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THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
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 LIBRARY 
 
 THE WILMER COLLECTION 
 
 OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. 
 
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DuKESBOROUGH XaLES 
 
 BY 
 
 Philemon Perch 
 
 BALTIMORE: 
 
 TURNBULL BROTHERS. 
 
 ISTl. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871. 
 
 By TURNBULL BROXnERS, 
 
 In the Ollice of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 
DEDICATED 
 
 TO 
 
 MEMORIES OF THE OLD TIMES: 
 
 THE GRIM AND RUDE, 
 
 BUT HEARTY OLD TIMES IN GEORGIA 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 These Sketches, which I have ventured to call Tales, drawn partly from memo- 
 ries of incidents of old times, but mostly from imagination, were written for the 
 sake of my own entertainment, in the evenings when I had nothing else to do. 
 And now I am going to let them be published in a little book, having been per- 
 suaded, perhaps too easily, that they may amuse others, enough at least to have me 
 excused both for the writing and the publishing. I know very well that such 
 words as these, which are meant for a Preface, may be regarded rather as an 
 apology. Let it be so ; and if it be thought not sufficient, even as such, it is as 
 much, I insist, as ought to be expected from a man of my age. 
 
 P. P. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 THE GOOSEPOXD SCHOOL, . , i 
 
 JUDGE LUKE'S COURT, 36 
 
 HOW MR. BILL WILLIAMS TOOK THE RESPONSI- 
 
 BILITY 
 
 75. 
 
 THE PURSUIT OF MR. A DIET SLACK, .... 97 
 
 THE EARLY MAJORITY OF MR. THOMAS WATTS, 133 
 
 THE ORGAN-GRINDER, 145 
 
 MR. WILLIAMSON SLIPPEY AND HIS SALT, , . .160 
 INVESTIGATIONS CONCERNING MR. JOA^AS LIVELY, 176 
 
THE GOOSEPOND SCHOOL. 
 
 " You call this education, do you not ? 
 Why, 'tis the forc'd march of a herd of bullocks 
 Before a shoutins: drover." 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ^HE incidents wliich I propose to relate in these sketches, and 
 those which may follow hereafter, occurred, for the greatest part, 
 either at or in the neighborhood of Dukesborough, once a small village 
 in Eastern Georgia. For many years it has ceased even to be men- 
 tioned, except by the very few persons now living who knew it before 
 the Dukes, from whom it was named, moved away. It has suffered 
 the most absolute decay that I have known ever to befall any village. 
 It had not been laid off in its beginning according to any definite plan. 
 Dukesborough seemed indeed to have become a village quite unex- 
 pectedly to itself and to everybody else, notwithstanding, that instead 
 of being in a hurry to become so, it took its own time for it, and that 
 amounted to some years. The Dukes first established a blacksmith 
 shop. This enterprise succeeded beyond all expectation. A small 
 store was ventured. It prospered. After some years other persons 
 moved in, and buying a little ground, built on both sides of the road 
 (a winding road it was), .until there were several families, a school, and 
 a church. Then the Dukes grew ambitious and had the place called 
 Dukesborough. It grew on little by little until this family had all 
 gone, some to the counties farther west, and some to the grave. Some- 
 
2 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 how, Dukesborough couldn't stand all this. Decay set in very soon, 
 and now a small mound or so, the site of an ancient chimney, is the 
 only sign of a relic of Dukesborough. 
 
 It would be useless to speculate upon the causes of its fall. The 
 places of human habitation are like those who inhabit them. Some 
 persons die in infancy, some in childhood, some in youth, some at 
 middle age, some at threescore and ten, and some linger yet longer. 
 But the last, in their own times, die as surely as many of the former. 
 Methuselah, comparatively speaking, was what might be called a very 
 old man ; but then he died. The account in Genesis of those first 
 generations of men is, after all, a melancholy one to me. The three 
 last words closing the short history of every one are very sad — " And 
 he died." 
 
 So it is with the places wherein mortals dwell. Some of them be- 
 come villages, some towns, and some cities : but all — villages, towns, 
 and cities — have their times to fall, just as infants, youths, men, and old 
 men, have their times to die. People may say what they please about 
 the situation not being well chosen, and about the disagreeableness of 
 having the names of their residences all absorbed by the Dukes whom 
 few persons used to like. All this might be very true. But my posi- 
 tion about Dukesborough is, that it had lived out its life. It had run 
 its race, like all other things, places, and persons, that have lived out 
 their lives and run their races : and when that was done, Dukesborough 
 had to fall. It had not lived very long, and it had run but slowly, if 
 indeed it can be said to have run at all. But it reached its journey's 
 end. When it did, it had to fall, and it fell. So Babylon, so Nineveh. 
 These proud cities, it is highly probable, had no more idea of their 
 own ruin than Dukesborough had immediately after its first store was 
 built. But we know their history, and it ought to be a warning. 
 
 Ah, well ! It is not often, of late years, that I pass the place where 
 it used to stand. But whenever I do, I feel somewhat as I feel when 
 I go near the neglected grave of an old acquaintance. In the latter 
 case, I say to myself, sometimes, And here is the last of him. He 
 was once a stout, hearty, good-humored fellow. It is sad to think of 
 him as having dropped everything,. and being covered up here where 
 the earth above him is now like the rest all around the spot, and the 
 grave, but for my recollection of the place where it. was dug, would be 
 indistinguishable even to me who saw him when he was put here. 
 But so it was. It could not be helped, and here he is for good. So 
 
THE GOOSEPOND SCHOOE 3 
 
 of Dukesborough. When I pass along the road on the sides of which 
 it once stood, I can but Hnger a little and muse upon its destiny. 
 Here was once a smart village ; no great things of course, but still a 
 right lively little village. It might have stood longer and the rest of the 
 world have suffered little or no harm. But it is no use to think about 
 it, because the thing is over and Dukesborough is no more. Besides 
 myself, there may be two or three persons yet living who can tell with 
 some approximation to accuracy where it used to stand. When we 
 are dead, whoever may wish to gather any relic of Dukesborough 
 must do as they do upon the supposed sites of the cities of more an- 
 cient times : — they must dig for it. 
 
 These reflections, somewhat grave I admit, may seem to be unfitly 
 preliminary to the narratives which are to follow them. But I trust 
 they will be pardoned in an old man who could not forbear to make 
 them when calling to mind the forsaken places of his boyhood, albeit 
 the scenes which he describes have less of the serious in them than of 
 the sportive. If I can smile, and sometimes I do smile at the recital 
 of some things that were done and words that were said by some of 
 my earliest contemporaries, yet I must be allowed a sigh also when I 
 remember that the doings and the sayings of nearly all of them are 
 ended for this world. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 "Books!" There is nothing terrible in this simple word. On the 
 contrary, it is a most harmless word. It suggests quiet and contempla- 
 tion ; and though it be true that books do often produce agitations in 
 the minds of men and in the state of society, sometimes even effecting 
 great revolutions therein, yet the simple enunciation of the word, even 
 in an elevated tone, could never be adequate, it would seem, to the pro- 
 duction of any considerable excitement. As little would it seem, in 
 looking upon it from any point of view in which one could place oneself, 
 to be capable of allaying excitement however considerable. I never 
 could tell exactly why it was, that, as often as I have read of the custom 
 in England of reading the Riot Act upon occasions of popular tumult, 
 and begun to muse upon the strangeness of such a proceeding and its 
 apparent inadequacy for the purposes on hand, my mind has recurred 
 to the incidents about to be narrated. For there was one point of view, 
 
4 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 or rather a point of hearing, from which one could observe this quieting 
 result by the utterance of the first word in this chapter twice a day for 
 five days in the week. It was the word of command with which Mr. 
 Israel Meadows was wont to announce to the pupils of the Goosepond 
 schoolhouse the opening of the school morning and afternoon. 
 
 The Goosepond was situated a few miles from Dukesborough, on 
 the edge of an old field, with original oak and hickory woods on three 
 sides, and on the other a dense pine thicket. Through this thicket 
 there ran a path which led to the school from a neighboring planter's 
 residence where Mr. Meadows boarded. The schoolhouse, a rude hut 
 built of logs, was about one hundred and twenty yards from this thicket 
 at the point where the path emerged from it. 
 
 One cold, frosty morning near the close of November, many, very 
 many years ago, about twenty-five boys and girls were assembled as 
 usual at the Goosepond waiting for the master. Some were studying 
 their lessons, and some were playing ; the boys at ball, the girls at 
 jumping the rope. But all of them (with one exception), those studying 
 and those playing, the former though the most eagerly, were watching 
 the mouth of the path at which the master was expected. Those 
 studying showed great anxiety. The players seemed to think the game 
 worth the candle : though the rope jumpers jumped with their faces 
 toward the thicket, and whenever a boy threw his ball, he first gave 
 a look in the same direction. The students walked to and fro in 
 front of the door, all studying aloud, bobbing up and down, exhibiting 
 the intensest anxiety to transfer into their heads the secrets of know- 
 ledge that were in the books. There was one boy in particular, whose 
 eagerness for the acquisition of learning seemed to amount to a most 
 violent passion. He was a raw-boned lad of about fifteen years, with 
 very light coarse hair and a freckled face, sufficiently tall for his years. 
 His figure was a little bent from being used to very hard work. But 
 he had beautiful eyes, very blue, and habitually sad. He wore a round- 
 about and pants of home-made walnut-dyed stuff of wool and cotton, 
 a seal-skin cap, and red brogan-shoes without socks. He had come up 
 the last. This was not unusual : for he resided three miles and a half 
 from the schoolhouse, and walked the way forth and back every day. 
 He came up shivering and studying, performing both of these apparent- 
 ly inconsistent operations with great violence. 
 
 "Halloo, Brinkly!" shouted half a dozen boys, "got in in time this 
 morning, eh ? Good. You are safe for to-day on that score, old fellow." 
 
THE GOOSEPOND SCHOOL. 5 
 
 " Why, Brinkly, my boy, you are entire/^^ too soon. He won't be here 
 for a quarter of a hour yit. Come and help us out with the bull-pen. 
 Now only jist look at him. Got that eternal jography, and actilly studyin' 
 when he is nigh and in and about friz. Put the book down, Brinkly 
 Glisson, and go and warm yourself a bit, and come and take Bill Jones' 
 place. It's his day to make the fire. Come along, we've got the 
 Quses." 
 
 These words were addressed to him by the ' one exception ' before 
 alluded to, a large, well grown, square-shouldered boy, eighteen years 
 old, named Allen Thigpen. Allen was universally envied in the school, 
 partly because he had once upon a time been to Augusta, and knew, 
 or was supposed to know, all the wonders of that great city, and partly 
 because he could go to Dukesborough whenever he pleased, and above 
 all, because he was not afraid of Mr. Israel Meadows. But it was the 
 boast of Allen Thigpen that he had yit to see the man that he was 
 afraid of 
 
 Brinkly paid no attention to Allen's invitation, but came on up 
 shivering and studying, and studying and shivering.* Just as he passed 
 Allen, he was mumbling — " A-an em-em-pire is a co-untry go-overned 
 by a-an em-per-or." 
 
 Now ordinarily, the announcement of this proposition would be in- 
 capable of exciting any uncommon amount of risibility. It contains 
 a simple truth expressed in simple language. Yet so it was that Mr. 
 Allen burst into a roar of laughter ; and as if he understood that the 
 proposition had been submitted to him for ratification or denial, an- 
 swered, " Well, Brinkly, supposin' it is. Who in the dickence said it 
 weren't? Did you, Sam?" 
 
 " Did I do what ? " answered Sam Pate in the act of throwing the 
 ball. 
 
 "Did you say that a empire weren't — what Brinkly said it was ?" 
 
 " I didn't hear what Brinkly said it was, and I don't know nothin' 
 about it, and I haint said nothin' about it and I don't keer nothin' 
 about it." And away went the ball. But Sam had thrown too sud- 
 denly after looking toward the mouth of Mr. Meadows' path, and he 
 missed his man. 
 
 Brinkly scarcely noticed the interruption, but walked to and fro, 
 and studied and shivered. Pie bowed to the book; he dug into it. 
 He grated his teeth, not in anger, but in his fierce desire to get what 
 was in it. He tried to fasten it in his brain whether or not by slightly 
 
6 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 changing the hard words, and making them as it were his own to com- 
 mand. 
 
 "An yem-pire," said he fiercely, but not over loudly, "is a ke-untry- 
 ge-uvend by a ye-emperor." 
 
 " And what is a ye-emperor, Brinkly ? " asked Allen. 
 
 " Oh Allen, Allen, please go away from me ! I almost had it when 
 you bothered me. You know Mr. Meadows will beat me if I don't 
 get it, because you know he loves to beat me. Do let me alone. It 
 it just beginning to come to me now." And he went on shivering and 
 studying, and shiveringly announcing among other things that " an 
 yem-pire was a ke-untry ge-uverned by an ye-emperor," emphasizing 
 every one of the polysyllables in its turn : sometimes stating the 
 proposition very cautiously, and rather interrogatively, as if half in- 
 clined to doubt it ; at others, asserting it with a vehemence which 
 showed that it was at last his settled conviction that it was true, and 
 that he ought to be satisfied and even thankful. 
 
 " Poor fellow," muttered Allen, stopping from his ball-play, and look- 
 ing towards Brinkly as the latter moved on. " That boy don't know 
 hisself ; and what's more, Iserl Meadows don't." Allen then walked 
 to where a rosy-cheeked little fellow of eight or nine years was sitting 
 on a stump with a spelling-book in his lap and a pin in his right hand 
 with which he dotted every fourth word, after reciting the following : 
 
 " Betsy Wiggins ; Heneritter Bangs ; Mandy Grizzle ; Mine ! " 
 
 (Dot). " Betsy Wiggins ; Heneritter Bangs ; Mandy Grizzle ; 
 
 Mine!" (Dot). 
 
 " I-yi, my little Mr. Asa," said Allen, " and supposin' that Betsy Wig- 
 gins misses her word, or Heneritter Bangs hern, or Mandy Grizzle hern, 
 then who's goin' to spell them^ I want to know? And what'll you give 
 me ? " continued Allen, placing his rough hand with ironical fondness 
 upon the child's head, " what'll you give me not to tell Mr. Meadows 
 that you've been gitting your own words ? " 
 
 " Oh, Allen, please, please don't ! " 
 
 " What'll you give me, I tell you ? " 
 
 " Twenty chestnuts ! " and the little fellow dived into his pockets and 
 counted twenty into Allen's hand. 
 
 " Got any more ? " Allen asked, cracking one with his teeth. 
 
