himself; “I haven’t
seen the Alleghany Portage and inclined planes for
nothing. It takes me to diminish the friction, and
save the wear and tear.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>So saying, he quietly tucked up his coat-tails,
and sitting down upon the mat, which he grasped
with both hands, gave himself a gentle impulse,
crying “All aboard!” and slid slowly but majestically
down. As he came to the plain sailing across
the pavement, he twanged forth “Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra-tra-a-a!”
in excellent imitation of the post-horn,
and brought up against Linkum. “Clear the
course for the express mail, or I’ll report you to the
department!” roared Brevis, trumpeting the
“alarum,” so well known to all who have seen a
tragedy—“Tra-tretra-ta-ra-tra-a-a!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“That’s queer fun, anyhow,” said a careful wayfarer,
turning the corner, with lantern in hand, and
sock on foot, who, after a short parley, was induced
to set the gentlemen on their pins. First planting
Brevis against the pump, who sang, “Let me lean
on thee,” from the Sonnambula, in prime style, he
undertook to lift up Linkum.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well,” observed the stranger, “this is a chap
without no end to him—he’d be pretty long a
drowning anyhow. If there was many more like
him in the gutters, it would be better to get a
windlass, and wind ’em up. I never seed a man
with so much slack. The corporation ought to
buy him, starch him up stiff, cut a hole for a clock
in his hat, and use him for a steeple; only Downing
wouldn’t like to trust himself on the top of such a
ricketty concern. Neighbour, shall I fetch the
Humane Society’s apparatus?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No—I ain’t drownded, only bumped severe.
The curbstones have touched my feelings. I’m all
over like a map—red, blue, and green.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Now,” said their friendly assistant, grinning at
the joke, and at the recompense he had received for
the job, “now, you two hook on to one another like
Siameses, and mosey. You’ve only got to tumble
one a top of t’other, and it won’t hurt. Tortle
off—it’s slick going—’specially if you’re going
down. Push ahead!” continued he, as he hitched
them together; and away they went, <span class='it'>a pair of
slippers</span>, arm in arm. Many were their tumbles
and many their mischances before they reached their
selected resting-place.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I can’t stand this,” said Linkum to his companion,
as they were slipping and falling; “but it’s
mostly owing to my being so tall. I wish I was
razee’d, and then it wouldn’t happen. The awning
posts almost knock the head off me; I’m always
tumbling over wheelbarrows, dogs, and children,
because, if I look down, I’m certain to knock my
noddle against something above. It’s a complete
nuisance to be so tall. Beds are too short; if you
go to a tea-fight, the people are always tumbling
over your trotters, and breaking their noses, which
is what young ladies ain’t partial to; and if you
tipple too much toddy of a slippery night—about as
easy a thing to do as you’d wish to try—you’re sure
to get a hyst a square long—just such a one as I’ve
had. If I’d thought of it, I could have said the
multiplication-table while I was going the figure.
Stumpy chaps, such as you, ain’t got no troubles in
this world.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“That’s all you know about it,” puffed Brevis, as
Linkum alternately jerked him from his feet, and
then caused him to slide in the opposite direction,
with his heels ploughing the ice, like a shaft-horse
holding back: “phew! That’s all you know about
it—stumpies have troubles.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I can’t borrow coats,” added Linkum, soliloquizing,
“because I don’t like cuffs at the elbows.
I can’t borrow pants, because it isn’t the fashion to
wear knee-breeches, and all my stockings are socks.
I can’t hide when anybody owes me a lambasting.
You can see me a mile. When I sit by the fire, I
can’t get near enough to warm my body, without
burning my knees; and in a stage-coach, there’s
no room between the benches, and the way you get
the cramp—don’t mention it.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know nothing about all these things;
but to imagine I was a tall chap—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Don’t try; you’ll hurt yourself, for it’s a
great stretch of imagination for a little feller to do
that.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>After which amicable colloquy, nothing more was
heard of them, except that, before retiring to rest,
they chuckled over the idea that the coming spring
would sweat the ice to death for the annoyance it
had caused them. But ever while they live, will
they remember “the night of hysts.”</p>
<div><h1 id='ch21'>XXI.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>A SWIM FOR A DEER.</span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Capting, the bar war <span class='it'>lower</span>, I tell <span class='it'>you</span>—why,
bless your soul, honey, they war not only
powerful thick, but some on ’em war as big as common-sized
horses, I <span class='it'>do</span> reckon; cause why, nobody
ever had hunted ’em, you see. In the winter time
the overflow, and in the summer time the lakes and
snakes, bayous and alligators, musketoes and gallinippers,
buffalo-gnats and sand-flies, with a small
sprinkle of the agur and a <span class='it'>perfect cord</span> of congestive,
prevented the Ingins from gwine through the
country! Oh no; the red skins would rather
hunt the fat turkey and deer in the Azoo hills and
pine lands t’other side of the Pearl river, to killin’
fat bar on the Creek or Sunflower.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, Jim, I think they were right; you must
then have been among the first hunters in the
country.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I <span class='it'>do</span> reckon when I first went into that
country, from the Azoo Hills to the Mississippi,
there never had been but <span class='it'>mighty few</span> hunters. Why
thar ar places thar now whar the deer ar tame as
sheep, and whar the bar don’t care for <span class='it'>nobody</span>!
Fact! ask Chunkey!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“That is very remarkable; what is the cause?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ’Cause they’ve never been hunted; no, Sir:
never hearn the crack of a rifle nor the yelp of a
dog; why thar ar more nor a hundred lakes and
brakes in them diggins, that hain’t never been
pressed by no mortal ’ceptin’ varmints. You know
more nor half the country is overflowed in the
winter, and t’other half, which is a darned sight the
biggest, is covered with cane, palmetto and other
fixins;—why it stands to reason, and in course no
man ever <span class='it'>had</span> hunted ’em.—Why, Sir, when I first
went to the Creek—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Let the Creek run, Jim; tell us about the
bear!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, Sir, the bar war <span class='it'>very</span> promiscuous indeed,
and some of the old hees war mighty mellifluous,
I tell <span class='it'>you</span>. I had no sens about bar <span class='it'>then</span>,
but thar warn’t no cabin or camp in the whole
settlement, and in course I soon larnt thar natur by
livin’ ’mongst ’em. A bar, Capting, an old <span class='it'>he</span> bar,
ain’t no candidate or other good-natured greenhorn
to stand gougin’ and treatin’. Oh no, <span class='it'>he</span> ain’t,
but he’s as ramstugenous an animal as a log-cabin
loafer in the dog days, jist about, and if a stranger
fools with him he’ll get sarved out in no time.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, let’s licker. A bar is a <span class='it'>consaity</span> animal,
but as far as his sens do go he’s about as smart as
any other animal; arter that, the balance is clear
fat and fool. I have lived ’mongst ’em, and know
ther natur. I have killed as many as seven in a
day, and <span class='it'>smartly</span> to the rise of sixty in a season.
Arter I’d been on the Creek about two months, <span class='it'>up</span>
comes the Governor <span class='it'>and</span> Chunkey; the Governor
’tended like he wanted to see how I come on with
the clearin’; but, Sir, he were arter a spree, and I
knoe’d it, or <span class='it'>why</span> did he bring Chunkey? Everything
looked <span class='it'>mighty</span> well; the negers looked fat
and slick as old Belcher in catfish season. I’d
done cut more nor two hundred acres of cane, and
had the rails on the ground. I’d done—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Come, Jim, keep the track!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, Capting, they war mighty savagerous
arter likker; they’d been fightin’ the stranger<a id='r13'/><a href='#f13' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[13]</span></sup></a>
mightly comin’ up, and war perfectly wolfish arter
some har of the dog, and I hadn’t a drop; so I
started two negers, with mules and jugs, to the
Pint (Princeton, Washington County), and the ox-team
arter a barrel. Well, Sir, the day arter, the
jugs come, and we <span class='it'>darted</span> on ’em” (giving a sigh),
“but lord, what war two jugs in <span class='it'>sich</span> a crowd?
They jist kept Chunkey from dyin’, as he was so
dry he had the rattles; next day the barrel come,
and then we <span class='it'>krack</span>-ovienned up to it in airnest.
You know what kind of man Chunkey is when he
gits started—if he commences talkin’, singin’, or
whistlin’, no matter which, you’d jist as well try
and stop the Mississippi as him. Why I’ve knoed
him to whistle three days and three nights on a
stretch—the Governor coulden’t eat nor drink for
Chunkey’s whistlin’, and at last he gits mad, and
that’s the last thing he does with anybody what
<span class='it'>he</span> likes, and, says he to Chunkey—</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Chunkey, you have kept me awake two nights
a-whistlin’, and you must stop it to-night, or <span class='it'>you</span> or
<span class='it'>me</span> must quit the plantation.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Chunkey said: ‘Governor, I don’t want to put
you to no trouble, but I <span class='it'>can’t</span> stop in the middle of
a chune, and as you have known the plantation
longer than me, I expect you can leave it with lest
trouble.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“The Governor jist roar’d, and gin Chunkey a
new gun and—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Stop, Jim, you have forgot the bear.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, whar was I, Capting?—oh, I remember
now! Well, when the barrel come we <span class='it'>did</span> lumber;
Chunkey he soon commenced singin’. We went on
that way nigh a week, and then cooled off. One
mornin’, I and Chunkey had gone down to the
creek to git a bait of water, and I knoed the bar
would be thar, as it war waterin’ time with them.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, Jim, have they a particular time to
water?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“In course they has; they come to water at a
certain place, and jist as reglar as a parson to his
eatin’; every bar has his waterin’ place, and he
comes and goes in the same path and <span class='it'>in the same
foot-tracks</span> always, until he moves his settlement:
and jist you break a cane, or limb, or move a chunk
or stick near his trail, and see how quick he’ll move
his cabin! Oh yes, a bar is mighty particlar about
sich things—that’s his <span class='it'>sens</span>—that’s his <span class='it'>trap</span> to find
out if you are in his settlement. Why, Capting, I
have watched ’em—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Jim, you have left yourself and Chunkey on the
bank of the creek, ‘a-waterin’.’ Are you going to
stay there?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, we set down on the bank and took our
stand opposite the <span class='it'>biggest kind</span> of sign, and sure
enough, presently <span class='it'>down</span> he come; a bar don’t lap
water like a dog; no, they sucks it like a hog. You
jist ought to see him rais his nose and smell the
wind. Well, he seed us, and with that he <span class='it'>ris</span>!
He war a whopper, I <span class='it'>tell you</span>! He looked like a
big burn, and he throw’d them arms about awful,
honey. It war about one hundred and twenty
yards to him, but I knoed he were <span class='it'>my</span> meat without
an accident, so I let drive, and he took the
creek—then out he went, and scampered up the
bank <span class='it'>mighty quick</span>, and then sich a ratlin’ among
cane, sich a growlin’ and snortin’, sich a breakin’
of saplins and vines, I reckon you never <span class='it'>did</span> hear;
I knoed, in course, I had him. I throwed a log in
and paddled across—found his trail, and lots of
har and fat, but no blood!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“That was very strange, Jim; how did you account
for that?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why he were too fat to bleed! Oh, you
think I am foolin’ you, but you ask Chunkey. It
is frequently the case. I follered his trail about a
quarter and a half a quarter, and <span class='it'>thar</span> he lay; so I
jist hollered to Chunkey to git two negers and a
yoke of steers to take him to the house. How
much do you reckon he weighed?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I have no idea, Jim.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Now, Sir, he weighed, without head, skin, or
entrails, four hundred and ninety-three pounds, and
his head sixty pounds! You don’t believe me!
Well, just ask Chunkey if I haint killed ’em
smartly over seven hundred pounds! Killin’ him
sorter got my blood up, and I determined to have
another. Chunkey had been jerkin’ it to the
licker gourd mighty smart, and was jest right.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Chunkey,’ says I, ‘let’s gin it to another!’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Good as ——,’ says Chunkey. ‘Who cars
for expenses? a hundred-dollar bill ain’t no more in
my pocket nor a cord of wood!’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“With that we started down to the Bend;
we haddent been thar long when <span class='it'>in</span> comes an
old buck; he was a smasher, and one horn
were broke off. I telled Chunkey now’s his
time, as I skorn’d to toch him arter killin’ a bar.
Chunkey lathered away, and <span class='it'>ca chunk!</span> he went
into the creek; he then gin him a turn with t’other
barrel; the buck wabbled about a time or two and
sunk, jist at the head of the little raft at the lower
end of the clearin’. I know’d he’d lodged agin the
drift, and determined to have him, and if you’ll
believe me, I’d been workin’ at the gourd since I’d
killed the bar. I pulled off my coat and jest
throwed myself in; I swimd out to the place and
<span class='it'>div</span>—you know the current are might rapid thar.
Well, I found him, yes, —— if I diddent. But,
Moses! warn’t I in a tight place <span class='it'>that</span> time? Well,
I reckon I were. I’d been willin’ to fite the biggest
<span class='it'>he</span> on the creek, and gin him the first bite, to have
been out!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, Jim, what was the matter?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Arter I’d got in, I couldent get out—<span class='it'>that</span> was
the matter! You see the drift were a homogification
of old cyprus logs, vines, and drift-wood of
evry description, for nigh three hundred yards long,
and the creek runs under thar like it was arter
somebody; the trees and vines, and prognostics of
all sorts, ar sorter nit together like a sock, and you
couldent begin to get through ’em. Well, Capting,
I thought my time had come, and I knowed it war
for killin’ that cub what I telled you about. And,
sir, it would have come if it haddent been for the
sorritude I felt arterwards. You see, the young
cub was standin’ in the corner of the fence
eatin’ roastin’ ears, and I was goin’ to the——”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But, Jim, you have told that once, and I don’t
want to hear it again.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, I tried to rise, but I’d as well tried to rise
down’ard. I then tried to swim up ’bove the raft,
but I found from the way the logs and vines ware
tearin’ the extras off me, that I were goin’ further
under, and I was gettin’ out of wind very fast. I
knowed thar was but one chance, and that was
<span class='it'>to go clean through</span>! So I busted loose and set my
paddles to goin’ mightily; presently my head
bumped agin the drift! I div agin, and kept my
paddles a lumberin’! Chunk! my head went agin
a log, and then I knowed the thing were <span class='it'>irrefrangably
out</span>—but I div agin, still workin’ on my oars
smartly, until I hung agin!</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Good bye, Chunkey!—farewell, Governor,’
says I.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But, Capting, I were all the time tryin’ to do
<span class='it'>something</span>. Things had begun to look speckled
green, and then <span class='it'>omniferous</span>; but findin’ I were not
gone yet, by the way I were kickin’ and pawin’, and
knowin’ I were goin’ <span class='it'>somewhere</span>, and expectin’ to
the devil, there ain’t <span class='it'>no</span> tellin’ how long or powerful
I <span class='it'>did</span> work! The fust thing I recollect arter that,
was gittin’ a mouthful of wind! <span class='it'>Fact!</span> I’d done,
gone clean through, and were hangin’ on to a tree
below the raft! But, Sir, I were <span class='it'>mighty</span> weak, and
couldent tell a stump from an old he, and ’spected
smartly for some time that I were in the yother
world, and commenced an excuse for comin’ so
onexpectedly! However, presently I got sorter
right, and when I found I were safe, I reckon you
never <span class='it'>did</span> see a man feel so <span class='it'>unanimous</span> in your life,
and I made the water fly for joy.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, Jim, what had become of Chunkey? He
did not leave you?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, —— if he diddent? He’d commenced
gittin’ dry afore he shot the deer; and when
Chunkey wants a drink, if his daddy was drounin’,
Chunkey would go to the licker gourd afore he’d
go to his daddy. I went to the house, and <span class='it'>thar</span> he
was settin’ at the table, jist a rattlin’ his teeth agin
the bar’s ribs; he held a tin cup in one hand ’bout
half full of licker; his head were sorter throwd
back; he was breathin’ sorter hard, his eye set on
the Governor, humpin’ himself on politics.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Down with the specie kurrency,’ says Chunkey;
’it ain’t no account, and I’m agin it. When we
had good times, I drank five-dollar-a-gallon brandy,
and had pockets full of money.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘But,’ says the Governor, ‘you bought the
brandy on a credit, and never paid for it!’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘What’s the difference?’ asks Chunkey. ‘Them
what I bought it from never paid for it; they
bought it on a credit from them fureigners, and
never paid for it, and them fureigners, you say, are
a pack of scoundrels, and I go in for ruinin’ ’em, so
far as good licker is concarned.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘You are drunk,’ says the Governor, and
then——but, Capting, you look sleepy; let’s licker,
and go to bed.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, I am not sleepy, Jim.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, then, I’ll tell you how I sarved Chunkey
for leavin’ me under the raft. Moses! diddent I
pay him back! Did I ever tell you ’bout takin’
Chunkey out on Sky Lake, makin’ him drunk,
takin’ his gun and knife away from him, and a puttin’
him to sleep in a panter’s nest?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, you never did; but was you not apprehensive
they would kill him?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Kill him! No! If they’d commenced bitin’
Chunkey, they’d have been looed, as that’s a game
Chunkey <span class='it'>invented</span>! But here he comes; and if you
mention it afore him, it puts the dander in him.
Let’s licker.”</p>
<hr class='footnotemark'/>
<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_13'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f13'><a href='#r13'>[13]</a></div>
</td><td>
<p class='pindent'>A barrel of whiskey is called a “stranger,” from the fact
that It is brought from a distance, there being none made in the
country.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<div><h1 id='ch22'>XXII.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>DILLY JONES; OR, THE PROGRESS OF<br/> IMPROVEMENT.<a id='r14'/><a href='#f14' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[14]</span></sup></a></span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>One of the most difficult things in the world is
to run before the wind; and, by judiciously
observing the changes of the weather, to avoid being
thrown out. Fashion is so unsteady, and improvements
are so rapid, that the man whose vocation
yields him an abundant harvest now, may, in a few
years, if he has not a keen eye, and a plastic
versatility, find that his skill and his business are
both useless. Many were the poor barbers ship-wrecked
by the tax upon hair-powder, and numerous
were the leather breeches’ makers who were destroyed
by the triumph of woollens. Their skill
was doubtless very great, but it would not avail
in a contest against the usages of the world; and
unless they had the capacity to strike out a new
course, they all shared the fate of their commodities,
and retired to the dark cellars of popular estimation.
Every day shows us the same principle of change at
work, and no one has more reason to reflect and
mourn about it than one Dilly Jones of this city.
Dilly is not, perhaps, precisely the person who
would be chronicled by the memoir writers of the
time, or have a monument erected to him if he were
no more; but Dilly is a man of a useful though
humble vocation, and no one can saw hickory with
more classic elegance, or sit upon the curbstone and
take his dinner with more picturesque effect.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Yet, as has been hinted above, Dilly has his
sorrows, particularly at night, after a hard day’s
work, when his animal spirits have been exhausted
by reducing gum logs to the proper measure. In
the morning he is full of life and energy, feeling as
if he could saw a cord of Shot-towers, and snap the
pillars of the Bank across his knee like pipe-stems.
In the full flush of confidence at that time of day,
reflection batters against him in vain; but as the
night draws on, Dilly feels exhausted and spiritless.
His enthusiasm seems to disappear with the sun,
and neither the moon nor the stars can cause high
tide in the river of his mind. The current of his
good spirits shrinks in its channel, leaving the gay
and gorgeous barques of hope and confidence
drearily ashore on the muddy flats; and his heart
fails him as if it were useless longer to struggle
against adversity.</p>
<p class='pindent'>It was in this mood that he was once seen
travelling homeward, with his horse and saw fixed
scientifically upon his shoulders. He meandered in
his path in the way peculiar to men of his vocation,
and travelled with that curvilinear elegance which
at once indicates that he who practises it is of the
wood-sawing profession, and illustrates the lopsided
consequences of giving one leg more to do than the
other. But Dilly was too melancholy on this
occasion to feel proud of his professional air, and
perhaps, had he thought of it, would have reproved
the leg which performed the “sweep of sixty,” for
indulging in such graces, and thereby embarrassing
its more humble brother, which, knowing that a
right line is the shortest distance between two
places, laboured to go straight to its destination.
Dilly, however, had no such stuff in his thoughts.
His mind was reasoning from the past to the future,
and was mournfully meditating upon the difficulties
of keeping up with the changes of the times, which
roll onward like a Juggernaut, and crush all who
are not swift enough to maintain themselves in the
lead. He wondered why fashions and customs
should so continually change, and repined that he
could not put a spoke in their wheel, that the trade
of one’s early days might likewise be the trade of
one’s latter years. So complete was his abstraction
that he unconsciously uttered his thoughts
aloud:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Sawing wood’s going all to smash,” said he,
“and that’s where everything goes what I speculates
in. This here coal is doing us up. Ever since
these black stones was brought to town, the woodsawyers
and pilers, and them soap-fat and hickory-ashes
men, has been going down; and, for my part,
I can’t say as how I see what’s to be the end of all
their new-fangled contraptions. But it’s always
so; I’m always crawling out of the little end of the
horn. I began life in a comfortable sort of a way;
selling oysters out of a wheelbarrow, all clear grit,
and didn’t owe nobody nothing. Oysters went
down slick enough for a while, but at last cellars
was invented, and darn the oyster, no matter how
nice it was pickled, could poor Dill sell; so I had to
eat up capital and profits myself. Then the ‘pepree
pot smoking’ was sot up, and went ahead pretty
considerable for a time; but a parcel of fellers come
into it, said my cats wasn’t as good as their’n, when
I know’d they was as fresh as any cats in the
market; and pepree pot was no go. Bean soup
was just as bad; people said kittens wasn’t good
done that way, and the more I hollered, the more
the customers wouldn’t come, and them what did,
wanted tick. Along with the boys and their pewter
fips, them what got trust and didn’t pay, and the
abusing of my goods, I was soon fotch’d up in the
victualling line—and I busted for the benefit of
my creditors. But genius riz. I made a raise
of a horse and saw, after being a wood-piler’s
’prentice for a while, and working till I was free,
and now here comes the coal to knock this business
in the head. My people’s decent people, and I
can’t disgrace ’em by turning Charcoal Jemmy, or
smashing the black stones with a pickaxe. They
wouldn’t let me into no society at all if I
did.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The idea of being excluded from the upper circles
of the society in which he had been in the habit of
moving, fell heavily upon the heart of poor Dilly
Jones. He imagined the curled lips and scornful
glances of the aristocratic fair, who now listened
with gratification to his compliments and to his soft
nonsense; he saw himself passed unrecognised in
the street—absolutely cut by his present familiar
friends, and the thought of losing caste almost
crushed his already dejected spirit.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The workings of his imagination, combined with
the fatigue of his limbs, caused such exhaustion,
that, dislodging his horse from his shoulder, he
converted it into a camp-stool, seated himself under
the lee of a shop window, and, after slinging his
saw petulantly at a dog, gazed with vacant eyes
upon the people who occasionally passed, and
glanced at him with curiosity.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Hey, Mister!” said a shop-boy, at last, “I
want to get shut of you, ’cause we’re goin’ to shet
up. You’re right in the way, and if you don’t
boom along, why Ben and me will have to play
hysence, clearance, puddin’s out with you afore
you’ve time to chalk your knuckles—won’t we,
Ben?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“We’ll plump him off of baste before he can say
fliance, or get a sneak. We’re knuckle dabsters,
both on us. You’d better emigrate—the old man’s
coming, and if he finds you here, he’ll play the
mischief with you, before you can sing out, ‘I’m
up if you knock it and ketch.’ ”</p>
<p class='pindent'>So saying, the two lads placed themselves one on
each side of Dilly, and began swinging their arms
with an expression that hinted very plainly at a
forcible ejectment. Dilly, however, who had forgotten
all that he ever knew of the phrases so
familiar to those who scientifically understand the
profound game of marbles, wore the puzzled air of
one who labours to comprehend what is said to
him. But the meaning became so apparent as not
to be mistaken, when Ben gave a sudden pull at the
horse, which almost dismounted the rider.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Don’t be so unfeelin’,” ejaculated Dilly, as he
clutched the cross-bars of his seat; “don’t be
unfeelin’, for a man in grief is like a wood-piler
in a cellar—mind how you chuck, or you’ll crack
his calabash.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Take care of your calabash, then,” was the
grinning response; “you must skeete, even if you
have to cut high-dutchers with your irons loose,
and that’s no fun.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“High-dutch yourself, if you know how; only
go ’way from me, ’cause I ain’t got no time.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well,” said the boys, “haven’t we caught you
on our payment?—what do you mean by crying
here—what do you foller when you’re at home?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I works in wood; that’s what I foller.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You’re a carpenter, I s’pose,” said Ben, winking
at Tom.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, not exactly; but I saws wood better nor
any half-dozen loafs about the drawbridge. If it
wasn’t for grief, I’d give both of you six, and beat
you, too, the best day you ever saw, goin’ the rale
gum and hickory—for I don’t believe you’re gentlemen’s
sons; nothin’ but poor trash—half-and-half—want
to be and can’t, or you wouldn’t keep
a troubling of me.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Gauley, Ben, if he isn’t a wharf-rat! If you
don’t trot, as I’ve told you a’ready, boss will be
down upon you, and fetch you up like a catty on a
cork-line—jerk!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“That’s enough,” replied Dilly; “there’s more
places nor one in the world—at least there is yet;
new fashions haven’t shut up the streets yet, and
obligated people to hire hackney balloons if they
want to go a-walkin’, or omnibus boardin’-houses
when they want a fip’s worth of dinner, or a levy’s-worth
of sleep. Natural legs is got some chance
for a while, anyhow, and a man can get along if he
ain’t got clock-vurks to make him go.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I hope, bimeby,” added Dill, scornfully, as he
marched away from the chuckling lads, “that there
won’t be no boys to plague people. I’d vote for
that new fashion myself. Boys is luisances, accordin’
to me.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>He continued to soliloquize as he went, and his
last observations were as follows:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I wonder if they wouldn’t list me for a Charley?
Hollering oysters and bean-soup has guv’
me a splendid woice; and instead of skeering ’em
away, if the thieves were to hear me singing out,
my style of doing it would almost coax ’em to come
and be took up. They’d feel like a bird when a
snake is after it, and would walk up, and poke their
coat-collars right into my fist. Then, after a while,
I’d perhaps be promoted to the fancy business of
pig-ketching, which, though it is werry light and
werry elegant, requires genus. Tisn’t every man
that can come the scientifics in that line, and has
studied the nature of a pig, so as to beat him at
canœuvering, and make him surrender ’cause he
sees it ain’t no use of doing nothing. It wants
larning to conwince them critters, and it’s only
to be done by heading ’em up handsome, hopping
which ever way they hop, and tripping ’em up
genteel by shaking hands with their off-hind leg.
I’d scorn to pull their tails out by the roots, or
to hurt their feelin’s by dragging ’em about by the
ears.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But what’s the use? If I was listed, they’d
soon find out to holler the hour and to ketch the
thieves by steam; yes, and they’d take ’em to court
on a railroad, and try ’em with biling water. They’ll
soon have black locomotives for watchmen and constables,
and big bilers for judges and mayors. Pigs
will be ketched by steam, and will be biled fit to
eat before they are done squealing. By and by,
folks won’t be of no use at all. There won’t be no
people in the world but tea-kettles; no mouths, but
safety-valves; and no talking, but blowing off steam.
If I had a little biler inside of me, I’d turn omnibus,
and week-days I’d run from Kensington to the
Navy Yard, and Sundays I’d run to Fairmount.”</p>
<hr class='footnotemark'/>
<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_14'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f14'><a href='#r14'>[14]</a></div>
</td><td>
<p class='pindent'>By J. C. Neal.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<div><h1 id='ch23'>XXIII.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>LANTY OLIPHANT IN COURT.</span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>Lawyers allege that there are four classes of
witnesses: those who prove too much, those who
prove too little, those of a totally negative character,
and those of no character at all, who will prove
anything. We have a case in point.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Far, very far away from the tall Blue Mountains,
at a little place called Lodom, there were upon a
time three neighbours called in, as arbitrators, to
settle a point relative to some stolen chickens, in
dispute between one Lot Corson, and a “hard case”
called Emanuel Allen, better known thereabouts as
King of the Marsh.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Mister Constable,” said one of the semi-judicials,
“now call the principal witness.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Lanty Oliphant! Lanty Oliph-ant!” bawled
Dogberry; “Mosey in, and be sworn!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>In obedience to this summons, little Lanty,
whose bottle had usurped the place in his affections
commonly assigned to soap and water, waddled up,
and was qualified, deprecating, by a look, the
necessity of such a useless ceremony among gentlemen.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Mister Oliphant, you are now swore. Do you
know the value of an oath?” asked the senior of the
board.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Doesn’t I?” rejoined Lanty, with a wink at
a bystander. “Four bushel of weight wheat, the
old score wiped off, and licker for the hul day
throw’d in.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>This matter-of-fact answer met a severe frown
from the man with the red ribbon round his hat.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, Mister Oliphant,” continued the senior,
“tell all you know about this here case.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Lanty here testified:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Feelin’ a sort of outish t’other day,” ses I to the
old woman, ses I, ‘I’ll jist walk over to Lot’s, and
take a nipper or two this mornin’,’ ses I. ‘It’ll
take the wind off my stomach sorter,’ ses I. Then
the old woman’s feathers riz, they did, like a porky-pine’s
bristles, and ses she:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Lanty,’ says she, ‘if you’d on’y airn more
bread and meat, and drink less whisky, you wouldn’t
have wind on your stomach.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Suse,’ ses I, ‘this is one of my resarved rights,
and I goes agin home industry,’ ses I, sort o’ laugh-in’
out o’ the wrong side o’ my mouth.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Resarved rights or desarved wrongs,’ ses her,
‘you’r always a drinkin’ and talkin’ politics when
you orter be at work, and there’s never nothin’ to
eat in the house.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, as I was a-goin’ over to Lot’s, jist fernent
where the fence <span class='it'>was</span>, ses I to myself, ses I: ‘If
there isn’t the old King’s critters in my corn-field,
so I’ll jist go and tell him on’t.’ When I
gets there, ‘Good mornin’, Lanty,’ ses he.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Good mornin’, old hoss,’ ses I; and when I
went in, there was a pot on the fire a-cookin’, with
a <span class='it'>great big speckled rooster</span> in it.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Mister Oliphant!” here interposed one of the
arbitrators, “remember that you are on oath. How
do you know that the chicken in the pot was ‘a big
speckled rooster?’ ”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ’Kase I <span class='it'>seed the feathers at the woodpile</span>!”
promptly responded Lanty, who then continued:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, when I gits to Lot’s, ‘Good mornin’, Lot,’
ses I.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Good mornin’, Lanty,’ ses he. ‘You didn’t
see nothin’ nowhere of nar’ a big speckled rooster
that didn’t belong to nobody, did you?’ ses he.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Didn’t I?’ ses I.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Come, Lanty,’ ses he, ‘let’s take a nipper,’
ses he; and then I up and tells him all about
it.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Had Mr. Allen no chickens of his own?” asked
the senior.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Sartin’,” rejoined Lanty; “but there warn’t
a rooster in the crowd. They was <span class='it'>all layin’
hens</span>!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well,” inquired another of the referees, “how
many of these hens had Mr. Allen?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>This question fairly “stump’d” Lanty for a moment,
but he quickly answered:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, with what was there, and what wasn’t
there, counting little and big, spring chickens and
all, <span class='it'>there was forty odd, exactly</span>!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>No further questions were put to this witness.</p>
<div><h1 id='ch24'>XXIV.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>OLD SINGLETIRE.<a id='r15'/><a href='#f15' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[15]</span></sup></a><br/> <span style='font-size:smaller'>THE MAN THAT WAS NOT ANNEXED.</span></span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>A good story is told of this bold frontiersman,
who had made himself notorious, and given his
character the <span class='it'>bend sinister</span>, by frequent depredations
on both sides the boundary line between Texas and
the United States. The old fellow had migrated
thither from parts unknown, years since, knew
every foot of country for fifty miles on either side
in his vicinity, and had communication by runners
with many “<span class='it'>birds of the same feather</span>,” then common
in the region.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The old fellow saw, with sorrow and regret, the
rapid influx of population within the last ten years,
and was compelled gradually to narrow his sphere
of <span class='it'>usefulness</span>; for, said he:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“People’s a gittin’ too thick about me—tha and
their varmints and critters is fillin’ up the woods
and spilin’ the huntin’—and then tha ain’t no
chance for a fellar to <span class='it'>speculate</span> upon travellers as
tha used to be when tha wan’t anybody to watch a
fellar. Why, tha is getten to be so <span class='it'>civylizated</span> that
a fellar can’t drink a barrel of double-rectified ’thout
havin’ ’em all abusin’ him about it—and then ef he
do as happen jist by accident to drap half an ounce
of lead into a feller, why tha is all up in arms about
it. Now t’other day, when I wanted to mark Joe
Sliteses’ ears like tha marks their hogs, ’case he
called me a vill-<span class='it'>yan</span>, they wanted to <span class='it'>jewdicate</span> me
afore the court. But, ’cuse ’em for a set of fools,
they ain’t a-gwoin’ to fool ‘Old Singletire,’ ef he is
a-gitten old, and ain’t as quick on the trigger as he
used to was.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Dang their skins, I don’t care ef tha <span class='it'>does</span>
annexate Texas! I’ll show ’em somethin’—tho’
tha thinks tha is got me slick when tha git the two
countries wedged up into one—but I’ll fix ’em;
I’ll quit, and go to Arkansaw, whar a decent
white man kin live ’thout bein’ pestered, and ’bused
and <span class='it'>jewdicated</span>!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Old Single,” as he was called, <span class='it'>for short</span>, had
several years previous to the late discussion of the
annexation question, with singular ’cuteness ascertained
the precise line dividing the two territories,
and built his cabin thereon in such a position, that,
when lying down, <span class='it'>he slept, one half in the United
States, and the other half in Texas</span>, for he lay at
right angles with the line.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The authorities of both sides had frequently
found him in that position, but as their separate
claims lay severally on the <span class='it'>entire</span> individual, they
were not content to arrest <span class='it'>one half of him</span> at a time.
A great deal of courtesy was at times exhibited by
the officers, each pressing the other to break the
forms of international law by pulling Old Single
bodily over either side of the line. Each was up to
trap, and feared the other wished to trick him, and
declined the effort which might cause a rupture
between Texas and the Union.</p>
<p class='pindent'>On one occasion they were exceedingly pressing
on the subject, at first politely so, then teasing each
other, and then daring by taunt, and jeer, and jibe,
until they worked themselves into such furious excitement,
that “Old Single,” their pretended victim,
had to command and preserve the peace.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Gentle-<span class='it'>men</span>,” said he, “you may fun, and fret,
and quarrel jist as much as you please in my house—but
when tha is any lickin’ to be done ’bout these
diggins, why “Old Single” is <span class='it'>thar sure</span>!—so look
out boys, ef you strikes you <span class='it'>dies</span>. Show your sense,
make friends, and let’s <span class='it'>liker</span>. You,” nodding to
one, “hand me a gourd of water; and You,” to
another, “pass that bottle, and I’ll drink to your
better ’quaintance.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The day passed, “Old Single” crosses the line,
and one of the <span class='it'>beauties</span> on each side his cot, all
going it like forty at twenty-deck poker—a sociable
game, as Sol. Smith says—and, as remarked
our informant, “the old man was a perfect <span class='it'>Cumanche
horse</span> at any game whar tha was <span class='it'>curds</span>.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>For the last three months “Old Single” had been
mightily distressed—“<span class='it'>mighty oneasy ’bout annexation</span>”—for
he knew he would be compelled to
travel. Well, the news of the action of Texas on
this great question was received in “Old Single’s”
vicinity on the 29th of June—the day it reached
Fort Jessup.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Next morning “the boys” from Boston and De
Kalb—a couple of border villages—after a glory
gathering about annexation, determined to storm
“Old Single,” and “<span class='it'>rout</span>” him. They accordingly,
<span class='it'>en masse à-la-regulator</span>, started off for his cabin,
and on arriving near it, a consultation was held,
and it was determined that bloodshed was useless—as
it was certain to occur if violence was resorted
to—and that a flag of truce should be sent into the
fortress, offering terms.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The old man was found in a gloomy mood, with
a pack strapped to his back, in woodsman style.