 " Oh, Allen, Allen, will you take all 1 Please don't take all ! " 
 
 " Out with 'em, you little word-gitter. Out with the last one of 'em. 
 A boy that gits his own words in that kind o' style aint liable, and 
 oughtn't to be liable to eat chestnuts." 
 
THE GOOSEPOND SCHOOL. 7 
 
 Asa disgorged to the last. Allen ate one or two, looking quizzically 
 into his face, and then handed the rest back to him. 
 
 " Take your chestnuts, Asa Boatright, and eat 'em, that is if you've 
 got the stomach to eat 'em. If I ever live to git to be as afeard of a 
 human as you and Abel Kitchens and Brinkly Glisson are afeard of 
 Iserl Meadows, drat my hide if I don't believe I would commit sooi- 
 cide on myself — yes, on myself, by cuttin' my own throat ! " 
 
 " Yes," replied Asa Boatright, " you can talk so because you are a 
 big boy, and you know he is afraid of you. If you was as little as me, 
 
 you would be as afraid as me. If I ever get a man " The little 
 
 fellow, however, checked himself, took his pin again, and mumbling, 
 
 " Betsy Wiggins ; Heneritter Bangs ; Mandy Grizzle ; Mine ! " — re- 
 sumed his interesting and ingenious occupation of dotting every fourth 
 word. 
 
 Brinkly had overheard Allen's taunt. Closing his book after a mo- 
 ment's pause, he walked straight to him and said : 
 
 " Allen Thigpen, I am no more afraid of him than you are ; nor than I 
 am of you. Do you think that's what makes me stand what I do ? If 
 you do, you are much mistaken. Allen, I'm trying all the time to keep 
 down on mother's account. I've told her of some of his treatment, but 
 not all ; and she gets to crying, and says this is my only chance for an 
 education, and it does seem like it would break her heart if I was to lose 
 it, that I have been trying to get the lessons, and to keep from fighting 
 him when he beats me. And I believe I would get 'em if I had a chance. 
 But the fact is, I can't read well enough to study the jography, and my 
 'pinion is he put me in it too soon just to get the extra price for jogra- 
 phy. And I can't get it, and I haven't learnt anything since I have 
 been put in it, — and I am not going to stand it much longer ; — and, 
 Allen Thigpen, I'm not going to pay you chestnuts nor nothing else 
 not to tell him I said so neither." 
 
 " Hooraw ! '* shouted Allen. " Give me your hand, Brinkly." Then 
 continuing in a lower tone, he said, " By jingo ! I thought it was in you. 
 I seen you many a time, when, says I to myself, it wouldn't take much to 
 make Brinkly Glisson fight you, old fellow, or leastways try it. You've 
 stood enough already, Brinkly Glisson, and too much too. My blood 
 has biled many a time when he' been a beatin' you. I tell you, don't 
 you stand it no longer. Ef he beats you again, pitch into him. Try 
 to ride him from the ingoin'. He can maul you, I expect, but — look at 
 this," and Allen raised his fist about the size of a mallet. 
 
8 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 Brinkly looked at the big fist and brawny arm, and smiled dismally. 
 
 "Books ! " shouted a shrill voice, and Mr. Israel Meadows emerged 
 from the thicket with a handful of hickory switches. In an instant, 
 there was a rushing of boys and girls into the house — all except Allen, 
 who took his time. Asa Boatright was the last of the others to get in. 
 He had changed his position from the stump, and was walking, book 
 in hand, apparently all absorbed in its contents, though his eye was on 
 the schoolmaster, whose notice he was endeavoring to attract. He 
 bowed,_ and digged, and dived, until, just as the master drew near, he 
 weariedly looked up, and seeing him unexpectedly, gave one more 
 profound dive into the book and darted into the schoolhouse. 
 
 It was a rule at the Goosepond, that the scholars should all be at 
 their seats when Mr. Meadows arrived. His wont v;as to shout ' Books ' 
 from the mouth of the path, then to walk with great rapidity to the 
 house. Woe to the boy or girl who was ever too late, unless it hap- 
 pened to be Allen Thigpen. He had been heard to say, " Ding any 
 sich rule, and he wasn't goin' to break his neck for Iserl Meadows nor 
 nobody else." If he got in behind the master, which often happened, 
 that gentlemen was kind enough not to notice it, — an illustration of 
 an exception to the good discipline of country schoolmasters which 
 was quite common in the times in which Mr. Meadows lived and flour- 
 ished. On this occasion, when Mr, Meadows saw Allen, calculating 
 that the gait at which himself was walking would take him into the 
 house first, he halted a little, and stooped, and, having untied one of 
 his shoe strings, tied it again. While this operation v/as going on, 
 Allen went in. Mr. Meadows, rising immediately, struck into a brisk 
 walk, almost a run, as if to apologise for his delay, and then entered 
 into the scene of his daily triumphs. 
 
 But before we begin the day's work, let us inquire who this Mr. 
 Meadows was, and whence he came. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Mr. Israel Meadows was a man thirty-five or forty years of age, five 
 feet ten inches in height, with a lean figure, dark complexion, very 
 black and shaggy hair and eyebrows, and a grim and forbidding ex- 
 pression of countenance. The occupation of training the youthful 
 
THE GOOSEPOND SCHOOL. 9 
 
 mind and leading it to the fountains of wisdom, as delightful and 
 interesting as it is, was not in fact Mr. Meadows' choice, when, on 
 arriving at manhood's estate, he looked around him for a career in 
 which he might the most surely develop and advance his being in this 
 life. Indeed, those who had been the witnesses of his youth and young 
 manhood, and of the opportunities which he had been favored withal 
 for getting instruction for himself, were no little surprised when they 
 
 heard that in the county of , their old acquaintance had undertaken, 
 
 and was in the actual prosecution of the profession of a schoolmaster. 
 About a couple of days' journey from the Goosepond, was the spot which 
 had the honor of giving him birth. In a cottage on one of the roads 
 leading to the city of Augusta, there had lived a couple who cultivated 
 a farm, and traded with the wagoners of those days by bartering, for 
 money and groceries, corn, fodder, potatoes, and suchlike commodities. 
 It was a matter never fully accountable, how it was that Mr. Timothy 
 Meadows, during all seasons, had corn to sell. Drought or drench 
 affected his crib alike — that is, neither did affect it at all. When a 
 wagoner wished to buy corn, Timothy Meadows generally, if not always, 
 had a little to spare. People used to intimate sometimes that it was 
 mighty curious that some folks could always have corn to sell, while 
 other folks couldn't. Such observations were made in reference to no 
 individual in particular ; but were generally made by one farmer to 
 another, when, perchance, they had just ridden by Mr. Meadows' house 
 while a wagoner's team was feeding at his camp. To this respectable 
 couple there had been born only one offspring, a daughter. Miss Clary 
 Meadows had lived to the age of twenty-four, and had never, within the 
 knowledge of any of the neighbors, had the first beau. If to the fact 
 that her father's always having corn to sell, without his neighbors 
 knowing exactly how he came by it, had to a considerable extent dis- 
 couraged visiting between their families and his (though it must be 
 owned that this was not the fault of the Meadowses, who had repeat- 
 edly, in spite of their superior fortune, shown dispositions to cultivate 
 good neighborhood with all the families around) — if to this fact be added 
 the further one, that Miss Clary was bony, and in no respect possessed 
 of charms likely to captivate a young gentleman who had thoughts upon 
 marriage, it ought not to be very surprising that she had, thus far, 
 failed to secure a husband. Nevertheless, Miss Meadows was em- 
 inently affable when in the society of such gentlemen of the wagoners 
 who paid her the compliment to call upon her in the house. So that 
 2 
 
TO DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 no person, however suspicious, would have concluded from her manner 
 on such occasions that her prolonged state of single blessedness was 
 owing to any prejudice to the opposite sex. 
 
 Time, however, brings roses, as the German proverb has it, and to the 
 Meadows family he at last brought a rose-bud in the shape of a thriving 
 grandson. As it does not become us to pry into delicate family matters, 
 we will not presume to lift the veil which the persons most concerned 
 chose to throw over the earlier part of this grandson's history ; suffice 
 it to say that the same mystery hung about it as about the inexpli- 
 cable inexhaustibility of Timothy Meadows' corn crib, and that the 
 latter — from motives, doubtless, which did him honor — bestowed 
 upon the new-comer his own family name, preceded by the patriarchal 
 appellation of Israel. 
 
 There were many interesting occurrences in the early life of Israel 
 which it would be foreign to the purposes of this history to relate. It 
 is enough to say that he grew up under the eye and training of his 
 grandfather, and soon showed that some of the traits of that gentleman's 
 character were in no danger of being lost to society by a failure of 
 reproduction. 
 
 In process of time, Mr, and Mrs. Meadows were gathered to their 
 fathers, and Miss Clary had become the proprietress of the cottage 
 and the farm. Israel had the luck of the Meadowses to be always able 
 to sell corn to the wagoners. But unluckily, the secret which lay hid- 
 den in such profundity during the lifetime of his grandfather, of how 
 this wonderful faculty existed, transpired about six months previously 
 to the period when he was introduced to the reader — a circumstance 
 which would induce one to suspect, in spite of the declaration of the 
 law in such case made and provided, that there was something in the 
 blood of Israel which was not all Meadows. 
 
 One Saturday night, a company of the neighbors on patrol found a 
 negro man issuing from the gate of Miss Meadows' yard with an empty 
 meal bag. Having apprehended him, they had given him not more 
 than a dozen stripes with a cowhide before he confessed that he had 
 just carried the bag full of corn to Israel from his master's corn crib. 
 The company immediately aroused the latter gentleman, informed him 
 what the slave had confessed, and although he did most stoutly deny 
 any and all manner of connection with the matter, they informed him 
 that they should not leave the premises until they could get a search- 
 warrant from a neighboring magistrate, by which, as their spokesman, a 
 
THE GOOSEPOND SCHOOL. ii 
 
 shrewd man, said, they could identify the corn. This was a ruse to bring 
 him to terms. Seeing his uneasiness, they pushed on, and in a careless 
 manner proposed that if he would leave the neighborhood by the next 
 Monday morning, they would forbear to prosecute him for this as well 
 as many similar offences, his guilt of which they intimated they had 
 abundant proof to establish. Israel was caught ; he reflected for a 
 few moments, and then, still, however, asserting his innocence, but de- 
 claring that he did not wish to reside in a community where he was 
 suspected of crime, he expressed his resolution to comply with their 
 demand. He left the next day. Leaving his mother, he set out to 
 try his fortune elsewhere, intending by the time that the homestead 
 could be disposed of, he would remove with her to the West. But de- 
 termining not to be idle in the meantime, after wandering about for 
 several days in search of employment, it suddenly occurred to him one 
 night, after a day's travel, that he would endeavor to get a school for 
 the remainder of the year. 
 
 Now, Israel's education had been somewhat neglected. Indeed, he 
 had never been to school a day in his whole life. But he had at home, 
 under the tuition of his mother, been taught reading and writing, and 
 his grandfather had imparted to him some knowledge of arithmetic. 
 
 But Mr. Israel Meadows, although not a man of great learning, was 
 a great way removed from being a fool. He had a considerable 
 amount of the wisdom of this world which comes to a man from 
 other sources besides books. He was like many other men in one 
 respect. He was not to be restrained from taking office by the con- 
 sciousness of parts inadequate to the discharge of its duties. This is 
 a species of delicacy which, of all others, is attended by fewest practi- 
 cal results. Generally, the most it does is to make its owner confess 
 with modesty his unfitness for the office, with a 'he had hoped some 
 worthier and better man had been chosen,' and then — take it. Israel 
 wisely reflected, that with a majority of mankind the only thing neces- 
 sary to establish for oneself a reputation of fitness for office is to run 
 for it and get into it. A wise reflection indeed ; acting on which, many 
 men have become great in Georgia, and, I doubt not, elsewhere, with 
 no other capital than the adroitness or the accident which placed them 
 in office. He reflected furdier, and as wisely as before, that the office 
 of a schoolmaster in a country school was as little likely as any he 
 could think of to furnish an exception to the general rule. Thus, in 
 less than six weeks from the eventful Saturday night, with a list of 
 
12 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 school articles which he had picked up in his travels, he had applied 
 for, and had obtained, and had opened the Goosepond school, and 
 was professing to teach the children spelling, reading, and writing, at 
 the rate of a dollar a month ; and arithmetic and geography at the 
 advanced rate of a dollar and a half. 
 
 Such were some of Mr. Meadows' antecedents. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It was the custom of the pupils in the Goosepond, as in most of 
 the other country schools of those times, to study aloud. Whether 
 the teachers thought that the mind could not act unless the tongue 
 was a-going, or that the tongue a-going v/as the only evidence that 
 the mind was acting, it never did appear. Such had been the custom, 
 and Mr. Meadows did not aspire to be an innovator. It was his rule, 
 however, that there should be perfect silence on his arrival, in order 
 to give him an opportunity of saying or doing anything he might wish. 
 This morning there did not seem to be anything on his mind which re- 
 quired to be lifted off. He, however, looked at Brinkly Glisson with 
 some disappointment of expression. He had beaten him unmercifully 
 the morning before for not having gotten there in time, though the 
 boy's excuse was that he had gone a mile out of his way on an errand 
 for his mother. He looked at him as if he had expected to have had 
 some business with him, which now unexpectedly had to be postponed. 
 He then looked around over the school and said : 
 
 " Go to studyin'." 
 
 It was plain that in that house Mr. Meadows had been in the habit 
 of speaking but to command, and of commanding but to be obeyed. 
 Instantaneously was heard, then and there, that unintelligible tumult, 
 the almost invariable incident of the country schools of that genera- 
 tion. There were spellers and readers, geographers and arithme- 
 ticians, all engaged in their several pursuits, in the most inexplicable 
 confusion. Sometimes the spellers would have the heels of the others, 
 and sometimes the readers. The geographers were always third, and 
 the arithmeticians always behind. It was very plain to be seen that 
 these last never would catch the others. The faster they added or 
 subtracted, the oftener they had to rub out and commence anew. It 
 
THE GOOSEPOND SCHOOL. 13 
 
 was always but a short time before they found this to be the case, and 
 so they generally concluded to adopt the maxim of the philosopher, of 
 being slow in making haste. The geographers were a little faster and 
 a little louder. But the spellers and readers had it, I tell you. Each 
 speller and each reader went through the whole gamut of sounds, from 
 low up to high, and from high down to low again ; sometimes by regu- 
 lar ascension and descension, one note at a time, sounding what musi- 
 cians call the diatonic intervals ; at other times, going up and coming 
 down upon the perfect fifths only. Oh ! it was so refreshing to see the 
 passionate eagerness which these urchins manifested for the acquisi- 
 tion of knowledge. To have sliced out about five seconds of that 
 studying, and put the words together, would have made a sentence 
 somewhat like the following : 
 
 " C-d-e twice e-an c-three r-ding-i-two 1-v-old. My seven vill times 
 a-de-l-cru-i-1 coin-g-f-is man o-six-h-nin-four ni-h-eight cat p-c-a-t-r ten 
 e-light is ca-light i-light x tween-by-tions fix de-a-bisel-cru-fa-cor-a-light- 
 biselrapt-double-fe-good ty-light man cra-forn-ner-ci-spress-fix-Oh ! ! ! " 
 
 To have heard them for the first time, one would have been remind- 
 ed of the Apostles' preaching at Pentecost, and it might not have been 
 difficult to persuade a stranger, unused to such things, that there were 
 then and there spoken the languages of the Parthians and Medes, 
 Elamites and the dwellers in Mesopotamia, and in Judea and Cappa- 
 docia ; in Pontus and Asia ; Phrygia and Pamphylia ; in Egypt and 
 in the parts of Syria about Cyrene ; and strangers of Rome, Jews and 
 Proselytes, Cretes and Arabians. Sometimes these cloven tongues 
 would subside a little, when it might be half a dozen would stop to 
 blow j but in a moment more, the chorus would swell again in a new 
 and livelier accrescaido. — When this process had gone on for half an 
 hour, Mr. Meadows lifted up his voice and shouted " Silence ! " and all 
 was still. 
 
 Now were to commence the recitations, during which perfect silence 
 was required. For as great a help to study as this jargon was, Mr. 
 Meadows found that it did not contribute any aid to the doing of his 
 work. 
 
 He now performed a feat which he had never performed before in 
 exactly that manner. He put his hand behind the lappel of his coat- 
 collar for a moment, and then, after withdrawing it and holding it up, his 
 thumb and forefinger joined together, he said: 
 
 " There is too much fuss here. I'm going to drop this pin, and I 
 
14 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 shall whip every single one of you little boys that don't hear it when it 
 falls. Thar ! " 
 
 *' I heerd it, Mr. Meadows ! I heerd it, Mr. Meadows ! " exclaimed 
 simultaneously, five or six little fellows. 
 
 " Come up here, j'ou little rascals. You are a liar ! " said he to each 
 one. "I never drapped it; I never had nary one to drap. It just 
 shows what liars you are. Set down and wait a while, I'll show you how 
 to tell me lies." 
 
 The little liars slunk to their seats, and the recitations commenced. 
 Memory was the only faculty of mind that underwent the smallest 
 development at this school. Whoever could say exactly what the book 
 said was adjudged to know his lesson. About half of the pupils on 
 this morning were successful. The other half were found to be delin- 
 quent. Among these was Asa Boatright's class. That calculating 
 young gentleman knew his words and felt safe. The class had spelled 
 around three or four times, when lo ! the contingency which Allen 
 Thigpen had suggested did come to pass. Betsy Wiggins missed her 
 word \ Heneritter Bangs (in the language of Allen) hern, and Mandy 
 Grizzle hern ; and thus responsibilities were suddenly cast upon Asa 
 which he was wholly unprepared to meet, and which, from the look of 
 mighty reproach which he gave each of these young ladies as she 
 handed over to him her word, he evidently thought it the height of 
 injustice that he should have been called upon to meet. Mr. Mead- 
 ows closing the book, tossed it to Asa, who, catching it as it was falling 
 at his feet, turned, and his eyes swimming with tears, went back to his 
 seat. As he passed Allen Thigpen, the latter whispered : 
 
 " What did I tell you ? You heerd the pin drap too ! " 
 
 Now, Allen was in no plight to have given this taunt to Asa. He 
 had not given five minutes' study to his arithmetic during the whole 
 morning. But Mr. Meadows made a rule (this one with himself, though 
 all the pupils knew it better than any rule he had), never to allow Allen 
 to miss a lesson ; and as he had kindly taken this responsibility upon 
 himself, Allen was wont to give himself no trouble about the matter. 
 
 Brinkly Glisson was the last to recite. Brinkly was no great hand 
 at pronunciation. He had been reading but a short time when Mr. 
 Meadows advanced him into geography, with the purpose, as Brinkly 
 afterwards came to believe, of getting the half dollar extra tuition. 
 This morning he thought he knev/ his lesson ; and he did, as he under- 
 stood it. When called to recite, he went up with a countenance express- 
 
THE GOOSEPOND SCHOOL. 15 
 
 ive of mild happiness, handed the book to Mr. Meadows, and putting 
 his hands in his pockets, awaited the questions. And now it was an 
 interesting sight to see Mr. Meadows smile as Brinkly talked of is-lands 
 and promonitaries, thismuses and hemispheries. The lad misunder- 
 stood that smile, and his heart was glad for the unexpected reception 
 of a little complacency from the master. But he was not long in error, 
 
 " Is-lands, eh ? Thismuses, eh .? Take this book and see if you can 
 find any is-lands and promonitaries, and then bring them to me. I 
 want to see them things, I do. Find 'em if you please," 
 
 Brinkly took the book, and it would have melted the heart of any 
 other man than Israel Meadows to have seen the deep despair of his 
 heart as he looked on it and was spelling over to himself the words as 
 he came to them. 
 
 " Mr. Meadows," he said, in pleading tones, " I thought it was is-land. 
 Here it is, Is-1-a-n-d-land : is-land;" and he looked into his face be- 
 seechingly, 
 
 " Is-land, eh .? Is-land! Now, thismuses and promonitaries and 
 hemispheries — " 
 
 " Mr. Meadows, I did not know how to pronounce them words. I 
 asked you how to pronounce 'em, and you wouldn't tell me ; and I 
 asked Allen, and he told me the way I said them." 
 
 " I believe that to be a lie." 
 
 Brinkly's face reddened, and his breathing was fast and hard. He 
 looked at the master as but once or twice before during the term he 
 had looked at him, but made no answer. At that moment Allen leaned 
 carelessly on his desk, his elbows resting on it, and his chin on his 
 hands, and said, dryly : 
 
 "Yes, I did tell him so." 
 
 Mr. Meadows now reddened a little. After a moment's pause, how- 
 ever, he said : 
 
 " How often have I got to tell you not to ask anybody but me how 
 to pronounce words ? That'll do, sir ; sit down, sir." 
 
 Brinkly went to his seat, and looking gloomily towards the door a 
 minute or two, he opened his book, but studied it no more. 
 
1 6 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Mr. Meadows now set about what was the only agreeable portion 
 of the duties of his new vocation, the punishment of offenders. The 
 lawyers tell us that, of all the departments of the law, the vindicatory 
 is the most important. This element of the Goosepond establishment 
 had been cultivated so much that it had grown to become almost the 
 only one that was consulted at all. As for the declaratory and the 
 directory, they seemed to be considered, when clearly understood, as 
 impediments to a fair showing and proper development of the vindi- 
 catory, insomuch that the last was often by their means disappointed 
 of its victim. Sometimes, when his urchins would not " miss," or 
 violate some of his numerous laws, Mr. Meadows used, in the plenitude 
 of his power, to put the vindicatory first — punish an offender, and then 
 declare what the latter had done to be an offence, and then direct him 
 that he had better not do so any more. This Mr. Meadows seemed 
 to owe a grudge to society. Whether this was because society had not 
 given him a father as it had done to almost everybody else, or because 
 it had interfered in the peaceful occupation which he had inherited 
 from his grandfather (as if to avenge itself on him for violating one of 
 its express commands that such as he should inherit from nobody), — 
 did not appear. But he owed it, and he delighted in paying it off in 
 his peculiar way ; this was by beating the children of his school, every 
 one of whom had a father. Eminently combative by nature, it was 
 both safest and most satisfactory to wage his warfare on this general 
 scale. So, on this fine morning, by way of taking up another instal- 
 ment of this immense debt, which like most other debts seemed as if 
 it never would get fully paid, he took down his bundle of rods from 
 two pegs in one of the logs on which he had placed them, selected one 
 fit for his purpose, and taking his position in the middle of the space 
 between the fireplace and the rows of desks, he sat down in his chair. 
 A cheerful, but by no means a gladsome smile overspread his counten- 
 ance as he said : 
 
 " Them spellin' classes and readin' classes, and them others that's 
 got to be whipped, all but Sam Pate and Asa Boatright, come to the 
 circus." 
 
 Five or six boys and as many girls, from eight to thirteen years old, 
 came up, and sitting down on the front bench which extended all along 
 
THE GOOSEPOND SCHOOL. 17 
 
 the length of the two rows of desks, pulled off their shoes and stock- 
 ings. The boys then rolled up their pants, and the girls lifted the 
 skirts of their frocks to their knees, and having made a ring around 
 Mr. Meadows as he sat in his chair, all began a brisk trot. They had 
 described two or three revolutions, and Mr. Meadows was straightening 
 his switch, when Asa Boatright ran up, and, crying piteously, said : 
 
 " Please sir, Mr. Meadows — oh pray do sir, Mr. Meadows — let me 
 go into the circus ! " 
 
 Mr. Meadows rose up and was about to strike ; but another thought 
 seemed to occur to him. He looked at him amusedly for a moment, 
 and pointed to his seat. Asa took it. Mr. Meadows resumed his chair, 
 and went into the exciting part of the exhibition by tapping the legs, 
 both male and female, as they trotted around him. This was done at 
 first very gently, and almost lovingly. But as the sport warmed in in- 
 terest, the blows increased in rapidity and violence. The children be- 
 gan to cry out, and then Mr. Meadows struck the harder ; for it was a 
 rule (oh he was a mighty man for rules, this same Mr. Meadows) that 
 whoever cried the loudest should be hit the hardest. He kept up this 
 interesting exercise until he had given them about twenty-five lashes 
 apiece. He then ceased. They stopped instantly, walked around him 
 once, then seating themselves upon the bench they resumed their shoes 
 and stockings, and went to their seats. One girl, thirteen years old, 
 Henrietta Bangs, had begged him to let her keep on her stockings; 
 but Mr. Meadows was too firm a disciplinarian to allow it. When 
 the circus was over she put on her shoes, and taking up her stockings 
 and putting them under her apron, she went to her seat and sobbed as 
 if her heart was broken. 
 
 Allen Thigpen looked at her for a moment, and then he turned his 
 eyes slowly around and looked at Brinkly Glisson. The latter did not 
 notice him. He sat with his hands in his pockets and his lips com- 
 pressed. Allen knew what struggle was going on, but he could not tell 
 how it was going to end. Mr. Meadows rested three minutes. 
 
 It has possibly occurred to those who may be reading this little his- 
 tory that it was a strange thing in Asa Boatright, who so well knew all 
 the ways of Mr. MeadoA-s, that he should have expressed so decisive a 
 wish to take part in this last described exhibition, — an exhibition 
 which, however entertaining to Mr. Meadows as it doubtless was, and 
 might be perchance to other persons placed in the attitude of specta- 
 tors merely, could not be in the highest degree agreeable to one in the 
 3 
 
i8 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 attitude which Master Asa must have foreseen that he would be made 
 to assume had Mr, Meadows vouchsafed to yield to his request. But 
 Asa Boatright was not a fool, nor was he a person who had no care for 
 his physical wellbeing. In other words, Asa Boatright knew what he 
 was about. 
 
 " Sam Pate and Asa Boatright ! " exclaimed Mr. Meadows, after his 
 rest. " Come out here and go to horsin'." 
 
 The two nags came out. Master Pate playfully inclined himself 
 forward, and Master Boatright leaped with some agility upon his back. 
 The former, gathering the latter's legs under his arms, and drawing as 
 tightly as possible his pants across his middle, began galloping gaily 
 around the area before the fireplace. Mr. Meadows, after taking a 
 fresh hickory, began to apply it with great force and precision to that 
 part of Master Boatright's little body which, in his present attitude, 
 was most exposed. Every application of this kind caused that young 
 gentleman to scream to the utmost of the strength of his voice, and 
 even to make spasmodic efforts to kick, which Master Pate, being for 
 the occasion a horse, was to understand as an expression on the part 
 of his rider that he should get on faster, and so Master Pate must 
 frisk and prance and otherwise imitate a horse as well as possible in 
 the circumstances. Now, the circumstances being that as soon as 
 Master Boatright should have ridden long enough to become incapa- 
 citated from riding a real horse with comfort, they were to reverse posi- 
 tions, Master Boatright becoming horse and himself rider, they were 
 hardly sufficient to make him entirely forget his identity in the persona- 
 tion of that quadruped. He did his best, though, in the circumstances, 
 such as they were, and not only frisked and pranced but actually 
 neighed several times. When Asa was placed in the condition hinted 
 at above, he was allowed to dismount. Sam having mounted on his 
 back, it was truly stirring to the feelings to see the latter kick and the 
 former prance. This was always the best part of the show. A rule of 
 this exercise was that, when the rider should dismount and become 
 horse, he was to act well his part or be made to resume the part of 
 rider, — a prospect not at all agreeable, each one decidedly preferring to 
 be horse. Sam was about three years older and fifteen pounds heavier 
 than Asa. Now, while Asa had every motive which as sensible a 
 horse as he was could have to do his best, yet he was so sore, and Sam, 
 with the early prospect of butting his brains out, was so heavy, that he 
 had great difficulties. He exhibited the most laudable desire and 
 
THE COOSEPOND SCHOOL. 19 
 
 made the most faithful efforts to prance, but he could not keep his 
 feet. Finding that he could do no great things at prancing, he en- 
 deavored to make up by neighing. When Sam would cry out and kick, 
 Asa Avould neigh. He would occasionally run against the wall and 
 neigh as if he was perfectly delighted. He would lift up one foot and 
 neigh. He would put it down, lift up the other and neigh. Then when 
 he would attempt to lift up both feet at once, he would fall down and 
 neigh. But he would neigh even in the act of rising, apparently re- 
 solved to convince the world that, notwithstanding appearances to the 
 contrary, he was as real and as plucky a little horse as had ever trotted. 
 Never before had Asa acted his part so well in the Horsin' at the 
 Goosepond. Never had horse, with such odds on his back, neighed 
 so lustily. Sam screamed and kicked. Asa pranced and neighed, 
 until at last, as he stumbled violently against the bench, Sam let go his 
 hold upon Asa's neck, in order to avoid breaking his own, and fell 
 sprawling on his belly under a desk. This sudden removal of the 
 burden from Asa's back made his efforts to recover from his false step 
 successful beyond all calculation, and he fell backward, headforemost, 
 upon the floor. Mr. Meadows, contrary to his wont, roared with laughter. 
 His soul was satisfied ; he dropped his switch, and ordered them to 
 their seats. They obeyed, and sat down with that graduated declen- 
 sion of body in which experience had taught them to be prudent. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 After the close of the last performance, Mr. Meadows seemed to need 
 another resting spell. This lasted five minutes. He always liked to 
 be as fresh as possible for the next scene. The most interesting, the 
 most exciting, and in some respects the most delightful exercise was 
 yet to follow. This was the punishment of Brinkly Glisson. It was 
 curious to see how he did enjoy it. He was never so agreeable at play- 
 time or in the afternoon as when he had beaten Brinkly in the morning. 
 If he recited w-ell, and there was no pretext for beating him, Mr. 
 Meadows was sadder and gloomier than usual for the remainder of the 
 day, and looked as if he felt that he had been wronged with impunity. 
 Now, Brinkly was one of the best boys in the world. He was the 
 only son of a poor widow, who, at much sacrifice, had sent him to 
 