“Old <span class='it'>Centresplit</span>,” his friend of thirty years’ standing,
his rifle, his favourite, his all, was laid across
his knees, and he in deep thought, his eyes resting
on vacancy. As the delegation entered, he
looked up:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, boys, the time is <span class='it'>cum</span>, and Texas and you
is annixated; <span class='it'>but I ain’t</span>, and I <span class='it'>ain’t a gwoin’ to be
nuther!—so take care how you raise my dander;
I can shoot sum yet!</span>”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The party explained, and it was agreed the old
fellow should take up the march <span class='it'>upon the line</span> for
the nearest point on Red River, the party escorting
him at twenty paces distant on either side—that the
last mile should be run—that if he struck the water’s
edge first, he should go free—if otherwise, he was
to be taken and rendered up a victim to the offended
dignity of the laws.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Agreed</span>,” said Old Single, “it’s a bargain.
Boys, tha is a <span class='it'>gallon</span> in that barrel, let’s finish it in
a friendly way, and then travel.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The thing was done, the travel accomplished, and
the race, fast and furious, was being done. The
old fellow led the crowd, hallooing at his topmost
voice as he gained the river:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Hoopee!—Hurrah!—<span class='it'>I ain’t annixated!—I’m
off—I ain’t no whar—nuther in the States nor
Texas</span>, <span class='sc'>but in Arkansaw</span>!” swam to the opposite
shore, fired a volley, gave three cheers, and retired
victorious.</p>
<hr class='footnotemark'/>
<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_15'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f15'><a href='#r15'>[15]</a></div>
</td><td>
<p class='pindent'>By the late Robert Patterson.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<div><h1 id='ch25'>XXV.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>MAJOR JONES’S COURTSHIP.</span></h1></div>
<hr class='tbk101'/>
<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:.8em;'>LETTER I.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;font-size:.8em;'>Pineville, May 28th, 1842.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:left;margin-left:4em;'>Dear Sir,</p>
<p class='pindent'>Ever sense you was down to Pineville, it’s been
on my mind to rite you a letter, but the boys lowed
I’d better not, ’cause you mought take me off ’bout
my spellin’ and dictionary. But something happened
to me t’other night, so monstrous provokin’,
that I can’t help tellin’ you about it. It all came
of snuffing ashes over a soft wood fire, and I reckon
I’ve wished there was no sich plaguy stuff, as soft
wood, more’n five hundred times sense it happened.
You know the Stallinses lives on the plantation in
the summer, and goes to town in the winter. Well,
Miss Mary Stallins, who you know is the darlinest
gal in the county, came home t’other day to see her
folks. You know she’s been to the Female College,
down to Macon, for most a year now. Before she
went, she used to be as plain as an old shoe, and
used to go fishin’ and huckelberryin’ with us, with
nothin’ but a calico sun-bonnet on, and was the
wildest thing you ever saw. Well, I always used to
have a sort of sneakin’ notion of Mary Stallins, and
so when she come, I brushed up, and was ’termined
to have a rite serious talk with her ’bout old
matters; not knowin’ but she might be captivated
by some of them Macon fellers.</p>
<p class='pindent'>So, sure enough, off I started, unbeknowin’ to anybody,
and rode rite over to the plantation, (you know
ours is rite jinin’ the widder Stallinses.) Well,
when I got thar, I felt a little sort of sheepish; but
I soon got over that, when Miss Carline said, (but
she didn’t mean me to hear her)—</p>
<p class='pindent'>“There Pinny, (that’s Miss Mary’s nick-name,
you know,) there’s your bo come.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Miss Mary looked mighty sort o’ redish when I
shuck her hand and told her howdy; and she made
a sort of a stoop over and a dodge back, like the
little gals does to the school-marm, and said:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Good evenin’, Mr. Jones,” (she used to always
call me jest Joe.)</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Take a chair, Joseph,” said Miss Carline; and
we sot down in the parlor, and I begun talkin’ to
Miss Mary ’bout Macon, and the long ride she had,
and the bad roads, and the monstrous hot weather,
and the like.</p>
<p class='pindent'>She didn’t say much, but was in a mighty good
humor and laughed a heap. I told her, I never seed
sich a change in anybody. Nor I never did. Why
she didn’t look like the same gal—good gracious!
she looked so nice and trim, with her hair all komed
down long side of her face, so slick and shiny as a
mahogany burow. When she laughed she didn’t
open her mouth like she used to; and she set up
strait and still in her chair, and looked so different,
but so monstrous pretty! I ax’d her a heap of
questions, ’bout how she liked Macon, and the
Female College, and so forth; and she told me a
heap ’bout ’em. But old Miss Stallins and Miss
Carline and Miss Kesiah, and all of ’em, kep all the
time interruptin’ us, axin’ ’bout mother; if she was
well, and if she was gwine to the Spring church next
Sunday, and what luck she had with her crap, and
all sich stuff, and I do believe I told the old women
more’n twenty times that mother’s old turkey hen
was settin’ on fourteen eggs.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Well, I wasn’t to be backed out that-a-way—so I
kept it a goin’ the best I could, ’til bimeby old Miss
Stallins let her knittin’ fall three or four times, and
then begun to nod and snap back like a fishin’-pole
that was all the time gitin’ bites. I seed the galls
lookin’ at one another, and pinchin’ one another’s
elbows, and Miss Mary said, she wondered what
time it was, and said the college disciplines, or
somethin’ like that, didn’t ’low late hours. I seed
how the game was gwine—but howsumever, I kep
talkin’ to her like a cotton gin in packin’ time, as
hard as I could clip it, ’til bimeby the old lady went to
bed, and arter a bit the gals all cleared, and left Miss
Mary to herself. That was jest the thing I wanted.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, she sot on one side of the fire-place, and
I sot on t’other, snuffin’ ashes, war there was
nothin’ but a lighted chunk burnin’ to give light.
Well, we talked, and I know you would like to hear
all we talked about, but that would be too long.
When I’m very interested in anything, or git
bothered ’bout anything, I always leans forred and
pokes the fire, if there be any. Well, we sot thar
and talked, ’bout everything a’most. I axed her
if she had any bos down to Macon.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, and then she went on and
named over Matthew Matin, Nat Filosophy, and a
whole heap of fellers with foreign, outlandish
names, that she’d been kepin’ company with ’most
all her time.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Well,’ says I, ‘I s’pose they’re ’mazin’ poplar
with you, ain’t they, Miss Mary?’ for I felt
mighty oneasy, and dug away at the fire like
anything.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Yes,’ ses she, ‘they’re the most interestin’
companions I ever had, and I am anxious to resume
their pleasant society.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I tell you what, that sort o’ stumped me, and
I poked up the fire and made it ‘flicker and flare’
like the mischief; it was a good thing it did, for I
blushed as blue as a Ginny squash.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Then I s’pose you’r gwine to forget old
acquaintances,’ ses I, ‘sense you’s been to Macon,
’mong them lawyers and doctors; is you, Miss
Mary? You thinks more of them than you does
of anybody else, I s’pose?’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Oh!’ ses she, ‘I’m devoted to them—I think
of them day and night!’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“That was too much—it shot me right up, and
I sot as still as could be for more’n a minute. I
never felt so warm behind the ears afore in all my
life. Thunder! how my blood did bile up all over
me, and I felt like I could knock Matthew Matin
into a squash if he’d only been thar. Miss Mary
sot with her handkerchief up to her face, and I
looked rite into the fire-place. The blue blazes
was runnin’ round over the chunk, ketchin’ hold
here and lettin’ go thar, sometimes gwine ’most out,
and then blazin’ up a little. I couldn’t speak—and
was makin’ up my mind for tellin’ her the
siteation of my heart, when I gave the soft wood
chunk a desperate poke, and slap it went right
over, and out it went spang!</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I swar I never did feel so in all my born days.
I didn’t know what to do.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘My Lord, Miss Mary,’ ses I, ‘I didn’t go to
do it; jest tell me the way to the kitchen, and I’ll
go and git a light.’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But she never said nothin’, so I sot down agin,
thinkin’ she’d gone to git one herself, for it was
pitch dark, and I couldn’t see my hand afore my
face.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, I sot thar and ruminated, and waited a
long time, but she didn’t come, so I begun to
think maybe she wasn’t gone. I couldn’t hear
nothin’, nor I couldn’t see nothin’; so bimeby ses
I, very low, for I didn’t want to wake up the
family, ses I:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Miss Mary! Miss Mary!’ but nobody answered.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Thinks I, what’s to be done? I tryed
agin.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Miss Mary! Miss Mary!’ ses I, but it was
no use.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Then I heard the gals snickerin’ and laughin’
in the next room, and I begun to see how it was;
Miss Mary was gone, and left me thar alone.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Whar’s my hat?’ ses I, pretty loud, so
somebody might tell me; but they only laughed
worse.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I begun to feel about the room, and the fust
thing I knew, spang! goes my head agin a dore
that was standin’ open. The fire flew, and I
couldn’t help but swar a little.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Drot the dore,’ ses I, ‘whar’s my hat?’</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But nobody said nothin’, so I begun to think
it war best to git out the best way I could, and
never mind my hat. Well, I got through the
parlor dor, after rakin’ my shins three or four
times agin the chairs, and was falin’ along through
the entry for the frunt dore; but somehow I was
so flustrated that I tuk the rong way, and bimeby,
kerslash I went, rite over Miss Stallinses spinnin’-wheel
onto the floor! I hurt myself a good deal;
but that didn’t make me half so mad as to hear
then confounded gals a gigglin’ and laughin’ at
me.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh!” said one of them, (it was Mis Kesiak,
for I knowed her voice) “there goes mother’s wheel!
My Lord!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>I tried to set the thing up, but it seemed to
have more’n twenty legs, and wouldn’t stand up
nohow—maybe it was broke. I went out of the
dore, but I hadn’t got down the steps, when bow!
wow! wow! comes four or five infurnal grate big
coon-dogs rite at me.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Git out! git out! hellow Cato! call off your
dogs,” ses I, as loud as I could.</p>
<p class='pindent'>But Cato was sound asleep, and if I hadn’t
a run back into the hall, and got out of the
frunt way as quick as I could, them devils would
o’ chawed my bones for true.</p>
<p class='pindent'>When I got to my horse, I felt like a feller
just out of a hornet’s nest; and I reckon I went
home a little of the quickest. Next mornin’ old
Miss Stallins sent my hat by a little nigger; but
I hain’t seed Mary Stallins sense. Now you see
what comes of snuffin’ ashes over a soft wood fire.
No more from</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:6em;'>Your frend, till deth,</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;margin-bottom:2em;font-variant:small-caps;'>Jos. Jones.</p>
<hr class='tbk102'/>
<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:.8em;'>LETTER II.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;font-size:.8em;'>Pineville, August 29th, 1842.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:left;margin-left:4em;'>Dear Sir,</p>
<p class='pindent'>Jest as I spected, only a thunderin’ sight wurse!
You know I said that we wer gwine to have a
betallion muster in Pineville. Well, the muster
has tuck place, and I reckon sich other doins you
never hearn of afore.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I come in town the nite afore, with my regimentals
in a bundle, so they couldn’t be siled by ridin’,
and as soon as I got my breckfast, I begun rigin’
out for the muster. I had a bran new pair of
boots, made jest a purpose, with long legs to ’em
and a shaperdebraw, with one of the tallest kind of
red fethers in it, a blu cloth regimental cote, all
titivated off with gold and buttons, and a pair of
yeller britches of the finest kind. Well, when I
went to put ’em on, I couldn’t help but cuss all the
tailors and shoomakers in Georgia. In the fust
place, my britches like to busted and wouldn’t reach
more’n half way to my jacket, then it tuck two
niggers to git my boots on; and my coat had tail
enuff for a bed-quilt, and stood rite strait out behind
like a fan-tail pidgin—it wouldn’t hang rite no
how you could pull it. I never was so dratted mad,
specially when thar was no time to fix things, for
the fellers were comin’ in in gangs and beginnin’
to call for me to come out and take the command.
Eckspectation was ris considerable high, cause I
was pledged to quip myself in uniformity to the
law, if I was lected Majer.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Well, bimeby I went to the dore and told Bill
Skinner and Tom Cullers to fix ther companys,
and have ’em all reddy when I made my pearance.
Then the fuss commenced. Thar wasn’t but one
drum in town, and Bill Skinner swore <span class='it'>that</span> should
drum for <span class='it'>his</span> company, cause it longed to that beat;
and Tom Cullers swore the nigger should drum
for <span class='it'>his</span> company, cause he longed to his crowd.
Thar was the old harry to pay, and it was gittin’
wurse. I didn’t know what to do, for they was
all comin’ to me bout it, and shinin’ and disputin’
so I couldn’t hardly hear one from tother. Thinks
I, I must show my thority in this bisness; so says
I, “In the name of the State of Georgia, I cummand
the drum to drum for me. I’s Majer of
this betallion and I’s cummander of the musick
too!” The thing tuck fust-rate; thar was no
more rumpus bout it, and I sot the niggers a
drummin’ and fifin’ as hard as they could split rite
afore the tavern dore.</p>
<p class='pindent'>It was monstrous diffikil to git the men to fall
in; thar hain’t been none of them deformed
drunkerds down here yit, and the way the fellers
does love peach and hunny is ’mazin’. Bimeby
Bill Skinner tuck a stick and made a long strate
streak in the sand, and then hollered out, “Oh,
yes! oh, yes! all you as belongs to Coon-holler
beat is to git in a strate line on this trail!” Tom
Cullers made a streak for his beat, and the
fellers begun to string themselves along in a strate
line, and in about a quarter of a ower they wer
all settled like bees on a bean-pole, pretty considerable
strate. Arter a while they sent word to
me that they was all reddy, and I had my horse
fetched up to tother side of the tavern; but when
I cum to him, the bominable fool didn’t know me
sumhow, and begun kickin’ and prancin’, and
cavortin’ about like mad. I made the niggers
hold him till I got on, then I sent word round to
the drummer to drum like blazes as soon as he
seed me turn the corner, and to the men to be
reddy to salute. My sword kep rattlin’ agin the
side of my hors, and the fool was skeered so he
didn’t know which eend he stood on; and kep
dancin’ about and squattin’ and rarin’ so I couldn’t
hardly hold on to him.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The nigger went and told the men what I sed;
and when I thought they was all reddy, round I
went in a canter, with my sash and regimentals
flyin’ and my red fether wavin’ as graceful as a
corn tossel in a whirlwind; but jest as I got to
the corner ther was a fuss like heaven and yearth
was cumin’ together. Rattlebang, wher-r-r-r-r
went the drum, and the nigger blowed the fife rite
out strate, till his eyes was sot in his hed—harra!
hey-y-y! hurra! went all the niggers and everybody
else—my horse wheelin’ and pitchin’ worse
than ever, rite up to the muster—and, fore I could
draw my breth, bang! bang! bang! de bang!
bang! bang! went every gun in the crowd, and
all I knowed was, I was whirlin’, and pitchin’,
and swingin’ about in the smoke and fire till I
cum full length rite smack on the ground, “in all
the pride, pomp, and circumstances of glorious
war,” as Mr. Shakspeare ses.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Lucky enough I didn’t git hurt; but my cote
was split clear up to the coller, my yaller britches
busted all to flinders, and my shaperdebraw and
fether all nocked into a perfect mush. Thunder
and lightnin’! thinks I, what must be a man’a
feelin’s in a rale battle, whar they’re shootin’ in
good yearnest! Cum to find out, it was all a
mistake; the men didn’t know nothing bout
military ticktacks, and thought I ment a regular
forth of July salute.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I had to lay by my regimentals—but I know’d
my caracter was at stake as a officer, and I tarmined
to go on with the muster. So I told Skinner and
Cullers to git the men strate agin and when they
was all in a line I sorted ’em all out. The fellers
what had guns I put in frunt, them what had sticks
in the rare, and them what had no shoes, down
to the bottum by themselves, so nobody couldn’t
tramp on ther tose. A good menny of ’em begun
to forgit which was ther rite hand and which was
ther left; and sum of ’em begun to be very diffikil
to manage, so I termined to march ’em rite
out to a old field, whar they couldn’t git no more
licker, specially sense I was bleeged to wear my
tother clothes.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Well, arter I got ’em all fixed, ses I, “Music!
quick time! by the rite flank, file left, march!”
they stood fer bout a minit lookin’ at me—“by
flank mar-r-r-ch!” ses I, as loud as I could holler.
Then they begun lookin’ at one another and
hunchin’ one another with ther elbows, and the
fust thing I know’d they was all twisted up in a
snarl, goin’ both ways at both ends, and all
machin’ through other in the middle, in all sorts
of helter skelter fashion. “Halt!” ses I, “halt!
wher upon yeath is you all gwine!”—and thar they
was, all in a huddle. They knowed better, but jest
wanted to bother me, I do b’lieve.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Never mind,” ses I, “gentlemen, we’ll try that
revolution over agin.” So when I got ’em all strait
agin, I splained it to ’em, and gin ’em the word so
they could understand it. “Forward march!” ses
I, and away they went, not all together, but two by
two, every feller waitin’ ’til his turn cum to step, so
fore the barefoot ones got started, I couldn’t hardly
see to t’other eend of the betallion. I let ’em go
ahead ’til we got to the old field, and then I tried to
stop ’em; but I had ’em in gangs all over the field
in less than no time. “Close up!” ses I, as loud
as I could holler; but they only stood and looked
at me like they didn’t know what I meant. “Git
into a strait line again,” ses I. That brung ’em
all together, and I told ’em to rest a while, before I
put ’em through the manuel.</p>
<p class='pindent'>’Bout this time out cum a whole heap of fellers
with sum candidates, and wanted I should let ’em
address the betallion. I told ’em I didn’t care, long
as they didn’t kick up no row. Well, the men wer
all high up for hearin’ the speeches of the candidates,
and got round ’em thick as flies round a fat gourd.
Ben Ansley—he’s the poplarest candidate down here—begun
to show by gittin’ on a stump, and takin’
his hat off rite in the brilin’ hot sun.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Feller-citizens,” ses he, “I spose you all know
as how my friends is fotched me out to represent
this county in the next legislater—I am posed to
counterfit money and shinplasters; I am posed to
abolition and free niggers, to the morus multicaulis
and the Florida war, and all manner of shecoonery
whatsumever! If I’s leeted your respectable representation,
I shall go in for good munny, twenty
cents for cotton, and no taxes, and shall go for
bolishin’ prisonment for debt and the Central Bank.