20 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 school. He had pitched and tended the crop of a few acres around 
 the house, and she had procured the promise of a neighbor to help her 
 in gathering it when ripe. Brinkly was the apple of her eye, the idol 
 of her heart. He was to her as we always think of him of whom it 
 was said, ' He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.' 
 And Brinkly had rewarded her love and care with all the feelings of 
 his honest and affectionate heart. He was more anxious to learn for 
 her sake than his own. He soon came to read tolerably well, and was 
 advanced to geography. How proud was the widow when she bought 
 the new geography and atlas with the proceeds of four pairs of socks 
 which (sweet labor of love !) she had knit with her own hands. What 
 a world of knowledge she thought there must be in a book with five 
 times as many pages as a spelling-book, and in those great red, blue, 
 and pink pictures, covering a whole page a foot square, and all this 
 knowledge to become the property of Brinkly ! But Brinkly soon found 
 that geography was above his present capacity, and so told Mr. Meadows. 
 That gentleman received the communication with displeasure ; said that 
 what was the matter with him was laziness, and that laziness, of all the 
 qualities which a boy had, was the one which he knew best what to do 
 with. He then took to beating him. Brinkly, after the first beating, 
 which was a light one, went home and told his mother of it, and inti- 
 mated his intention not to take another. The widow was sorely dis- 
 tressed, and knew not what to do. On the one hand was her grief to 
 know her son was unjustly beaten, and his spirit cowed • for she knew 
 that he studied all the time he had, and though uneducated herself, she 
 was not like many other parents of her day who thought that the best 
 means to develop the mind was to beat the body. But on the other 
 hand would be the disappointment of his getting an education if he 
 should leave the school, there being then no other in the neighbor- 
 hood. This, thought the poor woman, was the worse horn of the 
 dilemma ; and so she wept, and begged him, as he loved her, to sub- 
 mit to Mr. Meadows. He should have the more time for study ; she 
 would chop the wood and feed the stock \ he should have all the time 
 at home to himself; he could get it, she knew he could; it would 
 come to him after a while. 
 
 Brinkly yielded ; but how many a hard struggle he made to continue 
 that submission, no one knew but he, — not even his mother, for he 
 concealed from her as much as he could the treatment which he had 
 received and the suffering which he had endured. Mr. Meadows could 
 
THE COOSEPOND SCHOOL. 21 
 
 see this struggle sometimes. He knew that the boy was not afraid of 
 him. He saw it in his eye every time he beat him, and it was this which 
 afforded him such a satisfaction to beat him. He wished to subdue 
 him, and he had not succeeded. Brinkly would never beg nor weep. 
 Mr. Meadows often thought he v;as on the point of resisting him ; but 
 he knew the reason why he did not, and while he hated him for it, he 
 trusted that it would last. Yet he often doubted whether it would or 
 not ; and thus the matter became so intensely exciting that he con- 
 tinually sought for opportunities of bringing it up. He loved to tempt 
 him. He had no doubt but that he could easily manage him in an 
 even combat ; but he did not wish it to come to that. He only gloried 
 in goading him almost to resistance, and then seeing him yield. 
 
 Have we not all seen how the showman adapts himself to the different 
 animals of the menagerie ? How quickly and sharply he speaks to the 
 lesser animals who jump over his hand and back, and over and back 
 again, and then crouch in submission as he passes by ! But when he 
 goes to the lion, you can scarcely hear his low tones as he commands 
 him to use and perform his part, and is not certain whether the king of 
 the beasts will do as he is bidden or not. Doubts like these were in 
 the mind of Mr. Meadows when he was about to set upon Brinkly 
 Glisson ; but the greater these doubts, the more he enjoyed the trial. 
 After a short rest from the fatigues of the last exercise, during which 
 he curiously and seriously eyed the lad, he rose from his seat, paced 
 slowly across the room once or twice, and taking a hickory switch, the 
 longest of all he had, he stopped in the middle of the floor, and in a 
 low, quiet tone, said : 
 
 " Brinkly Glisson, come." 
 
 Allen had been eyeing Brinkly all the time since the close of the 
 circus. He saw the conflict which was going on in his soul, and when 
 Mr. Meadows had burst into the paroxysm of laughter at the untoward 
 ending of the 'horsin',' he thought he saw that the conflict was ended. 
 
 Slowly and calmly Brinkly rose from his seat, and walked up and 
 stood before Mr. Meadows. 
 
 " Why, hi 1 " thought Allen. 
 
 "Off with your coat, sir," — low and gentle, and with a countenance 
 almost smiling. Brinkly stcd iiiotionless. But he had done so once 
 or twice before, in similar circumstances, and at length yielded. " Off 
 v/ith ir, sir," — louder and not so gentle. No motion en Brinkly's part, 
 not even in his eyes, which looked steadily into the master's, with a 
 meaning which he nearly, but not quite understood. 
 
22 DUKESBOROUGH TALES 
 
 " Aint you going to pull off that coat, sir ? " 
 
 " What for ? " asked Brinkly. 
 
 " What for, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; what for ? " 
 
 "Because I am going to give you this hickory, you impudent scoun- 
 drel ; and if you don't pull it off this minute, I'll give you sich a beatin' 
 as'll make you feel like you never was whipped before since you was 
 born. Aint you going to pull it off, sir ? " 
 
 " Not now, sir," 
 
 Allen wriggled on his seat, and his face shone as the full moon. Mr. 
 Meadows retreated a step, and holding his switch two feet from the 
 larger end, he raised that end to strike. 
 
 " Stop one minute, if you please." 
 
 Mr. Meadows lowered his arm, and his face smiled a triumph. This 
 was the first time Brinkly had ever begged. He chuckled. Allen 
 looked disappointed. 
 
 " Stop, eh ? I yi ! This end looks heavy, does it ? Well, I wouldn't 
 be surprised if it warn't sorter heavy. Will 3'ou pull off 3^our coat now, 
 sir?" 
 
 " Mr. Meadows, I asked you to stop because I wanted to say a few 
 words to you. You have beat me and beat me, worse than you ought 
 to beat a dog," (Allen's face getting right again) ; " and God in heaven 
 knows that, in the time that I have come to school to you, I have tried 
 as hard as a boy ever did to please you and get my lessons. I can't 
 understand that geography, and I aint been reading long enough to 
 understand it. I have asked you to let me quit. Mother has asked 
 you. You wouldn't do it; but beat me, and beat me, and beat me," 
 (there is no telling whether Allen wants to laugh or to cry), "and now, 
 the more I study it, the more I don't understand it. I would have quit 
 school long ago, but mother was so anxious for me to learn, and made 
 me come. And now I have took off my coat to you the last time." 
 (Ah! now there is a great tear in Allen's eye.) "Listen to me," (as 
 the teacher's hand makes a slight motion) ; " don't strike me. I know 
 I'm not learning anything, and your beating aint going to make me 
 learn any faster. If you are determined to keep me in this geography, 
 and to beat me, just say so, and I'll take my hat and books and go 
 home. I'd like to not come to-day, but I thought I knew my lesson. 
 Now, I say again, don't, for God's sake, don't strike me." And he 
 raised up both his hands, pale and trembling. 
 
THE GOOSEPOND SCHOOL. 2$ 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the surprise and rage expressed 
 orj the face of Mr. Meadows during the delivery and at the close of 
 this little harangue. He looked at the boy a moment. His counte- 
 nance expressed the deepest sadness; but there was nothing in it like 
 defiance or threatening. It was simply sad and beseeching. The 
 master hesitated, and looked around upon his school. It would not 
 do_ to retreat now, he thought. With an imprecation, he raised his 
 switch and struck with all his might. 
 
 " My God ! " cried the boy ; but in an instant sadness and beseeching 
 passed from his face. The long pent-up resentment of his soul gushed 
 forth, and the fury of a demon glared from his eyes. He was pre- 
 paring to spring upon Mr. Meadows, when the latter, by a sudden rush, 
 caught him and thrust him backward over the front bench. They both 
 tumbled on the floor, between the rows of desks, Mr. Meadows upper- 
 most. 
 
 *' It's come," said Allen, quietly, as he rose and looked down upon 
 the combatants. 
 
 Mr. Meadows attempted to disengage himself and rise ; but Brinkly 
 would rise with him. After several attempts at this, Brinkly managed 
 to get upon one knee, and by a violent jerk to bring Mr. Meadows 
 down upon the floor, where they were, in the phraseology of the wrest- 
 ling ring, cross and pile. Mr. Meadows shouted to two or three of the 
 boys to hold Brinkly until he could rise. They rose to obey, but Allen, 
 without saying a word, put out his hand before them, and motioning 
 them to their seats, they resumed them. And now the contest set in 
 for good, Mr. Meadows struggling to recover his advantage, and 
 Brinkly- to improve what he had gained. The former's right arm was 
 thrown across the latter's neck, his right hand wound in and pulling 
 violently his hair, while his left hand pressed against his breast. 
 Brinkly's left leg was across Mr. Meadows' middle, and with his right 
 against a stationary desk, his right arm bent and lying under him like 
 a lizard's, and his left in Mr. Meadows' shirt-collar, he struggled to 
 get uppermost; but whenever he attempted to raise his head, that 
 hand wound in his hair would instantly bring it back to the floor. 
 When Mr. Meadows would attempt to disengage himself from under- 
 neath Brinkly's leg, that member, assisted by its brother from the 
 desk, against which it was pressed, held it like the boa holds the 
 bullock. Oh, Mr. Meadows, Mr. Meadows! you don't know the 
 boy that grapples with you. You have never known anything at all 
 
24 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 about him, Mr. Meadows. You blow, Mr. Meadows ! See ! Brinkly 
 blows not half so hard. Remember, you walk a mile to and from 
 the school, and Brinkly seven, often running the first half. Besides, 
 there is something in Brinkly's soul which will not let him tire. The 
 remembrance of long continued wrongs, which cannot longer be borne ; 
 the long subdued but now inextinguishable desire of revenge ; every 
 hostile feeling but fear — all these are now dominant in that' simple 
 heart, and they have made of him a man, and if you hope to conquer 
 you must fight as you never have fought before, and never may have to 
 fight again. 
 
 Your right hand pulls less vigorously at the hair of Brinkly's ascend- 
 ing head. Look there ! Brinkly's leg has moved an inch further across 
 you ! Wring and twist, Mr. Meadows, for right under that leg, if any- 
 where for you, is now the post of honor. Can't you draw out your left 
 leg, and plant it against the desk behind you, as Brinkly does with his 
 right. Alas ! no. Brinkly has now made a hook of his left, and his 
 heel is pressing close into the cavity behind your knee. Ah ! that was 
 an unlucky move for you then, Mr. Meadows, when you let Brinkly's 
 hair go, and thrust both of your hands at his eyes. You must have 
 done that in a passion. But you are raking him some now, that is 
 certain. But see there, now ! he has released his grasp at your shirt- 
 collar, and thrown his left arm over you. Good morning to you now, 
 Mr. Meadows ! 
 
 . In the instant that Mr. Meadows had released his hold upon his 
 hair, Brinkly, though he was being gouged terribly, released his hold 
 upon his collar, threw his arm over his neck, and pushing with all his 
 might with his right leg against the desk, and making a corresponding 
 pull with his left, he succeeded in getting fully upon him j then, spring- 
 ing up quick as lightning, as Mr. Meadows, panting, his eyes gleaming 
 with the fury of an enraged tigress, was attempting to rise, he dealt 
 him a blow in the face with his fist which sent him back bleeding like 
 a butchered beast. Once more the master attempted to rise, and those 
 who saw it will never forget that piteous spectacle of rage, and shame, 
 and pain, and fear. Once more Brinkly struck him back. How that 
 brave boy's face shone out with those gaudia ccrtaminis which the brave 
 always feel when in the midst of an inevitable and righteous combat ! 
 Springing upon his adversary again, and seizing his arms and pinioning 
 them under his knees, he wound his hands in his shaggy hair, and 
 raising his head, thrust it down several times with all his might against 
 the floor. 
 
THE GOOSEPOND SCHOOL. 25 
 
 " Spare me ! for God's sake, spare me ! " cried Mr, Meadows, in 
 tones never before heard from him in that house. 
 
 Brinkly stopped. " Spare you ! " he said, now panting himself. " Yes ! 
 you who never spared anything that you could hurt ! Poor cruel 
 coward ! You loved to beat other people, and gloried in seeing them 
 suffering, and when they begged you to spare them, you laughed — 
 you did. Oh, how I have heard you laugh, when they asked you to 
 spare them ! And now you are beat yourself and whipped, you beg 
 like a dog. Yes, and I will spai'e you," he continued, rising from him. 
 " It would be a pity to beat any such a poor cowardly human any 
 longer. Now go! and make them poor things there go to horsin' 
 again, and cut 'em in two again ; and then get in the circus ring, and 
 make them others, girls and all — yes, girls and all — hold up their 
 clothes and trot around you, and when they cry like you, and beg you 
 to spare 'em, do you laugh again ! " 
 
 He rose and turned away from him. Gathering up his books, he 
 went to the peg whereon his hat was hanging, and was in the act of 
 taking it down, when a sudden revulsion of feeling came over him, 
 and he sat down and wept. 
 
 Oh, the feelings in that poor boy's breast ! The recollection of 
 the cruel wrongs which he had suffered ; of the motives, so full of 
 pious duty, which had made him endure them ; the thought of how 
 mistaken had been the wish of his mother that he should endure them ; 
 and then of how terribly they had been avenged. These all meeting 
 at once in his gentle but untaught spirit, overcame it, and broke it into 
 weeping. 
 