I hope you’ll all cum up to the poles of the lection,
and vote like a patriot for your very humble servant—Amen.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Then he jumped down and went round shakin’
hands. “Hurra for Ben Ansley! Ansley for ever!”
shouted every feller. “Down with the bank—devil
take the shinplasters and all the rale-roads!” ses
Captain Skinner. “Silence for a speech from
Squire Pettybone!” “Hurra for Pettybone!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Squire Pettybone was a little short fat man, what
had run afore, and knowed how to talk to the
boys.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Frends and feller-citizens,” ses he, “I’s once
more a candidate for your sufferin’s, and I want to
splain my sentiments to you. You’ve jest hearn a
grate deal ’bout the Central Bank. I ain’t no bank
man—I’m ’posed to all banks—but I is a frend
to the pore man, and is always reddy to stand up for
his constitutional rites. When the Central Bank
put out its munny it was good, and rich men got it
and made use of it when it was good; but now they
want to buy it in for less nor what it’s worth to pay
ther dets to the bank, and they is tryin’ to put it
down, and make the pore man lose by it. What
does they want to put the bank down for, if it ain’t
to cheat the pore man who’s got sum of it? If I’s
’lected, I shall go for makin’ the banks redeem ther
munny in silver and gold, or put every devil of ’em
into the penitentiary to makin’ nigger shoes. I’s a
hard munny man and in favor of the Vetos. I goes
for the pore man agin the rich, and if you ’lect me
that’s what I mean to do.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Then <span class='it'>he</span> begun shakin’ hands all round. “Hurra
for Squire Pettybone! hurra for the bank and the
veto!” shouted some of the men—“Hurra for
Ansley! down with the bank!” “Silence for Mr.
Johnson’s speech!” “Hurra for Harrison!”
“Hurra for the Vetos!” “Hurra for Jackson!
I can lick any veto on the ground!” “Silence!”
“Hurra for Ansley, no bank!” “Whar’s them
vetos what’s agin Ansley—let me at ’em!”
“Fight! fight! make a ring! make a ring!”—“Whoop!”
hollered Bill Sweeny, “I’m the blossom—go
it shirt-tail!” “Hit ’em Sweeny!”—“ ’Tention,
Betallion!” ses I, but it want no use—they was at
it rite in the middle and all round the edges, and I
know’d the quicker I got out of that bilin’ the
better for my wholsum. Thar they was, up and
down, five or six in a heap, rollin’ over and crawlin’
out from under, bitin’ and scratchin’, gougin’ and
strikin’, kickin’ and cussin’, head and heels all
through other, none of ’em knowin’ who they hurt,
or who hurt them—all the same whether they hit
Ansley or veto, the blossom or Pettybone. The
candidates was runnin’ about pullin’ and haulin’, and
tryin’ ther best to stop it; but you couldn’t hear
nothin’ but cussin’, and “bank” and “veto,” and
“let me at ’em,” “I’m your boy,” “let go my
eyes!” and sich talk for more’n twenty minits, and
then they only kep ’em apart by holdin’ ’em off
like dogs till they got dun pantin’.</p>
<p class='pindent'>It want no use to try to get ’em into line agin.
Some of ’em had got manuel exercise enuff, and was
knocked and twisted out of all caracter, and it would
be no use to try to put ’em through the manuel in
that situation. Lots of ’em had ther eyes bunged
up so they couldn’t “eyes right!” to save ’em, so I
turned ’em over to ther captains, accordin’ to law,
and ain’t sponsible for nothin’ that tuck place after I
left. No more from</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:6em;'>Your frend, ’til deth,</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;margin-bottom:1em;font-variant:small-caps;'>Jos. Jones.</p>
<p class='pindent'>P.S.—Miss Mary most fainted when she heard
the noos ’bout my hoss throwin’ me. Don’t you
think that’s a good sign?</p>
<hr class='tbk103'/>
<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:.8em;'>LETTER III.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;font-size:.8em;'>Pineville, December 20th, 1842.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:left;margin-left:4em;'>Dear Sir,</p>
<p class='pindent'>It seems our folks always is in a fuss. First it
was movin’, then it was hog killin’, and now everything’s
topsy-turvy makin’ reddy for Crismus. I
do believe the niggers is scowered every spot from
the garret to the dore-steps; and every time I
comes into the hous they’s all hollerin’ out:
“Thar, now, Mas Joe, jist look at your tracks!”
and “Don’t you spit on the herth, for it’s just
redened!” and “Don’t you spit agin the jam!”
and sich foolery, jist as if people’s houses wasn’t
made for ’em to live in.</p>
<p class='pindent'>It really puts me out of all patience to see such
nonsensical doins. And mother, she’s had all the
niggers choppin’ sasage-meat to make mince-pies,
and poundin’ spice and ginger, and makin’ marvels,
and beatin’ eggs to make pound-cake, and all sorts
of sweet doin’s for Crismus, for when she takes
anything into her head, she ain’t agwine to be outdone
not by nobody.</p>
<p class='pindent'>She ses Crismus don’t come but once a-year
now-a-days, and she’s gwine to treat it handsum
when it does cum—she’s gwine to show the
Stallinses that she’s use to as good livin’ as most
of folkes. Well, I glory in her spunk, but it’s
monstrous expensive and unpleasant to go things on
the big figer that she’s on now; it never ought to
be done only to wedin’s, and it wouldn’t do then,
whar ther was to be many in the same family. Do
tell us what upon yearth all this talk means about
the world comin’ to a eend next April. I’ve heard
a great deal about Miller’s doctrine lately. Now I
don’t like to believe no sich nonsense; but if it was
to come out true, I wouldn’t like to be so tuck in.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Mother and old Miss Stallins, and two or three
more old ladies, is in a mighty fidget about it, and
mother dreamed she seed two moons t’other night,
and one of ’em was all blazin’ with fire, and flyin’
about in the sky like all wrath. I don’t ’zactly
know what to think about it, but ther’s one thing
sartin, it’s got to begin monstrous early in the
mornin’ on the third day of April, if I ain’t
up to see it. If anybody was to set the woods
a fire ’bout Pineville, jest at that time, I wouldn’t
like to answer for the consequence among the old
wimin.</p>
<p class='pindent'>But I’m not gwine to let sich matters interfere
with my marryin’ spekelations. I call it spekelation,
for, you know, ther’s no tellin’ how these things is
gwine to turn out. In the fust place, it’s a chance
if a body git’s the gall he’s courtin’, and after <span class='it'>he’s</span>
got her all to himself for better or for worse, it’s a
chance agin if she don’t turn out a monstrous site
worse nor he tuck her for. But I think mine’s a
pretty safe business, for Miss Mary is jest a leetle
the smartest, and best, and the butifulest gall in
Georgia. I’ve seed her two or three times lately,
and I ain’t more’n half so afraid of her as I used
to be. I told her t’other night I had a Crismus
gift for her, which I hoped she would take and
keep.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“What is it, Majer?” ses she.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh!” ses I, “it’s something what I wouldn’t
give nobody else in the world!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, but what is it—<span class='it'>do</span> tell me?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Something,” ses I, “what you stole from me a
long time ago, and sense you’ve got it I want you
to keep it, and give me one like it in return.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well <span class='it'>do</span> tell me what it is, fust,” ses she and I
seed her cut her eye at Miss Carline, and sort o’
smile.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But will you give me one in return?” ses I.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“What, Majer—tell me what?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I’ll tell you Crismus eve,” ses I. “But will you
give me <span class='it'>yours</span> in return?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Yours!</span> eh, my ——,” then her face got as
red as a poppy, and she looked down.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You know what, Miss Mary,” ses I, “will
you.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>She didn’t say nothin’, but blushed worse and
worse.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Now, mind,” ses I, “I must have a answer
Crismus eve.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well,” ses she—and then she looked up and
laughed, and sed—“exchange is no robbery, is it,
sister Carline.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No sis,” ses she, “but I reckon Joseph got his
pay bout the same time you stole his——.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Stop, stop, sister, Majer didn’t say his heart——.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“There, there!” ses Miss Carline and Miss
Kesiah, clappin’ ther hands, and laughin’ as loud as
they could—“there, there, little innocent sister’s let
the cat out o’ the bag, at last. I told you so,
Majer.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>I never felt so good afore in all my life, and Miss
Mary, pore gall, hid her face in her hands and begun
to cry, she felt so about it—that’s the way with the
galls, they always cry when they feel the happiest;
but I soon got her in a good humour, and then I
went home. I’m gwine to bring her rite up to the
scratch Crismus, or I ain’t here. I’ll tell you how
I cum out in my next. No more from</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:6em;'>Your friend, ’til deth,</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;margin-bottom:2em;font-variant:small-caps;'>Jos. Jones.</p>
<hr class='tbk104'/>
<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:.8em;'>LETTER IV.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;font-size:.8em;'>Pineville, December 27th, 1842.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:left;margin-left:4em;'>Dear Sir,</p>
<p class='pindent'>Crismus is over, and the thing’s ded. You know
I told you in my last letter I was gwine to bring
Miss Mary up to the chalk a Crismus. Well, I
done it, slick as a whistle, though it come mighty
nigh bein’ a serious undertakin’. But I’ll tell you
all about the whole circumstance.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The fact is, I’s made my mind up more’n twenty
times to jest go and come rite out with the whole
business; but whenever I got whar she was, and
whenever she looked at me with her witchin’ eyes,
and kind o’ blushed at me, I always felt sort o’
skeered and fainty, and all what I made up to tell
her was forgot, so I couldn’t think of it to save
me. But you’s a married man, Mr. Thompson, so
I couldn’t tell you nothing about popin’ the question
as they call it. It’s a mighty grate favour
to ax of a rite pretty gall, and to people as ain’t
used to it, it goes monstrous hard, don’t it?
They say widders don’t mind it more’n nothin’.
But I’m makin’ a transgression, as the preacher
ses.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Crismus eve I put on my new suit, and shaved
my face as slick as a smoothin’ iron, and went
over to old Miss Stallinses. As soon as I went
into the parler whar they was all settin’ round
the fire, Miss Carline and Miss Kesiah both laughed
rite out.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“There, there,” ses they, “I told you so, I knew
it would be Joseph.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“What’s I done, Miss Carline?” ses I.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You come under little sister’s chicken-bone, and
I do b’lieve she knew you was comin’ when she put
it over the dore.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No I didn’t—I didn’t no such thing, now,”
ses Miss Mary, and her face blushed red all
over.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, you needn’t deny it,” ses Miss Kesiah,
“you ’long to Joseph now, jest as sure as ther’s any
charm in chicken-bones.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>I knowd that was a first-rate chance to say
something, but the dear little creater looked so
sorry and kep’ blushin’ so, I couldn’t say nothin’
zactly to the pint, so I tuck a chair and reached
up and tuck down the bone and put it in my
pocket.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“What are you gwine to do with that old bone
now, Majer?” ses Miss Mary.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I’m gwine to keep it as long as I live,” ses I,
“as a Crismus present from the handsomest gall in
Georgia.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>When I sed that, she blushed worse and worse.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Ain’t you shamed, Majer?” ses she.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Now you ought to give <span class='it'>her</span> a Crismus gift,
Joseph, to keep all <span class='it'>her</span> life,” sed Miss Carline.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Ah,” ses old Miss Stallins, “when I was a gall
we used to hang up our stockins—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, mother!” ses all of ’em, “to say stockins
rite afore—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Then I felt a little streaked too, ’cause they was
blushin’ as hard as they could.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Highty-tity!” ses the old lady, “what monstrous
finement. I’d like to know what harm ther
is in stockins. People now-a-days is gittin’ so mealy-mouthed
they can’t call nothin’ by its rite name,
and I don’t see as they’s any better than the old
time people was. When I was a gall like you, child,
I use to hang up my stockins and git ’em full of
presents.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The gals kep laughin’.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Never mind,” ses Miss Mary, “Majer’s got to
give me a Crismus gift—won’t you, Majer?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, yes,” ses I, “you know I promised you
one.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But I didn’t mean <span class='it'>that</span>,” ses she.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I’ve got one for you, what I want you to keep
all your life, but it would take a two-bushel bag to
hold it,” ses I.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, that’s the kind,” ses she.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But will you keep it as long as you live?”
ses I.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Certainly I will, Majer.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Monstrous ’finement now-a-days—old people
don’t know nothin’ ’bout perliteness,” said old Miss
Stallins, jest gwine to sleep with her nittin’ in her
hand.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Now you hear that, Miss Carline,” ses I. “She
ses she’ll keep it all her life.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I will,” ses Miss Mary; “but what
is it?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Never mind,” ses I, “you hang up a bag big
enuff to hold it and you’ll find out what it is, when
you see it in the mornin’.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Miss Carline winked at Miss Kesiah, and then
whispered to her; then they both laughed and
looked at me as mischievous as they could. They
spicioned something.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You’ll be sure to give it to me now, if I hang up
a bag,” ses Miss Mary.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“And promise to keep it,” ses I.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, I will, cause I know that you wouldn’t
give me nothin’ that wasn’t worth keepin’.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>They all agreed they would hang up a bag for me
to put Miss Mary’s Crismus present in, in the back
porch, and ’bout nine o’clock I told ’em good evenin’
and went home.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I sot up till midnight, and when they was all
gone to bed, I went softly into the back gate, and
went up to the porch, and thar, shore enuff, was a
grate big meal-bag hangin’ to the jice. It was
monstrous unhandy to git to it, but I was ’tarmined
not to back out. So I sot some chairs on top of a
bench and got hold of the rope and let myself down
into the bag; but jest as I was gittin’ in, the bag
swung agin the chairs, and down they went with a
terrible racket. But nobody didn’t wake up but old
Miss Stallinses grate big cur dog, and here he cum
rippin’ and tarin’ through the yard like rath, and
round and round he went tryin’ to find what was
the matter. I sot down in the bag and didn’t
breathe louder nor a kitten, for fear he’d find me
out, and after a while he quit barkin’. The wind
begun to blow ’bominable cold, and the old bag kep
turnin’ round and swingin’ so, it made me sea-sick
as the mischief. I was ’fraid to move for fear the
rope would brake and let me fall, and thar I sot
with my teeth ratlin’ like I had a ager. It seemed
like it would never come daylight, and I do b’lieve
if I didn’t love Miss Mary so powerful I would froze
to deth; for my hart was the only spot that felt
warm, and it didn’t beat more’n two licks a minit,
only when I thought how she would be sprised in
the mornin’, and then it went in a canter. Bimeby
the cussed old dog come up on the porch and begun
to smell about the bag, and then he barked like he
thought he’d treed something.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Bow! wow! wow!” ses he. Then he’d smell
agin, and try to git up to the bag.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Git out!” ses I, very low, for fear they would
hear me.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Bow! wow! wow!” ses he.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Be gone! you ’bominable fool,” ses I, and I
felt all over in spots, for I ’spected every minit he’d
nip me, and what made it worse, I didn’t know whar
’bouts he’d take hold.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Bow! wow! wow!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Then I tried coaxin’:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Come here, good feller,” ses I, and whistled a
little to him, but it wasn’t no use. Thar he stood
and kep up his eternal whinin’ and barkin’, all
night. I couldn’t tell when daylight was breakin’,
only by the chickens crowin’, and I was monstrous
glad to hear ’em, for if I’d had to stay thar one hour
more, I don’t b’lieve I’d ever got out of that bag
alive.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Old Miss Stallins come out fust, and as soon as
she saw the bag, ses she:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“What upon yeath has Joseph went and put in
that bag for Mary? I’ll lay it’s a yearlin’ or some
live animal, or Bruin wouldn’t bark at it so.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>She went in to call the galls, and I sot thar,
shiverin’ all over so I couldn’t hardly speak if I
tried to—but I didn’t say nothin’. Bimeby they all
come runnin’ out.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“My lord, what is it?” ses Miss Mary.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, it’s alive!” ses Miss Kesiah, “I seed it
move.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Call Cato, and make him cut the rope,” ses
Miss Carline, “and let’s see what it is. Come here,
Cato, and git this bag down.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Don’t hurt it for the world,” ses Miss Mary.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Cato untied the rope that was round the jice, and
let the bag down easy on the floor, and I tumbled
out all covered with corn meal, from hed to foot.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Goodness gracious!” ses Miss Mary, “if it
ain’t the Majer himself!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes,” ses I, “and you know you promised to
keep my Crismus present as long as you lived.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>The galls laughed themselves almost to deth, and
went to brushin’ off the meal as fast as they could,
sayin’ they was gwine to hang that bag up every
Crismus ’til they got husbands too. Miss Mary—bless
her bright eyes—she blushed as butiful as a
morninglory, and sed she’d stick to her word. She
was rite out of bed, and her hair wasn’t komed, and
her dress wasn’t fixt at all, but the way she looked
pretty was rale distractin’. I do b’lieve if I was
froze stiff, one look at her charmin’ face, as she stood
lookin’ down to the floor with her rogish eyes, and
her bright curls fallin’ all over her snowy neck,
would fotch’d me too. I tell you what, it was
worth hangin’ in a meal-bag from one Crismus to
another to feel as happy as I have ever sense.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I went home after we had the laugh out, and set
by the fire till I got thawed. In the forenoon all
the Stallinses come over to our house and we had
one of the greatest Crismus dinners that ever was
seed in Georgia, and I don’t b’lieve a happier company
ever sot down to the same table. Old Miss
Stallins and mother settled the match, and talked
over every thing that ever happened in ther families,
and laughed at me and Mary, and cried ’bout ther
ded husbands, cause they wasn’t alive to see ther
children married.</p>
<p class='pindent'>It’s all settled now, ’cept we haint sot the weddin’
day. I’d like to have it all over at once, but young
galls always like to be engaged a while, you know,
so I spose I must wait a month or so. Mary (she
ses I musn’t call her Miss Mary now,) has been a
good deal of trouble and botheration to me; but if
you could see her, you wouldn’t think I ought to
grudge a little sufferin’ to git sich a sweet little
wife.</p>
<p class='pindent'>You must come to the weddin’ if you possibly kin.