 Meanwhile, other things were going on. Mr. Meadows, haggard, 
 bruised, bleeding, covered with dirt, slunk off towards the fireplace, sat 
 down in his chair, and buried his face in his hands. The pupils had 
 been in the highest states of alternate alarm and astonishment. They 
 were now all standing about their seats, looking alternately at Brinkly 
 and Mr. Meadows, but at the latter mostly. Their countenances plainly 
 indicated that this v/as a sight which, in their minds, had never before 
 been vouchsafed to mortal vision. A schoolmaster whipped! beat! 
 choked ! his head bumped ! and that by one of his pupils ! And that 
 schoolmaster, Mr. Meadows ! — Mr. Meadows, who, ten minutes before, 
 had been in the exercise of sovereign and despotic authority. And 
 then to hear him beg! A schoolmaster ! — Mr. Meadows! — to hear 
 him actually beg Brinkly to spare him ! These poor children actually 
 4 
 
26 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 began to feel not only pity, but some resentment at what had been done. 
 They were terrified, and to some extent miserable at the sight of so 
 much power, so much authority, so much royalty dishonored and laid 
 low. Brinkly seemed to them to have been transformed. He was a 
 murderer ! a regicide ! ! Talk of the divine right of kings ! There 
 was never more reverence felt for it than the children in country schools 
 felt for the kingly dignity of the schoolmaster of fifty years agone. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Allen Thigpen was the only one of the pupils who did not entirely 
 lose his wits while the events of the last few minutes were taking place. 
 While the contest was even between the combatants, he stood gazing 
 down upon them with the most intense interest. His body was bent 
 down slightl)^, and his arms were extended in a semicircle, as if to 
 exclude the rest of the world from a scene which he considered all his 
 own. When Mr. Meadows called for quarter, Allen folded his arms 
 across his breast, and to a tune which was meant for ' Auld Lang Syne,' 
 and which sounded indeed more like that than any other, he sang as 
 he turned off, 
 
 " Jerusalem, my happy home." 
 
 When Mr. Meadows had taken his seat, he looked at him for a moment 
 or two as if hesitating what to do. He then walked slowly to him and 
 delivered the following oration : 
 
 "It's come to it at last, jest as I said. I seen it from the fust ; you 
 ought to a seen it yourself, but you wouldn't, ur you couldn't, and I don't 
 know which, and it makes no odds which you didn't. I did, and now 
 it's come, and sich a beatin', Jerusalem ! But don't you be too much 
 took aback by it. You warn't goin' to keep school here no longern to- 
 day, nohow. Now, I had laid off in my mind to have gin you a duckin' 
 this very day ; and I'll tell you for why. Not as I've got anything par- 
 ticklar agin you, myself; you have not said one word out of the way to 
 me this whole term. But, in the fust place, it's not my opinion, nor 
 haint been for some time, that you are fitten to be a schoolmaster. 
 Thar's them sums in intrust — intrust is the very thing and the onliest 
 thing I wanted to learn — I say, thar's them sums in intrust, which I 
 
THE COOSEPOND SCHOOL. 27 
 
 can't work and which you can't show me how to work, or haint yit, 
 though I've been cypherin' in it now two months. And thar's Mely 
 Jones, that's in the same, and she haint learnt 'em neither, and dinged 
 if I believe all the fault's in me and her, and in course it can't be in 
 the book. But that aint the main thing ; its your imposin' disposition. 
 If this here schoolhouse," he continued, looking around, " if this here 
 schoolhouse haint seen more unmerciful beatin' than any other school- 
 house in this countr}-, then I say it's a pity that thar's any sich a thing 
 as education. And if the way things has been car'd on in this here 
 schoolhouse sense you've been in it is the onliest way of getting of a 
 education, then I say again it's a pity thar's sich a thing. It haint worth 
 while for me to name over all the waj^s you've had of tormentin' o' these 
 children. You know 'em ; I know 'em ; everybody about this here 
 schoolhouse knows 'em. Now, as I said before, I had laid off to a gin 
 you a duckin' this very day, and this morning I was going to let Brinkly 
 into it, tell I found that the time I seen was a comin' in him was done 
 come ; and I knowed he wouldn't jine in duckin' you on account of his 
 mother. Now I've been thinking o' this for more'n two weeks, bekase — 
 now listen to me; didn't you say you was from South Calliner.'"' 
 
 Pausing for, but not receiving an answer, he continued : 
 
 "Yes, that's what you said. Well now, I've heern a man — a travel- 
 lin' man — who staid all night at our house on his way to Fluriday, say 
 he knowed you. You aint from South Calliner ; I wish you was, but 
 you aint ; you're from Georgy, and I'm ashamed to say it. He ast me, 
 seein' me a studyin', who I went to school to, and when I told him," 
 (Mr. Meadows appearing to be listening) 'Meadows,' says he, 'what 
 Meadov/s ? ' ' Iserl,' says I. ' Iserl Meadows a schoolmaster ? ' says he, 
 and he laughed, he did ; he laughed fit to kill hisself. Well, he told 
 me whar you was raised, and wJio you ivas. But you needn't be too 
 bad skeered. I aint told it to the fust human, and I aint going to, tell 
 you leave. Now, I had laid off, as I told you, to gin you a duckin', 
 but I hadn't the heart to do it, and you in the fix you are now at the 
 present. Nuff sed, as I seed in a bar-room in Augusty on a piece of 
 pasteboard, under the words ' No credit,' when I was than Wonder if 
 thar's going to be much more schoolin' here ? " 
 
 Saying which, Allen puckered up his mouth as if for a whistle, and 
 stalked back to his seat. 
 
 Mr. Meadows, during the last few sentences of this harangue, had 
 exhibited evidences of a new emotion. When Allen told him what the 
 
2 8 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 traveller had said, he looked up with a countenance full of terror, and 
 on Allen assuring him that he had not mentioned it, he had again 
 buried his face in his hands. When Allen went back to his seat, he 
 rose, and beckoning to him imploringly, they went out of the house 
 together a few steps and stopped. 
 
 " I never done you any harm," said Mr. Meadows. 
 
 "You never did, certin, shore," answered Allen, "nor no particklar 
 good. But that's neither here nor thar ; what do you want ? " 
 
 " Don't tell what you heard tell I git away." 
 
 " Didn't I say I wouldn't ? But you must leave toler'ble soon. I 
 can't keep it long. I fairly eech to tell it now." 
 
 The schoolmaster stood a moment, turning his hat in his hands, as 
 if hesitating what sort of leave to take. He timidly offered Allen his 
 hand. 
 
 " I'd ruther not," said Allen, and for the first time seemed a little em- 
 barrassed. Suddenly the man hauled his hat on his head, and walked 
 away. He had just entered the path in the thicket, and turning unob- 
 served, he paused, and looked back at the schoolhouse. And oh, the 
 anger, the impotent rage, the chagrin and shame which were depicted 
 on his bloodshot face ! No exiled monarch ever felt more grief and 
 misery than he felt at that moment. He paused but for a moment ; 
 then raising both his hands, and shaking them towards the house, 
 without saying a word, he turned again and almost ran along the path. 
 
 After he had gone, and not until he had gotten out of sight, Allen, 
 to whom all eyes were turned (except Brinkly's, who yet sat with his 
 head hidden in his hands on the bench), took Mr. Meadows' chair, and 
 crossing his legs, said : 
 
 "Well, boys and gals, the Goosepond, it seem, are a broke-up school. 
 The schoolmaster have, so to speak, absquatulated. Thar's to be no 
 more horsin' here, and the circus are clean shot up. And the only 
 thing I hates about it is, that it's Brinkly that's done it and not me. 
 But he wouldn't give me a chance. No," he continued, sorrowfully and 
 as if speaking to himself, " he wouldn't give me a chance. Nary single 
 word could I ever git him to say to me out of the way. I have misted 
 lessons ; 'deed I never said none. I never kept nary single rule in his 
 school, and he wouldn't say nothin' to me." 
 
 Then rising and going to Brinkly, he put his hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 " No, its jest as it ought to a bin ; you was the one to do it ; and in 
 the name of all that's jest, Brinkly Glisson, what is you been cryin' 
 
THE GOOSEPOND SCHOOL. 29 
 
 about ? Git up, boy, and go and wash your face. I would rather have 
 done what you've done than to a bin the man that fooled the tory in 
 the Revolutionary War, and stoled his horse in the Life of Marion. 
 Come along and wash that face and hands." 
 
 And he almost dragged Brinkly to the pail, and poured water while 
 he washed. 
 
 The children, recovering from the consternation into which they 
 had been thrown by the combat and its result, now began to walk about 
 the house, picking up their books and laying them down again. They 
 would go to the door and look out towards Mr. Meadows' path, as if 
 expecting, and, indeed, half-way hoping, half-way fearing that he would 
 return ; and then they would stand around Allen and Brinkly, as the 
 latter was washing and drying himself But they spoke not a word. 
 Suddenly, Allen, mimicking the tone of Mr. Meadows, cried out : 
 
 " Asa Boatright and Sam Pate, go to horsin' ! " 
 
 In a moment they all burst into shouts of laughter. Asa mounted 
 upon Sam's back, and Sam pranced about and neighed, oh, so gaily. 
 Allen got a switch and made as if he would strike Asa, and that young 
 gentleman, for the first time in the performance of this interesting exer- 
 cise, screamed with delight instead of pain. 
 
 " Let Asa be the schoolmaster," shouted Allen. " Good morning, 
 Mr. Boatright," said he with mock humility. "Mr. Boatright, may I 
 go out ? " asked timidly, half a dozen boys. 
 
 Asa dismounted, and seizing a hickory, he stood up in the middle of 
 the floor, and the others formed the circus around him. Here they 
 came and went, jumping over his switch, and crying out and stooping 
 to rub their legs, and begging him to stop, " for God's sake, Mr. Boat- 
 right, stop." 
 
 Suddenly an idea struck IMr. Boatright. Disbanding the circus, he 
 cried out : 
 
 " You, Is'rl Meadows, come up here, sir. Been a fighten, have you, 
 sir ? come up, sir. Oh, here you are." 
 
 Mr. Boatright fell upon the teacher's chair, and of all the floggings 
 v;hich a harmless piece of furniture ever did receive, that unlucky chair 
 did then and there receive the worst. Mr. Boatright called it names ; 
 he dragged it over the floor ; lie threatened to burn it up \ he shook it 
 violently ; he knocked it against the wall; one of its rounds falling out, 
 he beat it most unmercifully with that ; and at last, exhausted by the 
 exercise and satisfied v. ith his revenge, he indignantly kicked it out of 
 doors, amid tl e screams and shouts of his schoolfellows. 
 
30 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Far you well ! " said Allen, solemnly, to the fallen chair. 
 
 They had all gathered up their books and slates, and hats and 
 bonnets, and started off for their several homes. Those who went the 
 same way with Brinkly, listened with the most respectful attention as 
 he talked with Allen on the way, and showed how bitterly he had 
 suffered from the cruelty of Mr. Meadows. They had already lost 
 their resentment at the dishonor of that monarch's royalty, and were 
 evidently regarding Brinkly with the devotion with which mankind 
 always regard rebels who are successful. Each one strove to get the 
 nearest him as he walked. One little fellow, _^after trying several times 
 to slip in by his side, got ahead, and walked backwards as he looked 
 at Brinkly and listened. He was so far gone under the old regime 
 that he felt no relief from what had happened. He had evidently not 
 understood anything at all about it. He seemed to be' trying to do so, 
 and to make out for certain whether that was Brinkly or not. The 
 voice of those young republicans, had Brinkly been ambitious, would 
 have made him dictator of the Goosepond. Even Allen felt a con- 
 sideration for Brinkly which was altogether new. He had always ex- 
 pected that Brinkly would at some day resist the master, but he did 
 not dream of the chivalrous spirit of the lad, nor that the resistance 
 when it should come would be so terrible and disastrous. He had 
 always regarded Brinkly as his inferior; he was no\v~quite satisfied to 
 consider him as no more than his equal. How we all, brave men and 
 cowards, do honor the brave! 'And Brinkly had just given, in the 
 opinion of his schoolfellows, the most brilliant illustration of courage 
 which the world had ever seen. / 
 
 But Brinkly was not ambitious nor vain ; he felt no triumph in his 
 victory. On the contrary, he was sad ;/ he wished it could have been 
 avoided. He said to Allen that he wished he could have stood it a 
 little longer. 
 
 " Name o' God, Brinkly Glisson, what for ? It is the astonishenist 
 thing I ever heerd of, for you to be sorry for maulin' a rascal who beat 
 you like a dog, and that for nothin'. What for, I say again ? " 
 
 " On mother's account." 
 
 Allen stopped — they had gotten to the road that turned off to his 
 home. 
 
THE GOOSEPOND SCHOOL. 31 
 
 " You tell your mother that when she knows as much about the 
 villian as I do, she will be proud of you for maulin' him. Look here, 
 Briiikl}', I promised him I wouldn't tell on him tell he had collected 
 his schoolin' account and was off. But you tell your mother that if she 
 gets hurt with you for thrashin' him, she will get worse hurt with her- 
 self when she knows what I do." 
 
 . Saying this, Allen shook hands with him and the others, and went 
 off, merrily singing 'Jerusalem, my happy home.' Soon all the rest 
 had diverged by byroads to their own homes, and Brinkly pursued his 
 way alone. 
 
 It was about twelve o'clock when he reached home. The widow's 
 house was a single log-tenement, with a small shed-room behind. A 
 kitchen, a meat-house, a dairy, a crib with two stalls in the rear^one 
 for the horse the other for the cow, were the out-buildings. Homely 
 and poor as tliis little homestead was, it wore an air of much neatness 
 and comfort. The yard looked clean ; the floors of both mansion and 
 kitchen were clean, and the little dairy looked as if it knew it was 
 clean, but that was nothing new or strange. Several large rose-bushes 
 •stood on either side of the little gate, ranged along the yard-paling. 
 Two rows of pinks and narcissus hedged the walk from the gate to the 
 door, where, on blocks of oak, rested two boxes of the geranium. 
 
 The widow was in the act of sitting down to her dinner, when hear- 
 ing the gate open and shut, she advanced to the door to see who might 
 be there. Slowly and sadly Brinkly advanced to the door. 
 
 " Lord have mercy upon my soul and body, Brinkly, what is the 
 matter with you.^ and what have you been a doing, and what made you 
 conie from the schoolhouse this time o' day .'' " was the greeting he 
 met. 
 
 " Don't be scared, mother ; it isn't much that's the matter with me. 
 Let us sit down by the fire here, and I'll tell you all about it." 
 