I’ll let you know when. No more from</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:6em;'>Your frend, ’til deth,</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;margin-bottom:2em;font-variant:small-caps;'>Jos. Jones.</p>
<hr class='tbk105'/>
<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:.8em;'>LETTER V.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;font-size:.8em;'>Pineville, January 5th, 1842.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:left;margin-left:4em;'>Dear Sir,</p>
<p class='pindent'>Ther’s been a awful catasterfy in Pineville sense
I rit my last letter to you. Little did I think then
what was a comin’, though I always thought some
cussed thing would turn up jest to spile my happiness.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Last nite I was over to old Miss Stallinses, talkin’
long with Mary and the gals, and in makin’ calculations
about the weddin’ and hous-keepin’, and
sich things, when all at once ther was a terrible
shakin’ and rackin’ like the house was gwine to
tumble down a top of us. The gals all squalled out
as loud as they could holler, and cotched rite hold
of me, and hugged close to me ’til they almost
choked my breth out of me, and old Miss Stallins
fainted away into a fit of the highstericks. The
shakin’ didn’t last more’n a minit, but it had a
monstrous curious feelin’ while it did last.</p>
<p class='pindent'>When it was over the gals fell to rubin’ the old
woman’s hands, and I poured a gourd of water in
her face to bring her too. Bimeby she got better,
but I do b’lieve the yeath-quake has shuck all her
sense out of her, for she ses she knows the world is
cumin’ to a eend now, shore enuff, and she ses me
and Mary musent git married not ’til after next April.
She ses she didn’t dream bout them two moons for
nothin’, and that the yeath shakin’ so is a sure sign
that sumthing’s gwine to happen. Mary was
skeered monstrous too, but she soon got over it,
and so did Miss Kesiah, and Miss Carline, but old
Miss Stallins has been talkin’ bout nothin’ else but
the world comin’ to a eend ever sense. She ses
nobody ought to think bout anything else but
gittin’ reddy to die, and that it’s wicked to think bout
weddins and such like, now. I told her, what if
the world was to come to a eend, ses I, if we was
married her daughter wouldn’t be left a widder, and
I never could die contented no way, without I was
married fust.</p>
<p class='pindent'>But it ain’t no use to argy with her, for she
b’lieves in parson Miller now like a book, and
won’t listen to no sort of reasonin’. She ses it
was jest so when old Mr. Noah bilt the ark—no
body didn’t b’lieve him till the water was up to
ther chins, and then they couldn’t help themselves.</p>
<p class='pindent'>So you see what a fix I’m in—after all my
trouble, and jest when I thought I was gwine to be
the happiest man in Georgia, a yeath-quake must
come jest to upset my calculations. I haint no
notion of puttin’ off the weddin’ so long, but I
spose I might wait if I can’t do no better. I’m
in hopes though, old Miss Stallins will git over
her skeer, and come to her senses long afore
April. I’ll be sure to let you know. No more
from</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:6em;'>Your frend, ’til deth,</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;margin-bottom:2em;font-variant:small-caps;'>Jos. Jones.</p>
<hr class='tbk106'/>
<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:.8em;'>LETTER VI.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;font-size:.8em;'>Pineville, February 2nd, 1843.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:left;margin-left:4em;'>Dear Sir,</p>
<p class='pindent'>Ever sense I writ my last letter to you, things is
gone on jest as strate as a shingle, and the only
thing what troubles me is, I’m afraid it’s all too
good to last. It’s always ben the way with me ever
sense I can remember, whenever I’m the happyest
sum blamed thing seems to turn up jest to upset all
my calculations, and now, though the day is sot for
the weddin’, and the Stallinses is gittin’ everything
reddy as fast as they can, I wouldn’t be
s’prised much if some ’bominable thing was to
happen, some yeath-quake or something, jest to
bust it all up agin, though I should hate it monstrous.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Old Miss Stallins red that piece in the Miscellany
’bout the mistake in Parson Miller’s figers, and I do
b’lieve she’s as glad about it as if she was shore she
would live a whole thousand years more herself.
She ses she hain’t got no objections to the weddin’
now, for me and Mary’ll have plenty of time to
make a fortin for our children and rais ’em up as
they ought to be. She ses she always wondered
how Mr. Miller could cipher the thing out so strait,
to the very day, without a single mistake, but
now he’s made sich a terrible blunder of a whole
thousand years, she ses she knows he ain’t no
smarter nor other people, if he was raised at the
north.</p>
<p class='pindent'>It’s really surprisin’, how ’mazin’ pop’lar it does
make a body to be engaged to be married to a
butiful young lady. Sense the thing’s leaked out,
everybody’s my pertickeler frend, and I can’t meet
nobody wherever I go, but what wants to congratilate
me on my good fortin, ’cept Cousin Pete and
two or three other fellers, who look sort o’ like they
wanted to laugh and couldn’t. Almost every night
Mary and me is invited to a party. T’other night
we went to one to old Squire Rogerses, whar I got
my dander up a little the worst I’ve had it for some
time. I don’t b’lieve you have ever hearn of jest
sich a fool trick as they played on me. Ther was a
good many thar, and as the Squire don’t ’low
dancing they all played games and tricks, and sich
foolishness to pass away the time, which to my
notion’s a ’bominable site worse than dancin’.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Cousin Pete was thar splurgin’ about in the
biggest, and with his dandy-cut trowsers and big
whiskers, and tried to take the shine off everybody
else, jest as he always does. Well, bimeby he
ses:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“S’pose we play Brother Bob—let’s play Brother
Bob.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, let’s play that,” ses all of ’em; “won’t
you be Brother Bob, Majer?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Who’s Brother Bob?” ses I; for I didn’t know
nothing ’bout it, and that’s the way I cum to be so
’bominably tuck in.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I’ll tell you,” ses he; “you and somebody else
must set down in the chairs and be blindfolded, and
the rest must all walk round and round you, and
keep tappin’ you on the head with sumthing ’til you
gess who bob’d you.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But how bob me?” ses I.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why,” ses he, “when any one taps you, you
must say, ‘Brother, I’m bob’d!’ and then they’ll
ax, ‘Who bob’d you?’ and if you gess the rite one,
then they must take your place and be bob’d ’til
they gess who bob’d ’em. If you’ll be blindfolded
I will,” ses he, “jest for fun.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well,” ses I, “anything for fun.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>And Cousin Pete sot out two chairs into the
middle of the room, and we sot down, and they tied
a hankercher round my eyes tite as the mischief,
so I couldn’t see to gess no more’n if I had no eyes
at all.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I hadn’t sot no time fore, cawhalux! some one
tuck me rite side o’ the hed with a dratted big book.
The fire flew out o’ my eyes in big live coals, and I
like to keeled over out of the chair. I felt my blood
risin’ like a mill-tail, but they all laughed mightily
at the fun, and after a while, ses I:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Brother, I’m bob’d.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Who bob’d you?” ses they.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I guessed the biggest-fisted feller in the room,
but it wasn’t him.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The next minit, spang went the book agin Cousin
Pete’s head.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Whew!” ses he, “brother, I’m bob’d.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Who bob’d you?” ses they.</p>
<p class='pindent'>But Cousin Pete didn’t gess rite nother, and the
fust thing I knowed, whang they tuck me agin. I
was dredful anxious to gess rite, but it was no use,
I missed it every time, and so did Cousin Pete, and
the harder they hit the harder they laughed. One
time they hit me a great deal softlier than the
rest.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Brother, I’m bob’d!” ses I.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Who bob’d you?” ses they.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Miss Mary Stallins,” ses I.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, I never,” ses she; and they all roared out
worse than ever.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I begin to git monstrous tired of sich fun, which
seemed so much like the frogs in the spellin’ book—for
it was fun to them but it was deth to me—and
I don’t know what I would done if Mary hadn’t
come up and ontied the hankercher.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Let’s play something else,” ses she, and her
face was as red as fire, and she looked sort o’ mad
out of her eyes.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I seed ther was something wrong in a minit.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Well, they all went on playin’ “pawns,” and
“ ’pon honour,” and “Here we go round the
gooseberry bush,” and “Oh, sister Feby, how
merry we be,” and sich nonsense ’til they played all
they knowed, and while they was playin’ Mary told
me all how cousin Pete bob’d me himself.</p>
<p class='pindent'>This was the most audacious take in I ever
hearn of. Do you think the cus didn’t set rite
down beside me, and never blindfolded himself at
all, and hit me every lick himself, and now and
then hittin’ his knee with the book, to make me
b’lieve he was bob’d too. My bed was a singin’
with the licks when she told me how he done me,
and I do b’lieve if it hadn’t been for her I’d gin
Cousin Pete sich a lickin’ rite thar in that room
as he never had afore in his born days. Blazes!
but I was mad at fust. But Mary begged me
not to raise no fus about it, now it was all over,
and she would fix him for his smartness. I
hadn’t no sort of a ide how she was gwine to
do it, but I know’d she was enuff for Cousin Pete
any time, so I jest let her go ahed. Well, she
tuck the ’bominable fool off to one side and whispered
to him like she was gwine to let him into
a grate secret. She told him ’bout a new play
what she learned down to Macon when she was at
the college, called “Interduction to the King
and Queen,” what she sed was a grate deal funnyer
than “Brother Bob,” and ’swaded him to help to
git ’em all to play.</p>
<p class='pindent'>After she and him made it all up, Cousin Pete
put out three chairs close together in a roe for a
throne, and Mary she put a sheet over ’em to make
’em look a little grand. Bill Byers was to be King
and Mary was to be Queen.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Now you must all come in t’other room,” ses
Cousin Pete, “only them what belongs to the court,
and then you must come in and be interduced, one
at a time.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I ain’t gwine,” ses Tom Stallins, “for ther’s
some trick in it.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No ther ain’t,” ses Cousin Pete, “I’ll give you
my word ther ain’t no trick, only a little fun.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well,” ses I, “I’s had fun enough for one
nite.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Mary looked at me and kind o’ winked, and, ses
she:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You’re one of the court you know, Majer, but
jest go out till the court is sumonsed before the
throne.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Well, we all went out, and bimeby Bill Byers
called out the names of all the lords and ladys what
belonged to the court, and we all went in and tuck
chairs on both sides of the throne.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Cousin Pete was to be the first one interduced,
and Samuwell Rogers was to be the feller what interduced
the company. Well, bimeby the dore
opened, and in come Cousin Pete, bowin’ and
scrapin’ and twistin’ and rigglein’ and puttin’ on
more ares nor a French dancin’ master—he beat
Crotchett all to smash. The King sot on one side
of the throne and the Queen on t’other, leavin’
room in the middle for some one else. Sam was
so full of laugh at Cousin Pete’s anticks that he
couldn’t hardly speak.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Doctor Peter Jones,” ses he, “I interduce you
to ther Majestys the King and Queen.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Cousin Pete scraped about a while and then drapt
on one knee, rite afore ’em.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Rise, gallant knight,” ses Bill Byers, “rise, we
dub you knight of the royal bath.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Cousin Pete got up and bowed and scraped a few
more times, and went to set down between ’em,
but they ris up jest as he went to set down, and
the fust thing he knowd, kerslosh he went, rite
into a big tub full of cold water, with nothing
but his hed and heels stickin’ out.</p>
<p class='pindent'>He tried to kiss Mary as he was takin’ his seat,
and if you could jest seed him as he went into that
tub with his arms reached out to her, and his mouth
sot for a kiss, I do b’lieve you’d laughed more’n
you ever did afore in your life. The fellers was all
so spicious that some trick was gwine to be played,
that they left the dore open, and when the thing
tuck place they all run in shoutin’ and laughin’ like
they would bust ther sides.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Pete got out as quick as he could, and I never
seed a feller so wilted down in all my life. He got
as mad as a hornet, and sed it was a drotted mean
trick to serve ennybody so, specially in cold
wether. And he went rite off home by himself
to dry.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Mary made the niggers take out the middle chair
and put the tub of water thar when we was all in
t’other room. Pete didn’t spicion the trick was
gwine to turn out that way—he thought the queen
was gwine to sentence every feller what didn’t kiss
her as he sot down, to do something that would
make fun for the rest, and he was jest gwine to open
the game. I felt perfectly satisfied after that, and I
don’t think Cousin Pete will be quite so fond of
funny tricks the next time.</p>
<p class='pindent'>But I like to forgot to tell you, my weddin’ is
to take place—pervidin’ ther ain’t no more yeath-quakes
nor unaccountabel things to prevent—on the
22 of this month, which you know is a famous day
what ought to be celebrated by every genewine
patriot in the world. I shall look for you to come,
and I hope you will be sure to be thar, for I
know you wouldn’t grudge the ride jest so see Miss
Mary Jones what is to be. We’s gwine to have a
considerable getherin’, jest to please the old folks,
and old Miss Stallins see she’s gwine to give us a
real Georgia weddin’ of the old time fashion. No
more from</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:6em;'>Your frend, ’til deth,</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;margin-bottom:1em;font-variant:small-caps;'>Jos. Jones.</p>
<p class='pindent'>P.S.—I went over t’other nite to see ’em all,
and they was as busy as bees in a tar-barrel sowin’
and makin’ up finery. Mary was sowin’ something
mighty fine and white with ruffles and jigamarees
all round it.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“What kind of a thing is that?” ses I.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The gals looked at one another and laughed like
they would die, and my poor little Mary (bless her
soul) kep getherin’ it up in a heap and blushin’
dredful.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Tell him, sis,” ses Miss Carline, but Mary
looked rite down and didn’t say nothin’.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I’ll tell him,” ses Miss Kesiah—“It’s a——.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, you shan’t now—stop, stop,” ses Mary, and
she put her pretty little hand rite on Miss Kesiah’s
mouth, and looked like she’d cry for a little. I felt
so sorry for her, I told ’em I didn’t want to know,
and they put the things away, and bimeby I went
home, but I kep thinkin’ all the way what upon
yeath it could be. I s’pose I’ll find out some
day.</p>
<hr class='tbk107'/>
<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:.8em;'>LETTER VII.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;font-size:.8em;'>Pineville, February 24th, 1843.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:left;margin-left:4em;'>Dear Sir,</p>
<p class='pindent'>I am too happy and no mistake—the twenty-second
of February is over, and the “consumation
so devotedly to be wished for” is tuck place. In
other words, I’s a married man! I ain’t in no
situation to tell you all how the thing tuck place,
not by no means, and if it wasn’t for my promis, I
don’t b’lieve I could keep away from my wife long
enough to rite you a letter. Bless her little sole, I
didn’t think I loved her half so good as I do; but
to tell you the rale truth, I do b’lieve I’ve ben
almost out of my senses ever sense nite afore last.
But I must be short this time, while the gals is
plagin’ Mary in t’other room. They are so bad.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I had the licens got more’n a week ago, and old
Mr. Eastman brung home my weddin’ suit jest in
time. Mother would make me let Cousin Pete wait
on me, and Miss Kesiah was bridesmaid. Mother
and old Miss Stallins had everything ’ranged in fust
rate style long afore the time ariv, and nothing was
wantin’ but your cumpany to make everything complete.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Well, ’bout sun-down Cousin Pete cum round to
my room whar we rigged out for the ’casion, and I
don’t b’lieve I ever seed him look so good; but if
he’d jest tuck off them ’bominable grate big sorrel
whiskers of his, he’d looked a monstrous site better.
I put on my yaller britches and blue cloth cote, and
white satin jacket, and my new beaver hat, and then
we druv round to old Squire Rogerses and tuck
him into the carriage, and away we went out
to Miss Stallinses plantation. When we got thar
ther was a most everlastin’ getherin’ thar waitin’ to
see the ceremony afore they et ther supper. Everybody
looked glad, and old Miss Stallins was flyin’
about like she didn’t know which eend she stood
on.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Come in, Joseph,” ses she, “the galls is in the
t’other room.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>But I couldn’t begin to git in t’other room for the
fellers all pullin’ and haulin’ and shakin’ the life out
of me to tell me how glad they was.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Howdy, Majer, howdy,” ses old Mr. Byers, “I
give you joy,” ses he: “yer gwine to marry the
flower of the county, as I always sed. She’s a
monstrous nice gal, Majer.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“That’s a fact,” ses old Mr. Skinner, “that’s a
fact, and I hope you’ll be a good husband to her,
Joseph, and that you’ll have good luck with your
little—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Thank ye, thank ye, gentlemen; come along,
Cousin Pete,” ses I, as quick as I could git away
from ’em.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The dore to t’other room was opened, and in we
went. I never was so struck all up in a heap afore—thar
sot Mary with three or four more gals,
butiful as a angel and blushin’ like a rose. When
she seed me she kind o’ looked down and sort o’
smiled, and sed “good evenin’.” I couldn’t say a
word for my life, for more’n a minit. Thar she sot,
the dear gal of my hart—and I couldn’t help but
think to myself what a villain a man must be that
could marry her and then make her unhappy by
treatin’ her mean; and I determined in my sole to
stand atween her and the storms of the world, and
to love her, and take care of her, and make her
happy, as long as I lived. If you could jest seen
her as she was dressed then, and you wasn’t a married
man, you couldn’t help but envy my luck, after
all the trubble I’ve had to git her. She was dressed
jest to my likin’, in a fine white muslin frock, with
short sleeves, and white satin slippers, with her hair
all hangin’ over her snow-white neck and shoulders
in butiful curls, without a single brest-pin or any
kind of juelry or ornament, ’cept a little white satin
bow on the side of her hed. Bimeby Miss Carline
cum in the room.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Cum, sis, they’s all reddy,” ses she, and ther was
grate big tears in her eyes, and she went and give
Mary a kiss rite in her mouth, and hugged her a
time or two.</p>
<p class='pindent'>We all got up to go. Mary trembled monstrous,
and I felt sort o’ fainty myself, but I didn’t feel
nothin’ like cryin’.</p>
<p class='pindent'>When we got in the room whar the cumpany
was, old Squire Rogers stopt us rite in the middle
of the flore and axed us for the licens. Cousin
Pete handed ’em to him, and he red ’em out loud to
the people, who was all as still as deth. After
talkin’ a little he went on:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“If ennybody’s got ennything to say why this
cupple shouldn’t be united in the holy bands of
wedlock,” ses he, “let ’em now speak, or always
afterwards hold ther peace—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, my lord! oh, my darlin’ daughter! oh, dear
laws a massy!” ses old Miss Stallins as loud as she
could squall, a clappin’ her hands and cryin’ and
shoutin’ like she was at a camp-meetin’.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Thunder and lightnin’! thinks I, here’s another
yeath-quake. But I held on to Mary, and was ’termined
that nothin’ short of a real bust up of all
creation should git her from me.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Go ahed, Squire,” ses Cousin Pete. “It ain’t
nothin’.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Mary blushed dredful, and seemed like she would
drap on the flore.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Miss Carline cum and whispered something to
her, and mother and two or three more old wimmin
got old Miss Stallins to go in t’other room.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The Squire went through the rest of the bisness
in a hurry, and me and Mary was made flesh of one
bone and bone of one flesh before the old woman
got over her highstericks. When she got better
she cum to me and hugged and kissed me as hard
as she could rite afore ’em all, while all the old
codgers in the room was salutin’ the bride as they
called it. I didn’t like that part of the ceremony at
all, and wanted to change with ’em monstrous
bad.</p>
<p class='pindent'>After the marryin’ was over we all tuck supper,
and the way old Miss Stallinses table was kivered
over with good things was uncommon. After playin’
and frolickin’ till ’bout ten o’clock, the bride’s cake
was cut, and sich a cake was never baked in Georgia
afore. The Stallinses bein’ Washingtonians, ther
wasn’t no wine, but the cake wasn’t bad to take jest
dry so. ’Bout twelve o’clock the cumpany begun to
cut home, all of ’em jest as sober as when they cum.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I had to shake hands agin with ’em all, and tell
’em all good nite.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Good nite, Cousin Mary,” ses Pete, “good nite,
Majer,” ses he, “I ’spose you ain’t gwine back to
town to-nite,” and then bust rite out in a big laugh,
and away he went.</p>
<p class='pindent'>That’s jest the way with Peter, he’s a good feller
enough, but he haint got no better sense.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Mary ses she’s sorry she couldn’t send you no
more cake, but Mr. Mountgomery’s saddle-bags
wouldn’t hold half she rapped up for you. Don’t
forgit to put our marriage in the Miscellany. No
more from</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:6em;'>Your frend, ’til deth,</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;margin-bottom:2em;font-variant:small-caps;'>Jos. Jones.</p>
<hr class='tbk108'/>
<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:.8em;'>LETTER VIII.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;font-size:.8em;'>Pineville, March 28th, 1843.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:left;margin-left:4em;'>Dear Sir,</p>
<p class='pindent'>I really owe you a apology for not writin’ to you
so long; but the fact is, I’ve been too happy ever
sense I was married, to think about writin’ or
ennything else much. Besides I use to have
time to write nites; but now my time is tuck up
with so many things, receivin’ cumpany and payin’
visits, and goin’ to quiltens and partys of one kind
another, that I haint no time for nothing; and
as for writin’ letters, when my wife’s all the time
lookin’ over my shoulder, pullin’ my ears, and
tickelen me, and disputin’ bout my spellin’, it aint
no kind of use to try. She’s gone over to mother’s
this afternoon with her sisters, and her mother’s out
in the gardin, lookin’ if the frost is killed the peas,
so I thought I’d rite you a few lines jest to let you
know how we was all cumin’ on.</p>
<p class='pindent'>We’s all pretty well, ’cept the old woman, who’s
been in a monstrous flustration ’bout the comet, and
the yeathquakes, and the harrycanes, and snowstorms,
and sich things, for more’n a month, and
I’ve had a most bominable sore throat, which I
got lookin’ at the comet jest to please her; but
Mary soon cured that with some sage tea and turpentime.
I’m livin’ with Mary’s mother for the
present; but that makes mother monstrous jealous,
and to satisfy both the old wimin, Mary and me is
gwine to housekeepin’ next fall to ourselves.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I don’t know what to make of the weather—the
months is eather got mixed up and January’s swapped
places with March this time, or that bominable
grate big comet is got ’tween our yeath and the
sun, and is soakin’ all the sunshine up in its everlastin’
big tail, which the newspapers say is more’n
two thousand miles long. We planted sum corn
most a month ago, but it’s all rotten or froze to
deth; and if the weather don’t get no better I don’t
know when we’ll plant enny more; and if cotton’s
gwine clean down to nothing, I don’t mean to put
a sead in the ground this year.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Old Miss Stallins reads the Bibel most all the
time, and ses she’s jest as sure as she wants to be
that sumthing’s gwine to turn up. She ses that
comet’s sent to let us know the judgment day’s a
cumin’, and these yeathquakes and harrycanes is
signs that it ain’t far off. She’s all the time lookin’
out, and she’s got a grate big cow-bell fixed rite by
her bed, so the least tetch will make it ring, so she
can tell when the yeath-quake cums next time.
T’other nite old Sooky, the cook, who’s ’bout as big
as a cow, slipped up in the snow on the porch, and
shuck the whole house and made the bell ring. The
old woman jumped out of bed and lit a candle in a
minit, and had us all up with her hollerin’ about the
yeath-quake; and last nite, when it lightened so, I
thought she’d die shore enuff. She sed t’other eend
of the world was a fire, and we’d all be burnt into
cracklins afore mornin—she shouted and clapped
her hands, and prayed, and bid good-by to us all;
and I do b’lieve if it hadn’t thundered as soon and
as loud as it did, she would’ve kick’d the bucket
shore enuff. Jest hearin’ so much about that dratted
old Miller, has played the wild with the old woman’s
senses. It’s a grate pity ther ain’t sum way to stop
that old feller’s goins on. He ought to be put in
the penetentiary for tryin’ to make people b’lieve he’s
sich a monstrous sight smarter than the Lord ever
intended him to be, that he can tell when the world’s
gwine to cum to a eend. The Bibel ses that thing
was to be kep a grate secret and nobody in heaven
or yeath should know anything about it. Well,
ain’t it most oudacious insurance, then, for him to
cum and say he’s found it out—that he knows all
about it? And if he did know it, he ought to
have principle and good breedin’ enuff not to go
and blab it all about, jest to scare fokes to deth.
He ought to be brought to the eend of a rope jest
for his meanness.</p>
<p class='pindent'>For my part I hain’t no notion of the world bustin’
up yit, though things does look kind of skeery jest
now. It would jest be my luck if sum ’bominable
thing like a war or a coleramorbus, or a starvation
was to cum along now that I’ve got the hansomest
and smartest gall in Georgia for a wife. They say
ther is no sich thing as cumplete happiness on this
yeath, and that makes me think so more, for nothing
short of sum monstrous grate calamity could
rumple my feathers now. But I do hope it will all
blow over. I do b’lieve Mary grows hansomer
every day, and if things could stay jest as they is
now, I’d like to live ’til I was old enuff to be grandaddy
to Methusla. But it’s time I was gwine
over to mother’s to bring her home. So no more
from</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:6em;'>Your frend, ’til deth,</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;margin-bottom:2em;font-variant:small-caps;'>Jos. Jones.</p>
<hr class='tbk109'/>
<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:.8em;'>LETTER IX.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;font-size:.8em;'>Pineville, June 19th, 1843.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:left;margin-left:4em;'>Dear Sir,</p>
<p class='pindent'>Everything’s went on pretty smooth sense I writ
my last letter to you. Mary soon got over her
skare, but the way she’s mad at Cousin Pete won’t
wear off in a coon’s age. She ses he musent never
put his foot in our house, if he don’t want to get
his old red whiskers scalded off his fool face. She
ses she always thought Pete had <span class='it'>some sense</span>, but
now, she ses, she don’t know whether he’s a bigger
rascal than he is a fool.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Wimmin’s monstrous curious critters, now
’tween you and me, and it takes more hed than I’ve
got to manage ’em without some diffikilties now and
then. It seems to me Mary’s gittin’ curiouser
every day. I don’t know what upon yeath to make
of her sometimes, she acts so quar. Lord knows, I
does everything in my power to please her—I gits
everything she wants—I always lets her have her
own way in everything, and I stays home with her
more’n half my time—but every now and then she
takes a cryin’ spell, jest for nothin’. Now, I’ll jest
tell you one little circumstance, jest to let you see
how curious she does do me sometimes.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Two or three months ago little Sally Rogers gin
her one of the leetlest dogs I reckon you ever did
see. It’s a little white curly thing ’bout as big as
my fist, with little red eyes and a little bushy tail
screwed rite over its back so tite that it can’t hardly
touch its hind legs to the floor, and when it barks
it’s got a little sharp voice that goes rite through a
body’s hed like a cotton gimblet. Well, Mary and
the galls is all the time washin’ and comin’, and
fixin’ it off with ribbons on its neck and tail, and
nursin’ it in ther laps till they’ve got the dratted
thing so sasy that ther ain’t no gittin’ along
with it.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Whenever I go ’bout Mary it’s a snarlin’ and
snappin’ at me, and when ennybody comes in the
house, it flies at ’em like it was gwine to tare ’em
all to pieces, and makes more racket than all the
dogs on the place. It’s bit my fingers two or three
times, and if I jest tetch it, it’ll squall out like its
back was broke, and run rite to the wimmin and git
under ther chairs, and then the very old harry’s
to pay.</p>
<p class='pindent'>If ever I say anything about it, then they all say
I’m “jealous of poor little Tip,” and that I ought
to be ashamed of myself to be mad at “the dear
little feller.” Well, I always laugh it off the best
way I can, but I reckon I’ve wished some rat would
catch “poor little Tip” more’n a thousand times,
and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was to be tuck
suddenly sick and die some of these days, ’thout
enybody knowing the cause. But I jest want to
tell a instance of the devilment he kicks up sometimes.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Last night we was all settin’ in the parlour—the
galls was sowin’, and Mary and me was playin’ a
game of drafts, and I was jest about to pen her
with three kings, when one of the checks happened
to drap off the board rite down by Mary’s foot. I
stooped over to pick it up, when the fust thing I
knowd, snap the little devil of a dog tuck me rite
by the finger, and then set up a terrible barkin’ and
run rite behind Mary’s foot.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I never wanted to hit nothin’ so bad in my life,
and I leaned over to tap him on the head, but
Mary put her little foot out before him, and I
missed Tip’s nose about an inch, and he snapped
agin. I leaned over further and further, and tried
to hit him, but Mary’s foot was always in the way
every time, and the last time when I was reachin’
jest as fur as I could, and her foot was in the way,
and the little cus was squealin’ and snappin’ as
hard as he could, I got sort o’ out of patience tryin’
to hit him, and ses I:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Don’t</span> put your foot in the way!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Jest then down went the “History of England”
and all the checks on the floor, and Tip run under
Mary’s chair, clear out of sight, squallin’ like he
was killed, when ther wasn’t a hair of him tetched.
When I ris up my face was a little red, and I would
gin a five dollar bill jest to tramp that infernal dog
out of his hide. Well, what do you think? the
fust thing I knowed Mary was a cryin’ like her hart
was gwine to brake.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why,” ses I, “Mary, what’s the matter with
you? I didn’t touch Tip.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>She didn’t say nothing but jest went on cryin’
worse and worse, and told Miss Carline to hand her
the colone water; and ther she sot and cried and
snuffed the colone and sighed, and nobody didn’t
know what the matter was.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, Mary,” ses I, “what upon yeath ails
you? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Y-e-s, you-oo-did. I-didn’t-think-you-oo-would-speak-so
to-oo me, Joseph. I didn’t think you’d git
mad at me-e-e, so I didn’t.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why, lord bless your dear soul, I ain’t mad at
you, Mary!” ses I, “what makes you think I could
git mad at you?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ’Cause I didn’t want you to hurt poor little
Tip—poor little feller, he didn’t know no better.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But, Mary, I wasn’t mad at you at all,” ses I,
“what makes you think so?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“ ’Cause you never said <span class='it'>don’t</span> so cross to me before—you
said it jest as cross as you could.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“But I wasn’t mad, honey—it was reachin’ over
so fur made me speak sort o’ quick,” ses I, “I
never was mad at you in my life.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>But in spite of all I could say or do I couldn’t
git her in a good humour the whole evenin’, jest
’cause I said “don’t” to her when she kep’ puttin’
her foot in my way. It’s all over now, but I dasn’t
look sideways at Tip for fear he’ll kick up another
fuss. It’s monstrous curious. I know Mary loves
me, and ther ain’t a sweeter tempered nor a better
gall in Georgia, but they all have such curious ways
sometimes. Old Miss Stallins say it’s always so
at first, but she ses Mary’ll git over all them little
childish notions one of these days. Ther’s one
thing certain, I wish ther was no little dogs in our
family.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I never was so supprised in my life as when I
heard ’bout them oudacious bank robbers. I think
they better alter the law about jurys, so that when
they want to try criminal cases hereafter, they can
jest send to the Penitentiary and git twelve fellers
at once to come and be jurymen. They’d answer the
purpose jest as well, and then honest men wouldn’t
be put to no trouble to go to court jest to be
objected to by the lawyers on account of ther
good charaters. Besides it’s a insult to a decent
man to be put on a jury now, in a criminal
case.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Ther was a trial in our county not long ago of
a feller what had killed a man and robbed him of
a heap of money. Ther was lots of lawyers here
in his favour, and when they come to pick out the
jury ther was hardly twelve men in the county that
the lawyers thought mean enough to set on the case.
They was two days a gittin’ a jury, and every time
they called up a decent lookin’ man, the prisoner’s
lawyers would look at him and say, “give him the
book,” and if he sed he hadn’t formed and expressed
no opinion as to the gilt of the prisoner,
(which most every man that cared anything about
law or justice had done,) they’d look at him close,
and then whisper to one another, and if they
hadn’t never heard of his robin’ anybody’s hen-roost
or stealin’ anything, they’d say, “object.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Mose Sanders was called up, and Mose ain’t a very
good-lookin’ feller, though he’s a honest man as
ever lived. They looked at Mose awhile, and he
felt sort o’ bashful I s’pose, and looked sort o’
mean, and they said “content.” Well, the case
was tryed, and it was such a perfect open and shut
bisness that they couldn’t help bringin’ the feller
in guilty in spite of the lawyers. But ther ain’t a
man in the county that is got any confidence in
Mose Sanders after that—his character is completely
ruined, cause everybody thinks the lawyers wouldn’t
tuck him on that jury if they didn’t know he was a
rascal. For my own part I would jest as leav be
s’picioned of stealin’ a sheep, as to be put upon
a criminal jury by the lawyers now-a-days. No
more from</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:6em;'>Your frend, ’til deth,</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;margin-bottom:2em;font-variant:small-caps;'>Jos. Jones.</p>
<hr class='tbk110'/>
<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:.8em;'>LETTER X.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;font-size:.8em;'>Pineville, Ga., March 21st, 1844.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:left;margin-left:4em;'>Dear Sir,</p>
<p class='pindent'>You mustn’t think hard cause I hain’t rit you a
letter for so long a time. Sense the arrival of the
little stranger, my time what I’ve had to spare from
the plantation is been pretty much tuck up with
nussin’ and gwine to town after doctor stuff for
it.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Babys is wundrous supprisin’ things, Mr. Thompson,
as you know, and when one thinks how much
trouble they give a body, we almost wunder what
makes us so anxious to have ’em. You mustn’t
think I’m beginnin’ to git tired of mine. No indeed,
not by no means. I wouldn’t give my little
Harry Clay for all the niggers and plantations
in Georgy, as much trouble and worryment as he
gives me. Ain’t it curious what store we do set
by the little creeters, even before we’ve had ’em
long enuff to know anything about ’em. It seems
like a new fountin of happyness is opened in our
harts, a new value given to everything we’ve got,
and a new purpose to our lives, when for the fust
time we look upon a little helpless bein’ that is
born of our love, and is dependent on us for support
and protection. How anxious we is to do
everything we can for ’em! What pleasure we
find in the pains we take to make ’em happy. But
you is a man of experience in these matters, Mr.
Thompson, and I needn’t tell you nothin’ abou’ it.
I must tell you though, what a terrible skeer we
had t’other night with the baby.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I had been down to Tom Stallinses mill, to see
about gittin’ out some lumber to bild me a new gin-house,
and had been ridin’ and workin’ hard all day
in the wet, and cum home monstrous tired, late in
the evenin’. Mary and the baby was all well, and
I went to bed pretty early, thinkin’ to git a good
nite’s rest for the fust time in a month. Well, how
long I’d been sleepin’, I can’t tell, but the fust
thing I know’d was Mary pullin’ my hair to make
me wake up.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Joseph!—Joseph!” ses she.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Ha! what’s the matter?” ses I, when I seed
her leanin’ over in the bed with the lamp in her
hand, and her face as pale as the gown she had
on.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Joseph, do git up,” ses she, “something’s
the matter with the baby.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>That was enuff for me, and in a twinklin’ I was
settin’ up in the bed, as wide awake as if I hadn’t
been asleep in a week.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Look at him, Joseph—he acts so curious,” ses
she, as she tuck the little feller out of his crib, and
laid him down in the bed between us.</p>
<p class='pindent'>For ’bout two minits we both sot and looked at
the baby, ’thout drawin’ a breth. Thar it lay on
its back, with its little hands down by its side.