 They sat down, and the mother looked upon the son, and the son 
 upon the mother. 
 
 " I was afraid it would come to it, mother. God knows how I have 
 tried to keep from doing what I have had to do at last." 
 
 "Brinkly, have you been and gone and fought with Mr. Meadows?" 
 
 " Yes, mother." 
 
 " And so ruined yourself, and me, too." 
 
 " I hope not, mother." 
 
 " Yes, here have I worked and denied myself; day and night I have 
 
32 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 pinched to give you an education, and this is the way you pay me for 
 it," and she fell straightlo crying. / 
 
 "Mother, do listen to me before you cry and fret any more, and I 
 believe you will think I have not done wrong. Please, mother, listen 
 to me," he entreated as she continued to weep, and rocked herself, in 
 order, as it seemed, to give encouragement and keep time to her weep- 
 ing. But she wept and rocked. Brinkly turned from her and seemed, 
 doggedly hopeless. 
 
 " Say on what you're going to say — say on what you're going to say. 
 If you've got anything to sa}', say it." 
 
 " I can't tell you anything while you keep crying so. Please don't 
 cry, mother ; I don't believe you will blame me when I tell you what I 
 have been through." His manner was so humble and beseeching that 
 his mother sat still, and in a less fretful tone, again bade him go on. 
 
 " Mother, as I said before, God knows that I've tried to keep from 
 it, and could not. You don't know, mother, how that man has treated 
 me." 
 
 " How has he treated you ? " she inquired, looking at her son for the 
 first time since she had been sitting. 
 
 " You were so anxious for me to learn, and I v/as so anxious myself 
 to learn, that I have never told you of hardly any of his treatment. 
 Oh, mother, he has beat me worse than anybody ought to beat the 
 meanest dog. He has called me and you poor, and m.ade fun of us 
 because we were poor. He has called me a scoundrel, a beggar, a 
 fool. When I told him that you wanted me to quit geography, he said 
 you was a fool and had a fool for a son, and that heliad no doubt that 
 my father was a fool before me." 
 
 The widow dried her face with her handkerchief, settled herself in 
 her chair, and said : 
 
 "When he said them things he told a — what's not so; I'll say it it 
 he is schoolmaster." And she looked as if she was aware that the 
 responsibility of that bold observation was large. 
 
 _ " He said," continued Brinkly, " that I should study it, and if I didn't 
 git the lessons, he'd beat me as long as he could find a hickory to beat 
 me with. I stood it all because it was my only chance to git any 
 schoolin'. But I told him then — that is when he called you a fool, 
 and father one, too — that it wasn't so, and that he ought not to say 
 so. Well, yesterday, you know you sent me by Mr. Norris' to pay back 
 the meal we borrowed, and I didn't get to the schoolhouse quite in 
 
THE GOOSEPOND SCHOOL. 33 
 
 time. But he wasn't more than a hundred yards ahead of me, and 
 when he saw me, he hurried just to keep me from being in time. 
 When I told him how you had sent me by Mr. Norris', he only laughed 
 and called me a liar, and then — look at my shoulder, mother." 
 
 He took off his coat, unbuttoned his skirt, and exposed his shoulder 
 and back, blackened with hideou s bruises. 
 
 " Oh, my son, my poor son," was all that mother could say. 
 
 She had not, in fact, known a tenth of the cruelties and insults which 
 Brinkly had borne. He had frequently importuned her to let him quit 
 the school. But she supposed that it was because of the difficulties 
 of learning his lessons which got for him an occasional punishment, 
 and such as was incident to the life of every schoolboy, bad and good, 
 idle and industrious. These thoughts combining with her ardent desire 
 that he should have some learning, even at the risk of receiving some 
 harsh and even unjust punishment, made her persist in keeping him 
 there. Seeing her anxiety, and to avoid making her unhappy, Brinkly 
 had concealed from her the greater part of the wrongs which he had 
 suffered. But when she heard how he had been abused, and saw the 
 stripes and bruises upon his body, her mother's heart could not restrain 
 itself,/and she wept sorely. 
 
 " Well, mother, I stood this too, but last night I couldn't sleep. I 
 thought about all he had said and all he had done to me, and I made 
 up my mind to quit him anyhow. But this morning, before day, I 
 thought for your sake I would try it once more. So I got up and 
 studied my lesson here and all the way to the schoolhouse ; and I did 
 know it, mother, or I thought I did, for he wouldn't tell me how to pro- 
 nounce the words, but Allen Thigpen did, and I pronounced them just 
 like Allen told me. When I told him that, he called me a liar, and 
 afterwards I begged him not to strike me, but to let me go home. But 
 he would strike me, and I fought him." 
 
 " And you done right. Oh, my son, my poor Brinkly ! Yes. you are 
 poor, the poor son of a poor widow ; but I am proud that you,4iave got 
 the heart; to fight when you are abused and insulted. If Id known 
 half of What you have had to bear, you should have quit his school 
 long ago ; you should, Brinkly, my darling, that you should. But how 
 could you expect to fight him and not be beat to death ? Why didn't 
 you run away from him and come to me ? He wouldn't have beat you 
 so where I was." And she looked as if she felt herself to be quite 
 sufficient for the protection of her young. 
 5 
 
34 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 " Mother, I didn't want to run ; I couldjiH run from such a man as he 
 is. Once I thought I would take my hat and books and come away ; 
 but I could not do that without running, and I couldn't run ; you wouldn't 
 want me to run, would you, mother?" The widow looked puzzled. 
 
 " No ; but he is so much bigger than you, that it wouldn't a looked 
 exactly like you was a coward ; and then he has hurt you so bad. My 
 poor Brinkly, you don't know how your face is scratched." 
 
 " I hurt him worse than he hurt me, mother." 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " I hurt him worse than he hurt me ; I got the best of it." 
 
 " Glory ! " shouted Mrs. Glisson. 
 
 " In fact, I whipped him." 
 
 « Glory ! glory ! " 
 
 " When I had him down — " 
 
 " Brinkly, did you have him down, my son?" 
 
 " Yes, and he begged me to spare him." 
 
 " Glory be to — glory be to — but you did not do it, did you ? " 
 
 "Yes, mother, as soon as he give up and begged me to stop, I let 
 him alone." 
 
 " I wouldn't a done it, certin, shore ! " 
 
 " Yes you would, mother ; if you had seen how he was hurt, and how 
 bad he looked, you would a spared him, I know you would." 
 
 " Well, maylje I might ; I suppose it was right, as he was a man 
 grown, and schoolmaster to boot. Maybe it was best — maybe it was 
 best — maybe I might a done it too, but it aint quite certin." 
 
 She had risen from the chair and was pacing the floor. This new 
 view of Brinkly's relation to his tyrant was one on which she required 
 time for reflection. She evidently felt, however, that as Brinkly had so 
 often been at the bottom in the combat, now when he had risen to the 
 top, there was no great harm in staying there a little longer. " But 
 maybe it was best ; I reckon now he won't be quite so brash with his 
 other scholars." 
 
 " He will never have another chance." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Allen has found out all about him, and where he came from, and 
 says he's a man of bad character. He begged Allen not to say any- 
 thing about it until he got his money and could git away. So he is 
 quit, and the school is broke up." 
 
 " Glory ! glory ! hallelujah! " shouted again and sung the mother. 
 
THE COOSEPOND SCHOOL. 35 
 
 Let her shout and sing. Sing away and shout, thou bereaved, at 
 this one little triumph of thine only beloved ! Infinite Justice ! pardon 
 her for singing and shouting now, when her only child, though poor 
 and an orphan, though bruised and torn, seems to her overflowing eyes 
 to be grand and beautiful, as if he were a royal hero's son, and the in- 
 heritor of his crown. 
 
JUDGE MIKES COURT. 
 
 " And then the Justice : 
 And so he piays his part." 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 |NCE upon a time, in this glorious country, a respectable but 
 uneducated woman, who had taken to her home an orphan 
 child of poor parents, had brought her up with great care and ten- 
 derness, and, though reluctantly, allowed her to receive, at the hands 
 of some other benevolent persons, a year's schooling, had the misfor- 
 tune to lose her J>rotegce. The girl, who was very pretty, being offered 
 a^home in a family where she thought she could have better society 
 and more enjoyments than were to be had in the house of her first 
 benefactress, accepted this offer, and refused to return. The good 
 lady, in her distress searching eagerly how she might avoid placing too 
 great blame upon the beloved child of her adoption, attributed her loss 
 to education. 
 
 " It was edyecation," she said bitterly, when she had given up all 
 efforts to recover her lost treasure ; " it was edyecation that done it all. 
 I never seed a more biddable child than she was before she went off 
 to school. You may tell me what you please about your edyecation : 
 it's my opinion that the more edyecation people git, the meaner they 
 git." 
 
 Woe to the schools and colleges henceforth if she could have had 
 her way with them ! 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. 37 
 
 There are, and for a long time there have been many persons in this 
 good State of Georgia who feel like this good woman regarding another 
 great instrument of its civilisation. We all remember (at least those 
 who are old enough) how long a time it required to get the establish- 
 ment of a Supreme Court for the Correction of Errors. What courts 
 we did have seemed to be such nuisances that men were generally- 
 opposed to having any more. At length, being partially convinced 
 that such a tribunal might serve to settle at least some points of law, 
 and thereby lessen some useless litigation, it was established. Yet, 
 notwithstanding the great good that has been accomplished through its 
 instrumentality, there are very many who still regard it as only another 
 addition to the various means of vexing citizens with law-suits ; and we 
 yet meet with those who are fond of speaking of the good old times 
 when courts were fewer, and men did not have to carry their cases out 
 of their counties after they had been once settled at home. 
 
 Well, those old times were very good in many respects. Beef was 
 cheap, and the temptation to steal it was small. Men did not very 
 often commit malicious mischief, or keep open tippling-houses on for- 
 bidden days. Land was not high ; men lived more widely apart, and 
 almost every one kept his own whiskey at home. Vagabonds were 
 less numerous than now ; mostly because the credit system being not 
 greatly developed, they were wont to carry upon their persons the 
 unmistakable badges of their profession. It is pleasing to an old man 
 like me to recur to those old times. Corn, twenty cents a bushel, 
 except to wagoners, who, being strangers, and considering that their 
 silver might prove to be pewter, were made to pay a quarter of a dollar. 
 Bacon, no price at all, because everybody had a plenty, and because 
 the woods were full of game and the creeks were full of fish. Blessed 
 be the memory of those old times ! The most of those who were then 
 my companions and friends are gone, and I am left almost alone. Yet, 
 for the many recollections which they bring to me, I say again, Blessed 
 be the memory of those old times ! 
 
 But, like all other times, those old ones had their evils and their 
 wants. Men and systems were not perfect, even then. True, they 
 had not many schools, and they had no Supreme Court. Yet, in what 
 schools and courts they had, there were some things which, v/hen 
 men thought of them at all, they thought might have been done differ- 
 ently or left undone. I think that we have improved somewhat in the 
 matter of a few of the institutions of the old times. I speak thus with 
 
38 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 what I hope is a proper respect for the past. I admit that I see occa- 
 sionally what seem to be derelictions from the simple habits which 
 prevailed when I was a boy. The young of this generation, it seems 
 to me, are not so respectful to the old as they used to be. Discipline 
 surely has lost some of its ancient control. To take my own case for 
 instance : I am convinced that w^hen I was young I treated men who 
 were as old as I am now with more consideration than that which I 
 receive from the young. I do not like to complain^ and a man at my 
 time of life should beware how he complains. Still, I can but notice 
 in the present generation a want of that reverence which, when I was 
 a boy, the young felt for the aged. I know how wont old persons are 
 to find fault with present times, and therefore I try to endure as I would 
 like to be endured. And while I may mistake myself in this regard, 
 nevertheless I do believe that I can fairly compare with one another 
 the various periods in which I have lived. My opinion upon the whole 
 is, that while in some respects there have been deteriorations from the 
 habits of old times, there have been improvements in others. Now, 
 as for the schools in old times, bad as some of them were, they had 
 ways of righting themselves. The things done in them, though seri- 
 ously inconvenient at the time of their doing, were seldom very serious 
 in their consequences. Boys knew them to be, as they were, institu- 
 tions, and so learned to get used to them. Or, if a schoolmaster grew 
 to be too bad, or wouldn't give a holiday at Whitsuntide, he got his 
 ducking, and things went on better for a while. The same thing, how- 
 ever, could not be said of the courts and the judges, when, as was 
 sometimes the case, the latter were neither fully educated in all the 
 learning applicable to all cases arising in Law and Equity, nor wholly 
 above the prejudices and other infirmities to which the rest of mankind 
 are subject. The latter generations have surely made advances in the 
 matter of laws and courts of justice. We always had a great Judiciary 
 system, if we had carried it to the point designed by its founders. 
 But we were left with irresponsible judges, and some of them were — 
 what they were. 
 
 Let us look back a little into those old times, while men are thinking 
 about them and giving especial praise to them, and reminding one 
 another of how glorious they were. I observe that this habit prevails 
 less with the truly old than with the middle-aged, who have had not 
 enough of old age to obtain its true wisdom, I trust, therefore, it will 
 not be amiss in me, who have lived in both the old times and the new, 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. 39 
 
 to describe, as well as my memory will serve, a character or two and a 
 scene or two that figured and were enacted in a court in our neighbor- 
 hood, long, long ago. And as I have used many introductory words 
 (and those possibly somewhat involved), and as I have mentioned one 
 fact (though it has nothing to do with the narrative except to help in 
 pointing its moral), and as I am a little tired, I will stop for the present 
 where I am, and call what I have already written, a chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 A YOUNG man, a native of Virginia, and a graduate of one of the 
 colleges of that State, had come to Georgia for the purpose of seeking 
 a home and practising his profession of the law. One morning, in the 
 beginning of spring, in company with a middle-aged gentleman, whose 
 acquaintance he had newly made, he rode towards the village near 
 which the latter lived, for the purpose of being introduced to some 
 of the members of the Bar residing there. As the two were riding 
 along, after some conversation upon the practice of law and other pur- 
 suits in the South, the younger gentleman asked of the elder if there 
 was in the South a Court of Errors. 
 
 " I do not remember to have so heard, but I presume that you have 
 such a court." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," exclaimed the elder, " many a one. We have no 
 other sort ia Georgia. But I know what you mean, sir," he added, 
 seeing the j'oung man's surprise. " I answered your question literally, 
 because what I say is very nearly literally true ; and it is so, doubtless, 
 because we have no court for the correction of errors which our other 
 courts continually commit. I know little of the law myself, although 
 I once studied it and was admitted to the Bar. I never practised, and 
 yet I have seen enough to know that, with our present Judiciary 
 system, the law can never become a science settled upon any ascer- 
 tained principles." 
 