Fust it would spread its mouth like it was laughin’
at something—then it would roll its eyes about in
its bed and wink ’em at us—then it would twitch
all over, and ketch its breth—then it would lay
right still and stop breathin’ for a second or two,
and then it would twitch its little lims agin, and
roll its eyes about the strangest I ever seed anything
in my life, and then it would coo, so pitiful, like
a little dove, two or three times, till it would kind
of smuther like, and stop breathin’ agin.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I could hear Mary’s hart beat quite plain, and
I felt the cold blood runnin’ back to mine like a
mill-tail. I looked at Mary, and she looked at me,
and such a expression as she had in her eyes I never
seed in any human.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Joseph!” ses she.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Mary!” ses I.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, dear!” ses she, the big tears fillin’ her
butiful eyes. “Oh, dear! the baby is dyin’—I
know it is. Oh, what <span class='it'>shall</span> we do?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh no, Mary, don’t get skeered,” ses I, with
what little breth I could summons up for the
effort.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh yes, I know it is. I know’d something
was gwine to happen, I had sich a dreadful dream
last night. Git up, Joseph, and call muther and the
galls, quick as you can. Oh dear me, my poor
little baby!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Don’t take on, Mary—maybe ’taint nothin’
bad,” ses I, tryin’ to compose her all I could,
though I was scared as bad as she was, and put
my trowsers on wrong side before in my hurryment.</p>
<p class='pindent'>In a minit I had all the fam’ly up, and by the
time I got the fire kindled, here cum old Miss
Stallins and the galls, all in ther nite clothes,
skeered almost out of ther senses.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Dear me, what upon yeath’s the matter?” ses
old Miss Stallins.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, the baby! the baby!” cried Mary.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“What is happened?” ses all of ’em, getherin’
round the bed.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know what ails it,” ses Mary, “but it
acts so strange—like it was gwine to dy.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Mercy on us!” ses the galls.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Don’t take on so, my child,” ses old Miss
Stallins. “It mought be very bad for you.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>But poor Mary didn’t think of anything but the
baby.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“What’s good for it, muther? what’ll cure it?”
ses she.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The old woman put on her specticles, and looked
at it, and felt it all over, while Mary was holdin’ it
in her lap by the fire.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Don’t be skared,” ses she. “Don’t be skared,
my child, maybe it’s nothing but the hives, or the
yaller thrash, or some other baby ailment, what
won’t hurt it.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, it’ll dy—I know it will,” ses Mary.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Maybe its only sick at its little stummick,
muther,” ses sister Carline, “and some sut tea
is the best thing in the world for that, they
say.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“And if it’s the thrash, some catnip tea will
drive it out in half a ower,” ses the old woman.
“Prissy, make some catnip tea, quick as you
can.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“And have some water warmed to bathe its little
feet in,” ses sister Kesiah; “for maybe its
spasomy.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh dear, see how it winks its eyes!” ses
Mary.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“That ain’t nothing uncommon, dear,” ses her
muther.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Now it’s twitchin’ its little lims again. Oh, it
will dy, I know it will.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Wouldn’t some saffron tea be good for it?” ses
Miss Carline. “Poor little dear!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, and a musterd poultice for its little bowels,”
ses the old woman.</p>
<p class='pindent'>By this time all the niggers on the place was up
gettin’ hot-baths, and teas, and musterd poultices,
and ingun-juice, and Lord knows what all, for the
baby. Muther and the galls was flyin’ about like
they was crazy, and I was so tarrified myself that I
didn’t know which eend I stood on. In the hurryment
and confusion, Aunt Katy upsot the tea-kittle
and scalded little Moses, and he sot up a yell in the
kitchin loud enuff to be heard a mile, and I
knocked the lamp off the table, and spilled the oil
all everything, tryin’ to turn round three ways at
the same time. After breakin’ two or three cups
and sassers, and settin’ Mary’s night-cap afire with
the candle, old Miss Stallins made out to git a
tea-spoonful of sut tea in the baby’s mouth, hot
enuff to scald its life out, and then ther was
such another to-do as nobody ever did hear
before.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Wa!—wa-ya!—ke-wa!—ke-wa-ah!” went the
baby.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Good gracious! mother, the tea’s bilin’ hot,”
ses sister Carline.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“My lord! Prissy, hain’t you got no better
sense? What upon yeath did you give it to me so
hot for?” ses the old woman when she put her
finger in the cup.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Miss Kesiah tell me pour bilin’ water on it,”
ses Prissy, with her eyes as big as sassers.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Wa-ya! ke-wa-ah! ke-wa!” ses the baby,
kickin’ and fistin’ away like all rath.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Whar’s the draps, Joseph? Git the draps, it
must be colicky,” ses old Miss Stallins.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I got the parrygorrick as quick as I could, and
tried to pour out five draps, as she told me. But
my hand trimbled so I couldn’t drap it to save
me.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Give it to me, Joseph,” ses she; “you’s too
agitated.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>And she tuck the vial, and poured half of it on
her lap, tryin’ to hit the spoon—the poor old
woman’s eyes is so bad. Then she told sister
Carline to drap it—but both the galls was ’fraid
they mought pour too much. So Mary had to do
it herself. Then the next difficulty was to git it in
the baby’s mouth, and when they did git it thar, it
liked to choke it to deth before it could swaller
it.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Pretty soon after that it got quiet, and went
sound to sleep in Mary’s lap, and we all begun to
feel a good deal better. Old Miss Stallins sed she
know’d what it wanted as soon as she had time to
think, and she wondered she didn’t think of it
before. Lord only know’d what mought happened
if we hadn’t the parrygorrick in the house. We all
felt so good after we got over our skare, that we sot
thar and congratulated one another a little while
before gwine to bed agin.</p>
<p class='pindent'>While we was all chattin’ and old Miss Stallins
was beginnin’ to nod, I noticed Mary was watchin’
the baby monstrous close, and her eyes was beginnin’
to git bigger and bigger, as she looked at its
face. Bimeby it groaned one of the longest kind of
groans.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh dear!” ses Mary, “I do b’lieve it’s dyin’
agin!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>We all jumped up and run to her, and shure
enuff, it looked a heap worse than it did before, and
kep’ all the time moanin’ like it was breathin’ its
last gasp.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, mother, its gwine! It’s jest as limber as a
rag, and it’s got sich a terrible deth look. Send
for the docter, quick,” ses Mary, trimblin’ all over,
and lookin’ as if she was gwine to faint in her
cheer.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Miss Carline tuck hold of its little hands, and
moved ’em, but they was jest like a ded baby’s, and
staid anywhar she put ’em.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Ned was sent to town for Doctor Gaiter, as hard
as the hoss could go—Mary and the galls all fell
a-cryin’ like they was at a funerel, and I felt so
fainty myself that I couldn’t hardly stand on
my feet. Old Miss Stallins would give the baby
some ingin-juice, and have it put in a warm bath
all over; but nothing we could do for it done it any
good, and we jest had to wait in a agony of suspense
’til the doctor cum.</p>
<p class='pindent'>It ain’t only three miles to town, and Selim’s one
of the fastest hosses in Georgia, but it seemed like
the docter would never cum.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Poor little thing!” ses Mary; “I know’d my
hart was sot on him too much—I know’d it was too
pretty and sweet to live. Oh, dear!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“How it does suffer—poor little angel,” ses Miss
Carline; “what kin ail the child?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I wish the docter would cum,” ses all of
’em.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Sich thoughts as I had in that ower, I never
want to have agin, as long as I live. A coffin, with
a little baby in its shroud, was all the time before
my eyes, and a whole funeral procession was passin’
through my hed. The sermon was ringin’ in my
ears, and I could almost hear the rumblin’ of the
fust shovelful of yeath on the grave boards of my
little boy, as I walked round and round the room,
stoppin’ now and then to take a look at the pore
little thing, and to speak a word of incouragement
to Mary. It was a dredful feelin’ Mr. Thompson,
and I do b’lieve I’ve felt ten years older ever sense.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Bimeby we heard the hosses feet—all of us drawed
a long breth, and every face brightened up at the
sound. In a minit more the docter laid his saddle-bags
on the table.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Good evenin’, ladies,” ses he, jest as pleasin’
and perlite as if nothing wasn’t the matter. “Good
evenin’, Majer; how are you this—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“The baby! the baby!” ses all of ’em. “Docter,
can’t you cure the baby?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, docter,” ses Mary, “our only hope is in
you, docter.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“And Providence, my child,” ses old Miss
Stallins.</p>
<p class='pindent'>It seemed like the docter never would git all his
grate-coats, and gloves, and hankerchers off, though
the wimmin was hurryin’ him and helpin’ him all
they could. Bimeby he drawed a cheer up to whar
Mary was sittin’ to look at the baby.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“What’s the matter with yer child, Mrs. Jones?”
ses he, pullin’ away its gown and feelin’ its pulse.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know, docter; but it’s dredful sick,” ses
Mary.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“When was it tuck sick, and what is its simptoms?”
ses the docter.</p>
<p class='pindent'>All of ’em begun to tell at once, ’til the docter
told ’em he could understand ’em better if they’d
only talk one at a time, and then Mary told him all
about it.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“And how much parrygorrick did you give it?”
ses Docter Gaiter.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Five draps,” ses old Miss Stallins, “I wanted
to give it more, but the children was all so skeery.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Let me see your parrygorrick,” ses the docter.</p>
<p class='pindent'>He tuck it and smelled it, and tasted it, and then,
says he:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You’re sure you didn’t give it only five draps,
Madam?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, no more’n five,” ses Mary, “for I poured it
out myself.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Then the docter looked monstrous wise at the
baby, for ’bout a minit, and if you could jest seed
the wimmin lookin’ at him. None of us breathed
a single breth, and poor Mary looked rite in the
docter’s face, as if she wanted to see his very
thoughts.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Doc—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Is—”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Don’t be ’larmed, Madam,” ses he, “ther ain’t
no danger!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Sich a change as cum over the crowd! The
room seemed to git lighter in a instant. It was
like the sunlight breakin’ through a midnight sky.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Mary cried like a child, and hugged her baby to
her bussum, and kissed it a dozen times, and talked
baby talk to it; and the galls begun puttin’ the room
to rights, so it would be fit for the docter to see it.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Is you sure ther ain’t no danger, docter?” ses
old Miss Stallins.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“None in the least, Madam,” ses he. “Ther’s
nothing in the world the matter of the child, only
it had a little touch of the hives, what made it
laugh and roll its eyes about in its sleep. In your
fright, you burnt its mouth with yer hot teas, till it
cried a little, and then you’ve doctered it with hot
baths, ingin-juice, and parrygorrick, till you’ve stupified
it a little. That’s all, Madam. By mornin’
it’ll be well as ever it was, if you don’t give it no
more big doses of parrygorrick.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I sed so,” ses old Miss Stallins. “I told the
child ther was no use in takin’ on so ’bout the baby.
But young people is so easy skeered, you know,
docter.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, and old grandmothers too, sumtimes,” ses
he, laughin’.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The baby soon quit moanin’ so bad, and Mary
laid it in the bed and kiver’d it over with kisses.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Bless it, mudder’s tweetest ’ittle darlin’ baby—its
dittin’ well, so it is—and dey sant dive it no more
natty fisies, and burn its tweet ’ittle mouf no
more, so dey sant,” ses she; and the galls got
round, and sich a everlastin’ gabblement as they did
keep up.</p>
<p class='pindent'>By this time it was most daylight, and after drinkin’
a cup of strong coffee what old Miss Stallins
had made for him, and laughin’ at us for bein’ so
skared at nothing, the good old docter bundled on
his clothes, and went home to charge me five dollars
for routin’ him out of his bed and makin’ him ride
six miles in the cold. But I ain’t sorry we sent for
him, for I do b’lieve if he hadn’t cum, we would
dosed poor little Harry ded as a door nail before
mornin’. The little feller is doin’ prime now, and
if he was to have another attack of the hives, I’ll
take monstrous good care they don’t give him no
more dratted parrygorrick. So no more from</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:6em;'>Your frend, ’til deth,</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;margin-bottom:2em;font-variant:small-caps;'>Jos. Jones.</p>
<hr class='tbk111'/>
<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:.8em;'>LETTER XI.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;font-size:.8em;'>Pineville, Ga., April 10th, 1844.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:left;margin-left:4em;'>Dear Sir,</p>
<p class='pindent'>I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout ritin’ a letter one of
these days, but the fact is, sense last Febuary, I
hain’t had much time for nothing. The baby’s been
cross as the mischief, most all the time sense it
had the hives, and Mary, she’s beep ailin’ a good
deal, ever sense she got that terrible scare last month—and
then you know this time of year we planters
is all as bissy as we can be, fixin’ for the crap.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Nothin’ very uncommon hain’t took place down
here sense I rit my last letter to you, only t’other
day a catasterfy happened in our family that come
monstrous nigh puttin’ a eend to the whole generation
of us. I never was so near skeered out of my
senses afore in all my born days, and I don’t b’lieve
old Miss Stallins ever will git over it, if she
was to live a thousand years. But I’ll tell you all
about it.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Last Monday mornin’ all of us got up well and
harty as could be, and I sot in our room with Mary,
and played with the baby till breckfust time, little
thinkin’ what was gwine to happen so soon. The
little feller was jumpin’ and crowin’ so I couldn’t
hardly hold him in my arms, and spreadin’ his little
mouth, and laughin’ jest like he know’d everything
we sed to him.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Bimeby, Ant Prissy cum to tell us breckfust was
reddy, and we all went into t’other room to eat, ’cept
sister Kesiah, who sed she would stay and take care
of little Henry Clay, till we was done. Mary’s so
careful she won’t trust the baby with none of the
niggers a single minit, and she’s always dredful
oneasy when Kesiah’s got it, she’s so wild and so
careless.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Well we sot down to breckfust, and Kesiah, she
scampered up stairs to her room with the baby,
jumpin’ it up, and kissin’ it, and talkin’ to it as hard
as she could.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Now, sis, do be careful of my precious little
darlin’,” ses Mary, loud as she could to her, when
she was gwine up stairs.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, eat your breckfust, child, and don’t be so
tarrified ’bout the baby,” ses old Miss Stallins—“you
don’t ’low yerself a minit’s peace when it’s out
of yer sight.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“That’s a fact,” ses sister Carline, “she won’t
let nobody do anything for little Henry but herself.
I know I wouldn’t be so crazy ’bout no child of
mine.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well, but you know sister Kiz is so careless—I’m
always afraid she’ll let it swaller something, or
git a fall some way,” ses Mary.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Tut, tut,” ses the old woman, “ther ain’t no
sense in bein’ all the time scared to deth ’bout nothing.
People’s got enuff to do in this world to
bear ther trouble when it comes, ’thout studdyin’
it up all the time. Take some of them good
hot corn muffins,” ses she, “they’s mighty nice.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>We was all eatin’ along—the old woman was
talkin’ ’bout her garden and the frost, how it had
nipped her Inglish peas, and I was jest raisin my
coffee cup to my mouth, when I heard Kesiah scream
out:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, my Lord! the baby! the baby!” and
kerslash! it cum rite down stairs on to the floor.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Lightnin’ couldn’t knocked me off my seat
quicker! Down went the coffee, and over went the
table and all the vittles. Mary screamed, and old
Miss Stallins fainted rite away in her cheer. I
was so blind I couldn’t hardly see, but I never
breathed a breth ’til I grabbed it up in my arms and
run round the house two or three times, ’fore I had
the hart to look at the poor little thing, to see if it
was ded.</p>
<p class='pindent'>By this time the galls was holt of my coat tail,
hollerin’ “April Fool! April Fool!” as hard as
they could, and when I cum to look, I had
nothing in my arms but a bundle of rags with
little Henry Clay’s clothes on. I shuck all over
like I had the ager, and felt a monstrous sight
more like cussin’ than laughin’.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“April Fool, dingnation!” ses I: “fun’s fun;
but I’m dad blamed if ther’s any fun in any sich
doin’s,” and I was jest gwine to blow out a little,
when I heard Mary screamin’ for me to cum to her
mother.</p>
<p class='pindent'>When we got in the dinin’ room, thar the old
woman was, keeled over in her cheer, with her eyes
sot in her hed and a corn muffin stickin’ in her
mouth. Mary was takin’ on at a terrible rate, and all
she could do was jest to clapp her hands and holler.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, mother’s dyin’! mother’s dyin’! whar’s the
baby? Oh, my poor mother! Oh, my darlin’ baby!”</p>
<p class='pindent'>I tuck Mary and splained it all to her and tried
to quiet the poor gall, and the galls got at the old
woman; but it tuck all sorts of rubbin’, and ever so
much assafedity, and campfire and hartshorn, and
burnt hen’s feathers to bring her too; and then she
wouldn’t stay brung too more’n a minit ’fore she’d
keel over agin, and I do b’lieve if they hadn’t
brung little Henry Clay to her, so she could see
him and feel him, and hear him squall, she never
would got her senses agin. She aint more’n half at
herself yit. All the gals kin do they can’t make
her understand the April Fool bisiness, and she won’t
let nobody else but herself nuss the baby ever sense.</p>
<p class='pindent'>As soon as I had time to think a little, I was so
monstrous glad it wasn’t no worse, that I couldn’t
stay mad with the galls. But I tell you what, I
was terrible rathy for a few minits. I don’t b’lieve
in this April foolin’. Last year the galls deviled me
almost to deth with ther bominable nonsense, sowin’
up the legs of my trowsers, punchin’ holes in the
water gourd, so I wet my shirt busom all over when
I went to drink, and heatin’ the handle of the
tongs, and cuttin’ the cowhide bottoms of the cheers
loose, so I’d fall through ’em when I went to set
down, and all sich devilment. I know the Bible
ses there’s a time for all things; but I think the
least a body has to do with fool bisiness at any
time the better for ’em. I’m monstrous tired of
sich doin’s myself, and if I didn’t think the galls
had got ther fill of April foolin’ this time, I’d try
to git a almynack next year what didn’t have no
fust day of April in it.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:6em;'>No more from your frend ’til deth,</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;font-variant:small-caps;'>Jos. Jones.</p>
<div><h1 id='ch26'>XXVI.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>DOWN-EAST CURIOSITY.<a id='r16'/><a href='#f16' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[16]</span></sup></a></span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>On my voyage up the North River, I was seated
in the cabin reading a newspaper, when I observed
an odd-looking individual reading over my shoulder.
I looked up in his face, when the fellow, with his
hands in his pocket, and not in the least disconcerted
at being caught in so impertinent and unmannerly
an act, exclaimed:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Any news in particular?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, Sir; will you accept the paper?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh no! can’t; ain’t got time. It’s the first
time I’ve been up this river, and I want to be
looking reound. How can they take a fellow up
this river for a dollar and found. They can’t dew it.
It’s a take-in.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“How is that?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Why they charge one dollar to take you in,
and when you git up to Albany, you’ve got to
pay another dollar to git eout. Got this place all
fixed up so. Sophy’s all reound tew. I never use
Sophy’s myself, but once courted a gal by that
name, and it looks a kind o’ natural to see Sophy’s
reound; and them stuffed-bottom chairs eout there.