 " There can be very little donbt as to that." 
 
 " We have no lack of lawyers of real ability ; but I doubt if there 
 is in the South another State so deficient in its courts as ours. We 
 have, as I said, many able lawyers, but seldom an able judge. The 
 salary is so small that a lawyer of first-rate ability, unless he be a man 
 
40 DUKESBOROUGH TALES, 
 
 of property (" and such men," he added, in parenthesis, with a slight 
 touch of dignity which did not escape the other, " rarely enter the pro- 
 fessions "), will not go upon the Bench. It is, therefore, generally oc- 
 cupied by men of inferior learning and ability ; and as we have no 
 Supreme Court, and every judge is independent in his circuit, there is, 
 of course, no uniformity in their decisions, but many an error, you may 
 be sure. I reside here near the boundaries of two circuits. I and 
 my neighbors of two adjoining counties live under two different sj's- 
 tems of laws. I am tolerably well acquainted with that of my own 
 circuit ; but I dare not move out of it, as I have known others to do 
 to their sorrow. Even here, whenever a new judge is elected we shall 
 have a new system to learn ; for, like every schoolmaster who begins 
 by throwing out of the schoolroom all the te.\t-books which his prede- 
 cessor employed, he will fear that he will be considered nobody unless 
 he overrules much of what our present judge has decided." 
 
 " Does not your constitution provide for a Supreme Court ? " 
 
 " It does ; but, bless you, sir, the people are almost unanimously 
 opposed to its establishment. They say that they are already too 
 much worried by courts to think of making any more of them. The 
 lawyers too, the most of them, are equally opposed to it, because they 
 know — hang them ! and who should know so well as they ? — that it 
 would lessen litigation by lessening what is to them the glorious un- 
 certainty of the law. A man who would get an office here must not 
 open his mouth in favor of a Supreme Court. He might as well avow 
 himself a disciple of Alexander Hamilton, or a friend of the adminis- 
 tration of John Adams." 
 
 They had just reached the public square, and alighted, when Mr. 
 Parkinson pointed to a little office on the corner of it, into which two 
 men were entering. 
 
 " There go two limbs of the law now. We will go in at once," and 
 leading the way, he walked in and introduced the young man, Mr. 
 Overton, to Mr. Sandidge and Mr. Mobley. 
 
 Mr. Sandidge (" Elam Sandidge, Attorn ey-at-Law," Overton had 
 read upon a shingle as he entered) was about fifty years old, tall, with 
 very long legs, which seemed as if they were ashamed of his rather 
 short body, from the fact that they would never hold it straight up. 
 He had long arms, long hands, and long fingers, which last never 
 looked clean. He wore shabby clothes too, which, if they had been 
 ever so fine, would yet have looked shabby from a habit he had of chew- 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. 41 
 
 ing tobacco all the time when he was not eating or asleep, and spitting 
 on himself. Yet, for all these drawbacks, Mr. Sandidge had, as it 
 seemed, an ambition to appear perfectly and universally agreeable. 
 His countenance, when he looked at another, was invariably clothed in 
 smiles. He never laughed ; he only smiled. While nature had given 
 him x\6 very acute sense of the humorous, and while, therefore, he 
 never felt like laughing, he had, apparently from a sense of duty, 
 learned to smile, and he smiled at everything. If one said ' Good 
 morning ' to him, he v.'as sure to smile as he returned the salutation. 
 If one, in answer to an inquify concerning his health, complained of a 
 headache, he smiled the most cordial sympathy. There was no con- 
 siderable amount of cheer conveyed by his smiles — no more than 
 there was by his shabby coat and hands ; but like these, they were a 
 part of him, and one got used to them. VBut if any one said anything 
 funny where he and others were standing, and no person smiled except 
 the invariable Sandidge, he felt that the joke had been a failure. 
 
 When Mr. Parkinson introduced Mr. Overton, Mr. Sandidge arose 
 and extended his hand with a smile, which seemed to say: "Ah ! you 
 young dog ! You have come at last ? I knew you would." 
 
 Mr. Mobley was a stout, fine-looking man, about twenty-three years 
 of age, of the middle height, with dark complexion, very black hair 
 and whiskers, and a fine mouth, full of large sound teeth of perfect 
 whiteness. There were an ease and grace in his manner, and an ex- 
 pression upon his face, vi'hich marked him at once to Mr. Overton as 
 a man of talent and education. Immediately after the introduction 
 Mr. Sandidge looked at the new-comers and then at Mr. Mobley v/ith 
 a smile, which the latter interpreted at once ; and after an exchange of 
 a few words of •civility, he rose to go. 
 
 "No, do not leave, Mr. Mobley," Mr. Parkinson said. "We have 
 no especial business with Mr. Sandidge, but came to see you both. 
 So please to remain, unless you have business which calls you away." 
 
 Mr. Sandidge smiled upon Mr. Mobley as he resumed his seat ; and, 
 but that we knew that he v/as bound to smile at all events, we should 
 have suspected that he was infinitely amused by the idea that Mr. 
 Mobley should have had any business of such pressing importance as 
 to require him to go to it in. a hurry. He then turned to Mr, Parkin- 
 son and smiled inquiringly ; for this was the first time that tha't gentle- 
 man had ever called on him, except upon business. 
 
 " Mr. Overton has removed to Georgia with a view of establishing 
 
42 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 himself somewhere in the State in the practice of the law, and I have 
 brought him here to make him acquainted with you both, knowing that 
 he could obtain from you more of such information as he needs than 
 he could from myself; besides," he added, looking at Mr. Mobley, " I 
 desired to give him an opportunity of extending his acquaintance among 
 those with whom he might spend pleasantly such of his leisure as he 
 will have when he is wearied with the dullness of Chestnut Grove." 
 
 Mr. Mobley bowed ; Mr. Parkinson rose, and saying that he would 
 return in an hour, left the office, Mr. Sandidge smiling at him all the 
 while, even at his back as he went out. *A conversation was begun at 
 once between the young men, with an occasional but rare contribution 
 from Mr. Sandidge. The latter was no great talker in a social way. 
 It was a wonderful thing to him how many things people could find to 
 say to one another on matters of no business whatever, but only in the 
 way of civility. He could talk forever on business, and in the Court- 
 house often made speeches of two hours' length. He understood such 
 things mighty well ; but it puzzled him to see two persons sitting down 
 together and talking at random and with interest on miscellaneous 
 subjects, sporting from one to another with perfect ease, having no 
 apparent motive except a desire in each to entertain the other. There 
 was Mobley now, he would think, a young man who in the Court-house 
 was as skittish as a girl, whose practice, though he had fine education 
 and ability, after a year's pursuit of it, was barely supporting him, and 
 yet, as soon as he was out of that dread place, and in the society of 
 the most intelligent and able of the profession, would bear his part in 
 the discussion of general subjects, and even of legal questions, with an 
 ease and a fiuency which made him the most interesting of them all, 
 and the object of the especial envy of Mr. Sandidfe. Being no 
 philosopher, Mr. Sandidge could not, for the life of him, understand 
 how these things could be ; and it seemed to him to be not only strange, 
 but wrong that Mr, Mobley, whom he was accustomed to run over in 
 the Court-house, should not only seem to be, but should actually be 
 above him everywhere else. Yet such things have been before and 
 since, and are to be hereafter, and have excited the surprise of others 
 besides Mr. Sandidge. How many young men of excellent talents and 
 the most finished education have for a year or two striven in vain to 
 begin successfully careers at the Bar, and have at length shrunk from 
 the pursuit, and left its honors and emoluments to be gathered by the 
 Sandidges — the Sandidges whom men laughed at when they saw them 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. 43 
 
 enter the profession, and whom they continued to laugh at for half a 
 dozen years, and after half a dozen more years have carried them all 
 their cases, and have at last lived to see them rich and prosperous. 
 Mr. Sandidge would not have thought of exchanging places with Mr. 
 Mobley, or the fine young fellow who had been just now introduced to 
 him ; but the more they ran on with each other about law, literature, 
 and what not, the more he wondered at and envied what he thought 
 was their only gift. But he smiled whenever anything was said to him, 
 and when he was expected to say, and did say anything to them. When 
 Mr. Overton inquired if there was much litigation in that circuit, and if 
 money was to be made by the practice, Mr. Mobley slightly blushed, 
 looked at Mr. Sandidge, and answered that there was not a great 
 amount of litigation then originating, and that Mr. Sandidge knew 
 more as to what was to be made by the practice than himself. Re- 
 gaining instantly his ease of manner, he laughed good-naturedly at 
 himself, who had managed, he said, " thus far to make money to pay 
 my board and store accounts, and not, I think, anything over. I do 
 not, however, despair to do better after a while," he added, looking 
 composedly upon Mr. Sandidge. 
 
 Mr. Sandidge being thus appealed to, and looking as if he felt that 
 that was a subject of which he ought to know something, answered 
 that there were some few lawyers in the circuit who were making a 
 living. Law was a mighty hard thing to make a living at. He had 
 been trying it twenty-five years and better, and ought to know how hard 
 it was. There was no business that it was not easier to make money 
 at than law. If he had his time to go over again, he hardly thought 
 he would undertake it. Indeed, he knew he would not if he knew 
 what a young man had to go through with the first five or six years. 
 Now, Mr. Sandidge had commenced the practice of the law without 
 a dollar, and with not even a good suit of clothes. But he econo- 
 mised. He borrowed money at eight per cent., and shaved paper 
 at sixteen and twenty. He went to every Justices' Court in the county ; 
 learned the name of every man in it, got acquainted with every man's 
 business, hunted up and set agoing litigation, until here he was in 
 the possession of at least forty thousand dollars. And though many a 
 man would have shrunk from what Mr. Sandidge had to go through 
 with, yet Mr. Sandidge told a story when he said what he did. He 
 would have gone through with it a thousand times over. He was 
 proud of what he had gone through. Like most self-made men, he 
 
44 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 was fond of exaggerating his early difficulties. Then, next to the 
 money which he had made by the law, he loved the spyings which it 
 gave opportunities to make into the secrets of his neighbors, their 
 silent struggles with sufferings and embarrassments, and he loved yet 
 more the influence which the knowledge thus acquired enabled him to 
 exert over them. But it was not his wont to encourage young lawyers. 
 Nobody encouraged him, he reflected, and let them encourage them- 
 selves. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " law is a hard thing to get on with. There's a 
 power of books to read, which requires a power of money to buy ; and 
 there are so many contrary decisions on the same p'ints, and the prac- 
 tice and the pleadings are so hard to learn, and then a man, a young 
 man, has so often got to speak before the court, where everybody is 
 watching him, and when he don't knov/ sometimes what to say when 
 a pint is made he didn't expect and aint prepared to meet, and he 
 gets embarrassed, and sometimes even has to give up the case and be 
 non-suited. These things, as I said, and a heap of others I might 
 mention, makes law a hard business to follow. But some men do, by 
 hard labor, make a living by it, by being economical. They say in 
 Augusta and in Savannah it is easier to get along with it, and that 
 some men even make fortunes. There is more litigation there, and not 
 so much competition. But," he ended, smiling quite encouragingly, 
 "it may be worth while to try it even here. The profession is pretty 
 well stocked to be sure, but the more the merrier, you know ; " and he 
 smiled almost audibly, and with such satisfaction at this attempt at 
 pleasantry, that Mr. Mobley laughed at it heartily, and said: 
 
 " And, Sandidge, you know it is some consolation to* a fellow who is 
 getting along slowly to know that there are others who are at no faster 
 pace than himself; for apropos to your proverb is the one that misery 
 loves company." 
 
 " Just so," answered Mr. Sandidge ; and at this moment Mr. Parkin- 
 son returned, and the two took their leave. 
 
 When they were on their way home, Mr. Parkinson asked Overton 
 hov/ he liked the specimens, as he termed his new acquaintances. The 
 latter answered that he was much pleased with the young man. 
 
 " And you are not very much pleased with Sandidge, I suppose ? " 
 
 "Why, no, I cannot say that I am greatly prepossessed in his favor; 
 and I fancy he returns the compliment, as he discourages my notion to 
 practise law." 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. 45 
 
 " He does, does he ? " said Mr. Parkinson, laughing. " I knew he 
 would ; and though I am much of his opinion in regard to any young 
 man who can do anything else, yet I must say that his example is en- 
 couraging. He very well illustrates how a man of little talent and less 
 education can grow rich, and even attain to some eminence at the Bar. 
 Sandidge is certainly a queer genius. Twenty-five years ago everybody 
 laughed at him — the judge, the lawyers, the juries, and the people. 
 But Sandidge laughed too in his waj', and worked every day and night ; 
 and somehow he got into practice. The judge and lawyers came at 
 last to respect him, the sheriffs to fear him, and the people to be in awe 
 of him ; until now he has made a fortune, has more influence with the 
 present judge and is more successful before juries than any lawyer in 
 the circuit. I knev/ he would attempt to discourage you ; he always 
 does. I doubt if it is because he has no feeling, but because it grati- 
 fies his vanity to exaggerate those obstacles which he had to overcome, 
 and which nobody thought he v/ould. And Sandidge, though he looks 
 like a fool, is really a pretty good lawyer. There are men infinitely 
 his superiors, bat he is untiringly industrious. He prepares his cases 
 so thoroughly, and hangs to them so doggedly, and studies the people 
 so constantly, that he is, I repeat it, the most successful practitioner I 
 know. Hs loves the law ; he glories in it, and knows nothing outside 
 of it." 
 
 " But Mr. Mobley ; he is certainly a man of real talent and education. 
 Is he not likely to succeed.'"' 
 
 "jMobley Ivis very superior talent and a most finished education. 
 He was educated by an uncle who died in the first year of his collegiate 
 life, leaving in the hands of his executors money to enable him to com- 
 plete his course and enter his profession. His parents both died when 
 he was a child. But Mobley shines everywhere except in the court- 
 room. There he does not yet seem to be quite at home. I have heard 
 him speak once or twice, and he certainly speaks v/ell. But Sandidge 
 worries him so v;ith the starting of unexpected issues that he is often 
 put to his wits' end. If he could live without the practice, J am 
 inclined to think that, notwithstanding his pride, he would abandon it. 
 He will succeed though after a while, I doubt not, if he will persevere. 
 He is a fellow of fine w.t, and gores Sandidge badly sometimes when 
 he can reach him, which is not often the case, with this w;eapon. But 
 Sandidge only smiles, and almost always gives things a turn which is 
 sure to give him the best cT it at last." 
 