I thought I’d set deown on ’em; by thunder, I
jumped up three feet. Oh, I’ll be darned if I didn’t
think I was sitting down on somebody’s baby. You
see I chaw tobacco; grandfather chawed, and father
he chawed, and mother, she—eh—no, she didn’t
she snuffed, so you see I have to keep running up
to expectorate—as our doctor says, overboard. I
expect I shall have to go again in about a minute.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You need not take that trouble, Sir,” said I
“here are spittoons.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Spittoons! Oh yes, I know’d what them was
for, but they’ve got ’em brightened up so, I didn’t
like to nasty ’em. I went to the the-ater to see
you t’other night. Didn’t you see me? I sot right
in front of you.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, Sir, I did not.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Wal, I don’t suppose you could; there was a
hull lot of fellers there. I got jammed in. I had
on a striped vest, the fronts were new, but the
backs being made of cotton, sometimes will give
eout. By golly, I got tew laughing, so away went
the back, slitted right up to the collar. I was a
little the tornest critter you ever did see.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I am very sorry for your misfortune,” I
remarked.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Oh, you needn’t fret abeout it, stranger. I
shouldn’t a wore it much more nor three weeks
longer, any how. You see I never wear my best
clothes to sich places, ’cause it kind a rips them
eout a leetle. I had a bet abeout you. Some feller
said you was born on Long Island. I told him
you wasn’t, you was born down-east.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You were right, Sir, I was born in one of the
Eastern States.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“There, I know’d you was, ’cause I know’d you
couldn’t get along so well as you did, if you wasn’t
born deown that way somewhere. Have you been in
Massachusetts?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Sir,” I said.</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Been in the State of Maine?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Sir.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Been in New Hampshire?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Sir.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Ah! Maybe you was born there? They’ve
got a good many Hills.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, Sir, I was not.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Wal, you might have been. Ever been in
Vermont?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Sir.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“You know old Zeke Hill?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“No, Sir.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Nor I nuther, but I’ve hearn tell there was
such a feller, didn’t know but you might have
known him tew.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Have you ever been in Connecticut?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Sir.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Ever been in Rhode Island? that little bit of
a thing in there.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Sir.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Have you ever been in Boston?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Sir.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>Having thus obtained nothing very satisfactory
from me, in relation to my birth-place, he
commenced asking me if I had been to the
Capital of this State, and then the other, until he
had got through the whole of them; he then, to
my astonishment, commenced with the country
towns, doubtless with the hope of hitting at last
upon the one in which I was born. Getting a
little out of patience, I said:</p>
<p class='pindent'>“I presume, Sir, you wish to ascertain where I
was born?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Wal, yes, I shouldn’t mind knowing, if you
have no objection to tell, and if you had told me
before, you would have saved me a darned sight of
trouble.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Well,” I said, “I was born in Boston, in the
year 1809, on the 8th day of October, at six o’clock
in the morning.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“At six o’clock, eh?”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“At six o’clock precisely, down in Water
Street.”</p>
<p class='pindent'>“Dew tell. But, stranger, <span class='it'>dew you remember
the number of the house?</span>”</p>
<hr class='footnotemark'/>
<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_16'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f16'><a href='#r16'>[16]</a></div>
</td><td>
<p class='pindent'>By G. H. Hill.</p>
</td></tr>
</table>
</div>
<div><h1 id='ch27'>XXVII.<br/> <span class='sub-head'>A SAGE CONVERSATION.</span></h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>I love the aged matrons of our land. As a
class, they are the most pious, the most benevolent,
the most useful, and the most harmless of the
human family. Their life is a life of good offices.
At home, they are patterns of industry, care,
economy, and hospitality; abroad, they are ministers
of comfort, peace, and consolation. Where affliction
is, there are they, to mitigate its pangs; where
sorrow is, there are they to assuage its pains. Nor
night, nor day, nor summer’s heat, nor winter’s
cold, nor angry elements, can deter them from
scenes of suffering and distress. They are the first
at the fevered couch, and the last to leave it. They
hold the first and last cup to the parched lip. They
bind the aching head, close the dying eye, and
linger in the death-stricken habitation, to pour the
last drop of consolation into the afflicted bosoms of
the bereaved. I cannot, therefore, ridicule them
myself, nor bear to hear them ridiculed in my
presence. And yet, I am often amused at their
conversations; and have amused <span class='it'>them</span> with a rehearsal
of their own conversations, taken down by
me when they little dreamed that I was listening to
them. Perhaps my reverence for their character,
conspiring with a native propensity to extract
amusement from all that passes under my observation,
has accustomed me to pay a uniformly strict
attention to all they say in my presence.</p>
<p class='pindent'>This much in extraordinary courtesy to those
who cannot distinguish between a simple narrative
of an amusing interview, and ridicule of the parties
to it. Indeed I do not know that the conversation
which I am about to record, will be considered
amusing by any of my readers. Certainly the
amusement of the readers of my own times is not
the leading object of it, or of any of the “Georgia
Scenes;” forlorn as may be the hope, that their
main object will ever be answered.</p>
<p class='pindent'>My intention is merely to detail a conversation
between three ladies, which I heard many years
since; confining myself to only so much of it, as
sprung from the ladies’ own thoughts, unawakened
by the suggestions of others.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I was travelling with my old friend, Ned Brace,
when we stopped at the dusk of the evening at a
house on the road-side, for the night. Here we
found three nice, tidy, aged matrons, the youngest
of whom could not have been under sixty; one of
them of course was the lady of the house, whose
husband, old as he was, had gone from home upon
a land-exploring expedition. She received us hospitably,
had our horses well attended to, and soon
prepared for us a comfortable supper.</p>
<p class='pindent'>While these things were doing, Ned and I engaged
the other two in conversation; in the course of
which, Ned deported himself with becoming seriousness.
The kind lady of the house occasionally
joined us, and became permanently one of the
party, from the time the first dish was placed on the
table.</p>
<p class='pindent'>At the usual hour we were summoned to supper;
after which the conversation turned upon marriages,
happy and unhappy, strange, unequal, runaways,
&c. Ned rose at last, and asked the landlady where
we should sleep. She pointed to an open shed-room
adjoining the room in which we were sitting,
and separated from it by a log partition, between
the spaces of which might be seen all that passed in
the dining-room; and so close to the fire-place of
this apartment, that a loud whisper might be easily
heard from one to the other.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I could not resist the temptation of casting an
eye through the cracks of the partition to see the
effect of Ned’s wonderful stories upon the kind
ladies. Mrs. Barney (it is time to give their names)
was sitting in a thoughtful posture; her left hand
supporting her chin, and her knee supporting her
left elbow. Her countenance was that of one who
suffers from a slight tooth-ache.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Shad leaned forward, resting her fore-arm
on her knees, and looking into the fire as if she saw
<span class='it'>groups of children</span> playing in it. Mrs. Reed, the
landlady, who was the fattest of the three, was
thinking and laughing alternately at short intervals.
From my bed it required but a slight
change of position to see any one of the group at
pleasure.</p>
<p class='pindent'>I was no sooner composed on my pillow, than the
old ladies drew their chairs close together, and began
the following colloquy in a low undertone, which
rose as it progressed:</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. Barney.</span> Didn’t that man say them was two
men that got married to one another?</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. Shad.</span> It seemed to me so.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. Reed.</span> Why to be sure he did.—I know he
said so; for he said what their names was.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> Well, in the name o’ sense, what did
the man mean?</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> Why, bless your heart and soul, honey!
that’s what I’ve been thinkin’ about. It seems
mighty curious to me some how or other. I can’t
study it out, nohow.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> The man must be jokin’, certainly.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> No, he wasn’t jokin’; for I looked at
him, and he was just as much in yearnest as anybody
I ever <span class='it'>seed</span>; and besides, no <span class='it'>Christian</span> man
would tell such a story in that solemn way.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> But la’ messy! Mis’ Reed, it can’t be
so. It doesn’t stand to reason, don’t you know it
don’t?</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> Well, I wouldn’t think so; but it’s
hard for me, somehow, to dispute a <span class='it'>Christian</span> man’s
word.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> I’ve been thinking the thing all over in
my mind, and I reckon—now I don’t say it is so,
for I don’t know nothing at all about it—but I
reckon that one o’ them men was a woman dress’d
in men’s clothes; for I’ve often hearn o’ women
doin’ them things, and following their True-love
to the wars, and bein’ a watin’-boy to ’em and all
sich.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The ladies here took leave of Ned’s marvellous
story, drew themselves closely round the fire, lighted
their pipes, and proceeded as follows:</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> Jist before me and my old man was
married, there was a gal name Nancy Mountcastle
(<span class='it'>puff—puff</span>), and she was a mighty likely gal—(<span class='it'>puff</span>),
I know’d her mighty well—she dressed herself
up in men’s clothes—(<span class='it'>puff, puff</span>), and followed
Jemmy Darden from P’ankatank, in <span class='it'>King and
Queen</span>—(<span class='it'>puff</span>), clean up to <span class='it'>Loudon</span>.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> (<span class='it'>puff, puff, puff, puff, puff.</span>) And did he
marry her?</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> (<span class='it'>sighing deeply.</span>) No: Jemmy didn’t
marry her—pity he hadn’t, poor thing.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> Well, I know’d a gal on Tar River, done
the same thing—(<span class='it'>puff, puff, puff</span>.) She followed
Moses Rusher ’way down somewhere in the South
State—(<span class='it'>puff, puff</span>.)</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> (<span class='it'>puff, puff, puff, puff.</span>) And what did he
do?</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> Ah—(<span class='it'>puff, puff</span>,) Lord bless your soul,
honey, I can’t tell you what he did. Bad enough.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> Well, now it seems to me—I don’t know
much about it—but it seems to me men don’t like
to marry gals that take on that way. It looks like
it puts ’em out o’ concait of ’em.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> I know’d one man that married a woman
that followed him from Car’lina to this State; but
she didn’t dress herself in men’s clothes. You
both know ’em. You know Simpson Trotty’s
sister and Rachel’s son, Reuben. ’Twas him and
his wife.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R. and Mrs. B.</span> Oh yes, I know ’em mighty
well.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> Well it was his wife—she followed him
out to this State.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> I know’d ’em all mighty well. Her
da’ter Lucy was the littlest teeny bit of a thing
when it was born I ever did see. But they tell me
that when I was born—now I don’t know anything
about it myself—but the old folks used to tell me,
that when I was born, they put me in a quart-mug,
and mought o’ covered me up in it.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> The lackaday!</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> What ailment did Lucy die of Mis’
Barny?</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> Why, first she took the ager and fever,
and took a ’bundance o’ doctor’r means for that.
And then she got a powerful bad cough, and it kept
gittin’ worse and worse, till at last it turned into a
consumption, and she jist nat’ly wasted away, till
she was nothing but skin and bone, and she died;
but, poor creater, she died mighty happy; and I
think in my heart, she made the prettiest corpse,
considerin’ of any bod I most ever seed.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R. and Mrs. S.</span> Emph! (<span class='it'>solemnly.</span>)</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> What did the doctors give her for the
fever and ager?</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> Oh, they gin’ her a ’bundance o’ truck—I
don’t know what all; and none of ’em holp her at
all. But at last she got over it, somehow or other.
If they’d have just gin’ her a sweat o’ bitter yerbs,
jist as the spell was comin’ on, it would have cured
her right away.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> Well, I reckon sheep-saffron the onliest
thing in nater for the ager.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> I’ve always hearn it was wonderful in
hives, and measly ailments.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> Well, it’s jist as good for an ager—it’s
a powerful sweat. Mrs. Clarkson told me, that her
cousin Betsey’s aunt Sally’s Nancy was cured sound
and well by it, of a hard shakin’ ager.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> Why you don’t tell me so!</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> Oh bess your heart, honey, it’s every
word true; for she told me so with her own mouth.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> A hard, hard shakin’ ager!</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> Oh yes, honey, it’s the truth.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> Well, I’m told that if you’ll wrap the
inside skin of an egg round your little finger, and
go three days reg’lar to a young persimmon, and tie
a string round it, and every day, tie three knots in
it, and then not go agin for three days, that the ager
will leave you.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> I’ve often hearn o’ that, but I don’t
know about it. Some people don’t believe in it.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> Well, Davy Cooper’s wife told me she
didn’t believe in it; but she tried it, and it cured
her sound and well.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> I’ve hearn of many folks bein’ cured in
that way. And what did they do for Lucy’s cough,
Mis’ Barney?</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> Oh dear me, they gin’ her a powerful
chance o’ truck. I reckon, first and last, she took
at least a pint o’ lodimy.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S. and Mrs. R.</span> The law!</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> Why that ought to have killed her, if
nothing else. If they’d jist gin’ her a little cumfry
and <span class='it'>a</span>lecampane, stewed in honey, or sugar, or molasses,
with a little lump o’ mutton suet or butter in
it: it would have cured her in two days sound and
well.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> I’ve always counted cumfry and alecampane
the lead of all yerbs for colds.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> Horehound and sugar’s ’mazin’ good.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> Mighty good—mighty good.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> Powerful good. I take mightily to a
sweat of sage tea, in desperate bad colds.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> And so do I, Miss Reid. Indeed I have
a great leanin’ to sweats of yerbs, in all ailments
sich as colds, and rheumaty pains, and pleurisies,
and sich—they’re wonderful good. Old brother
Smith came to my house from Bethany meeting, in
a mighty bad way, with a cold, and cough, and his
throat and nose all stopt up; seemed like it would
’most take his breath away, and it was dead o’
winter, and I had nothin’ but dried yerbs, sich as
camomile, sage, pennyryal, catmint, horehound, and
sich; so I put a hot rock to his feet, and made him
a large bowl o’ catmint tea, and I reckon he drank
’most two quarts of it through the night, and it put
him in a mighty fine sweat, and loosened all the
<span class='it'>phleem</span>, and opened all his head; and the next
morning, says he to me, says he: “Sister Shad”
(you know he’s a mighty kind spoken man, and
always was so ’fore he joined society; and the old
man likes a joke yet right well, the old man does;
but he’s a mighty good man, and I think he prays
with greater libity, than ’most any one of his age
I ’most ever seed)—Don’t you think he does, Miss
Reed?</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> Powerful.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> Who did he marry?</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> Why, he married—stop, I’ll tell you
directly—Why, what does make my old head
forget so?</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> Well, it seems to me I don’t remember
like I used to. Didn’t he marry a Ramsbottom?</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> No. Stay, I’ll tell you who he married
presently—Oh, stay! why I’ll tell you who he married!—He
married old daddy Johnny Hooer’s d’ater,
Mournin’.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> Why, la! messy on me, so he did!</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> Why, did he marry a Hooer?</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> Why, to be sure he did.—You knew
Mournin’?</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> Oh, mighty well; but I’d forgot that
brother Smith married her: I really thought he
married a Ramsbottom.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> Oh no, bless your soul, honey, he married
Mournin’.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> Well, the law me, I’m clear beat!</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> Oh, it’s so, you may be sure it is.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> Emp, emph, emph, emph! And brother
Smith married Mournin’ Hooer! Well, I’m
clear put out! Seems to me I’m gittin’ mighty
forgetful somehow.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> Oh yes, he married Mournin’, and I
saw her when she joined society.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> Why, you don’t tell me so!</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> Oh, it’s the truth. She didn’t join till
after she was married, and the church took on
mightily about his marrying one out of society. But
after she joined, they all got satisfied.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> Why, la! me, the seven stars is ’way
over here!</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> Well, let’s light our pipes, and take a
short smoke, and go to bed. How did you come on
raisin’ chickens this year, Mis’ Shad!</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> La messy, honey! I have had mighty
bad luck. I had the prettiest pa’sel you most ever
seed till the varment took to killin’ ’em.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R. and Mrs. B.</span> The varment!</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> Oh dear, yes. The hawk catched a
powerful sight of them; and then the varment took
to ’em, and nat’ly took ’em fore and aft, bodily, till
they left most none at all hardly. Sucky counted
’em up t’other day, and there war’nt but thirty-nine,
she said, countin’ in the old speckle hen’s chickens
that jist come off of her nest.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R. and Mrs. B.</span> Humph—h—h—h—!</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> Well, I’ve had bad luck too. Billy’s
hound-dogs broke up most all my nests.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> Well, so they did me, Miss Reed. I always
did despise a hound-dog upon the face of yea’th.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> Oh, they’re the bawllinest, squallinest,
thievishest things ever was about one; but Billy
will have ’em, and I think in my soul his old
Troup’s the beat of all creaters I ever seed in all
my born days a suckin’ o’ hen’s eggs—He’s clean
most broke me up entirely.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> The lackaday!</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> And them that was hatched out, some
took to takin’ the gaps, and some the pip, and one
ailment or other, till they most all died.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> Well I reckon there must be somethin’
in the season this year, that an’t good for fowls;
for Larkin Goodman’s brother Jimme’s wife’s aunt
Penny, told me, she lost most all her fowls with different
sorts of ailments, the like of which she never
seed before—They’d jist go ’long lookin’, right
well, and tilt right over backwards, (<span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> The
law!) and die right away, (<span class='it'>Mrs. R.</span> Did ever!)
with a sort o’ somethin’ like the blind staggers.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B. and Mrs. R.</span> Messy on me!</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> I reckon they must have eat somethin’
didn’t agree with them.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. S.</span> No they didn’t, for she fed ’em every
mornin’ with her own hand.</p>
<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Mrs. B.</span> Well, it’s mighty curious!</p>
<p class='pindent'>A short pause ensued, which was broken by Mrs.
Barney, with—“And brother Smith married
Mournin’ Hooer!” It came like an opiate upon
my senses, and I dropt asleep.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:3em;font-size:.8em;'>THE END.</p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:8em;font-size:.6em;'><span class='gesp'>LONDON:</span></p>
<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:2em;font-size:.6em;'>Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.</p>
<hr class='pbk'/>
<div><h1>TRANSCRIBER NOTES</h1></div>
<p class='pindent'>Printer errors have been corrected where obvious errors occur.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Author spellings have been maintained and differences corrected
to majority author use.</p>
<p class='pindent'>Inconsistencies in punctuation have been maintained.</p>
<p class='pindent'>The Preface from Volume I was included in Volumes II & III.</p>
<p class='pindent'>A cover was created for this eBook.</p>
<p class='line'> </p>
<p class='noindent'>[The end of <span class='it'>Traits of American Humour, Vol. III of III</span>,
by Thomas Chandler Haliburton, ed.]</p>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 49865 ***</div>
</body>
<!-- created with fpgen.py 4.42 on 2015-09-01 05:13:40 GMT -->
</html>
|