46 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 " Do you usually have much business in the courts ? " 
 
 " And if so, which of these men do I employ to attend to it, you 
 would ask ? Well," continued Mr. Parkinson, somewhat apologetically, 
 " what little I have in that way I usually give to Sandidge. I have 
 known him a long time, and he has always seemed to act an honest 
 part towards me. Besides, a man, you know, does not usually like to 
 change the channel of his business." 
 
 Mr. Parkinson did not have the heart, after what he had said of Mr. 
 Sandidge's influence with the presiding judge, to give that as another 
 reason for retaining him. 
 
 The j-oung man said nothing ; but he thought with himself that, 
 hard as it was on a poor fellow like Mobley, it was natural. And is it 
 the less hard because it is natural, that the world will delay to give help 
 to a man in any business of life until, by long toiling and striving alone, 
 he has at last reached a point where he can live without it .'' Yet such 
 is the way of life. You man with many clients, and many more friends, 
 has there not been a time when nineteen of every twenty of those 
 whom you now value the most highly would have forborne to lend you 
 a helping hand, but would have waited until they had seen whether by 
 the aid of the few who did stand by you you were likely to rise or to 
 fall ? Let us not then fall out with what is natural in our fellow-men, 
 and what our very selves would do, and what we actually do, because 
 it is natural to us. We would spare ourselves many an uncomfortable 
 feeling of contempt for the infirmities of human nature as we see them 
 illustrated in the lives of our neighbors, if we would but reflect that, 
 what is more often than otherwise the case with us, we would act in 
 the same circumstances just as they do. Ask yourself, O best of 
 men, how many young men are there in any profession whom you so 
 cordially wish to prosper in it that you would be willing to take any of 
 your business out of its old tried channel — a channel so freighted with 
 yours and other people's business that it would not miss the little you 
 take from it — and risk it in their care until they have proved that the 
 consignment will be a safe one 1 Or if you sometimes do this, is it 
 not done a little slyl}^, and do you not feel like apologising, and when 
 discovered, do you not actually apologise to the old channel, and tell 
 how trifling was the freight you have taken from it, and how you sup- 
 posed it would not care to be pestered with such a small matter? Yes, 
 and the old channel says it makes no difference, and that it is all right ; 
 but then you feel as if it was not all right, and as if you had injured 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. 47 
 
 the old channel, and you go to work straightway and ship a whole 
 boat-load on it at once. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Can't we get through with the docket by Friday night ? " 
 
 " There's business enough here to occupy the whole week, and more 
 too. You'll have to sit an adjourned term to get through with it." 
 
 " I shall do no such thing ; and what is more, I shall adjourn the 
 court Friday night." 
 
 Mr. Sandidge smiled with wonted complacency. " I don't think we 
 can hardly get to the Appeal before Wednesday dinner ; and it looks 
 like a pity but what some of them cases that's been continued so long 
 could be tried. We lawyers aint like judges, to go and draw our sala- 
 ries every three months, but have to wait until the cases are disposed 
 of, and sometimes a long time getting them then." 
 
 This excellent joke put him on a broad grin. The Judge did not 
 seem to appreciate it much, though he smiled in faint commendation. 
 
 Let us contemplate this judge a little. He was fifty years old, 
 twenty-five of which had been spent in the practice of the law, in which 
 he had risen to a fourth rank. As a set-off to this professional emi- 
 nence, he had remained as he had begun, poor in purse. Three years 
 before this an election was being held for the office of Judge of the 
 Superior Court of that circuit. J^et us remember that at that time the 
 Judge of the Superior Court was the only high judicial officer in the 
 circuit. He was both judge and chancellor. His discretion was 
 uncontrolled and uncontrollable in all cases regarding the security, the 
 property, and reputation of citizens ; and even his construction of the 
 Constitution of the State was unalterable by any human power. Three 
 years before, politics had taken one of its turns, and the party to which 
 the fourth-rate lawyer of twenty-five }'ears' practice belonged unexpect- 
 edly found itself with a small majority in the legislature. The incum- 
 bent of the Bench, being a member of the minority, was of course to 
 share its fate and retire from office. There were two prominent candi- 
 dates from the party in power ; one a retired member of Congress, who 
 was finding it difficult to recover the practice which he had given up 
 fifteen years before, and the other a man of ten years' connection with 
 
48 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 the profession, of very promising talents, and of a good property, who 
 sought the office for the eclat and the power which it would confer upon 
 him. Several ballots had been made without an election. Mr. Elam 
 Sandidge, for certain reasons of his own, had consented to represent 
 his county in the Senate, and was one of the party in minority. A 
 more amused man it was seldom any one's privilege to see than was 
 he, when on the repeated counting out of the votes the presiding officer 
 announced that there had been no election. He looked to this and to 
 that one on either side of the house, and went about whispering to 
 some and winking at others. 
 
 "What is that dirty old rascal doing on our side of the aisle?" in- 
 quired a majority member of his neighbor. 
 
 " I can't tell ; but some rascality brings him here, you may swear to 
 that." 
 
 While the votes were being counted out for the fifth time, Mr San- 
 didge walked quickly over to that side. A dozen anxious, pitiful look- 
 ing members gathered around him. 
 
 " Put him up next ! put him up next time ! " he said, and walked 
 back again, taking in with a sweeping wink the whole of his own party. 
 When the result was announced, and directions given to prepare for 
 another balloting, "Mr. President! I\Ir. President!" screamed a voice 
 from the majority side, " I announce the name of Littleberry W. Mike, 
 
 Esq., from the county of ." This announcement was followed by 
 
 roars of laughter from the minority, and by hisses and cries of " Who 
 is he ? " from the other. Immediately, however, the leaders of both 
 were busy as bees. Threats and criminations were heard among the 
 friends of the two prominent candidates ; then entreaties from both to 
 the opposition. " Take him down, for Heaven's sake." " It is a shame 
 by blood." " Don't put him on us, if you please." "Anybody else," 
 etc. All to no purpose. The nominee was elected on the next ballot. 
 
 " Why, how did you get elected, Berry ? " slyly asked Mr. Sandidge 
 of the judge elect, as on the dispersion of the members he met him, 
 trembling and pale as a corpse, at the foot of the galler}-^, and shook 
 his cold hand. " It appears like you must have got some votes from 
 our side of the house." The newly elected pressed the hand of his 
 friend, and they went together to the hotel, on the way to which he 
 was forced to hear from among the crowd many a bitter jest of which 
 he was the subject. 
 
 This election was an instance of that miserable policy yet adhered 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. 49 
 
 to, by which minorities, in order to render majorities odious, do not 
 hesitate to contribute all they can to make them do the greatest amount 
 of harm to public interests. Men may say what they will of caucuses, 
 but until there is a higher standard of public and private virtue 
 amongst us, they will be indispensable. 
 
 When a man of inferior parts is raised to an office of great author- 
 ity, he is apt, unless he has great virtue and very amiable dispositions, 
 to exert that authority, as far as is compatible with safety, in enforcing 
 a regard which those parts have been inadequate to secure. Cowardly 
 as this is, it is not more injurious to truth, and justice, and reason, than 
 when such a man is led by such an elevation to look upon himself as 
 having been heretofore depreciated, and to consider the elevation, 
 whatever were the circumstances which effected it, as the decree of 
 infinite justice in his favor, determining at last to give to merit its just 
 reward. Sometimes he.is in one, and sometimes in the other of these two 
 states alternately ; never being able to determine exactly whether he 
 ought to occupy his position or not, but ever attempting to resolve the 
 doubt by such a vigorous exercise of authority as will at least foreclose 
 all doubts in the minds of others as to his actual possession of it. Of 
 such a character was the newly elected judge. He had long had his 
 heart set upon the Bench. He looked up to it as a mighty eminence 
 — mighty enough to satisfy the most eager ambition. Yet his desires 
 were not actuated wholly by ambition. He wanted the salary. He 
 needed it. He was poor and had a family ; and pitiful as the salary 
 was, it was twice as much as he made by his practice. Ashamed as 
 he was to know how the people regarded the notion of his being Judge 
 of the Superior Court, he never, even for one moment, gave up his 
 desire to become so, but kept himself alw^ays, yet in a quiet way, in 
 candidacy for it. And though to the leading members of the Bar he 
 had never presumed to speak of tHe matter, knowing that he would be 
 laughed at if he did, they yet well knew what his thoughts and his 
 hopes were. Nor had he publicly announced his candidacy at the 
 meeting of the Legislature. He knew well that his only chance of 
 election depended upon the fact, whether true or false it made no ma- 
 terial difference with him, that he was considered the weakest and 
 shabbiest of the candidates of his party. While the prominent ones 
 of these were making interest with the leaders of the party in the Leg- 
 islature, he had quietly, and in a way known only to himself and them, 
 and very probably to Mr.,Sandidge, obtained the promise of assistance 
 7 
 
50 DUKESBOROUGII TALES. 
 
 from a few unknown members who should be able by scattering their 
 votes under the direction of him and Mr. Sandidge, to defeat the elec- 
 tion of any one until a suitable opportunity should occur for the name 
 to be presented. We have seen with what result this was done. 
 
 With the recollection of all the circumstances, Judge Mike thanked 
 two objects for his elevation : first, his own lucky genius, and secondly, 
 Mr. Sandidge. He was, doubtless, quite inclined to indulge in kindly 
 and grateful feeling towards the latter from habit ; for he was under a 
 pecuniary indebtedness to him of several hundred dollars, under a writ 
 oi ficri-facias which Mr. Sandidge three or four years before had been 
 kind enough to " lift," to have transferred to himself, and to forbear 
 enforcing payment thereof, in consideration of sixteen, which he called 
 a living per-centum of interest. What sacrifices the indulgent creditor 
 was always making, when at every renewal of the note for the extra 
 interest he solemnly avowed his need of the money, and of his sub- 
 mission to go without it, for no earthly reason than to oblige his friend ! 
 On that friend's accession to the Bench, when first they were alone 
 together, he took the last note of renewal from his pocket-book, and 
 handed it to him without saying a word. The Judge appearing sur- 
 prised, Mr. Sandidge, with smiling solemnity, protested that he never 
 could exact usurious interest from a Judge of the Superior Court of the 
 State of Georgia. He hoped he had too much respect for the dignity 
 of the office to do any such thing as that. The Judge, after feeble re- 
 monstration, took the note, looked at it, sighed, and tearing it slowly 
 to pieces, felt already one of those palpitating and almost painful joys 
 which only men in office have. It was a small matter, but it touched 
 him, and he felt as if henceforth he could live. 
 
 But to return to the conversation with which this chapter began, and 
 which took place in the Judge's room at the hotel, on the Sunday night 
 before the sitting of the court. 
 
 " How does that smart chap, Mobley, get on ? " 
 
 " About like he was." 
 
 " Knowing everything but law, I suppose, and knowing nothing 
 about that ? " 
 
 "Just so. The fellow studies like rip ; but, Judge, he don't study 
 right. He studies books instead of men." 
 
 Mr. Sandidge delivered this sentiment with contemptuous pity. 
 
 " He thinks if we had a Supreme Court he would do something 
 grand." 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. 51 
 
 "He's for a Supreme Court, is he?" inquired the Judge, with a 
 frown. 
 
 "Warm, warm. Has been from the first." 
 
 " It will be some time before he gets it, I'm thinking." 
 
 " That's what I tell him." 
 
 " Thank God, it's only these book-men that want a Supreme Court. 
 They don't know, Sandidge, they don't know anything outside of books." 
 
 " Not the first thing. That's what I tell 'em." 
 
 " They think that because such a pint has been decided such a way, 
 by such a judge, that it should be decided so always ; and they are 
 forever and eternally talking about settling the law, settling the law — 
 like it was, Sandidge, just like it was so much coifee." 
 
 Mr. Sandidge spat all over himself, wiped his mouth with his hand, 
 and came very near laughing outright. 
 
 " And I would like to know how, in the name of common sense, it 
 ever could get settled. There aint anything to settle it by. That's 
 the pint ; there aint anything to settle it by." He looked inquiringly 
 at Mr. Sandidge, and seemed to wish that gentleman to tell what there 
 was to settle it by if he knew of any such thing. The latter shook his 
 head. 
 
 " No sir ! there aint nothing to settle it by ; and when Mobley is 
 talking about what Lord Mansfield said, and what Lord Hardwick 
 said, or any of them old lords and judges, it's on the end of my tongue 
 to stop him, and tell him that they are all dead, and consequently can't 
 know anything about the case at bar. And, Sandidge, it always struck 
 me as very curious that the laws of England should be the laws of 
 Georgia." 
 
 It was a remarkable coincidence that that idea had over and over 
 again struck Mr. Sandidge. He, however, hinted that in some cases 
 (and those were cases in his opinion when the authority happened to 
 be on his own side) the English law was very plain and directly in 
 point, and it ought to be followed. 
 
 " Certainly, certainly, in such cases ; and I do follow it ; but I am 
 the judge of that myself." 
 
 Ah, yes, that was right ! Now they were exactly agreed ! The 
 judge, if he was judge, of course ought to be the judge. If he wasn't, of 
 course he couldn't be, which was absurd ; and Mr. Sandidge almost 
 frowned in the eflfort of elaborating this reductio ad absurduvi. 
 
 " Absurd ! so I think ; and Mobley and such as he may study 
 
52 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 their eyes out for me. When they bring up law that I think is right, 
 I shall sustain them ; when I don't think so, I shall overrule them. 
 They may get their Supreme Court if they can. It aint going to be in 
 my day, thank God ! If it was, I just know that I couldn't and wouldn't 
 stand it. Before I would have an overseer over me, and I Judge of 
 the Superior Court, and have to be eternally looking into old books to 
 find out what them old English lords and judges said a hundred years 
 ago, when the country wasn't like this, nor the people neither — why, 
 Sandidge, you know, I havn't got the books, and couldn't afford to buy 
 them — I say before I would be put to all the trouble and expense of 
 reading law and nothing else, and then have my decisions brought back 
 on me, and treated like I was — like I was in fact a nigger — I would 
 die first ! " 
 
 Mr. Sandidge smiled approvingly. 
 
 " Why, who would respect me ? " 
 
 " Nobody." 
 
 " How could I enforce the authority of the Court ? " 
 
 " Couldn't be done." 
 - "If I put a fellow in jail, just like as not they would take him out." 
 
 " Like as not." 
 
 " If I fined one, ten to one it wouldn't stick ! " 
 
 "Just so. He wouldn't stay found." 
 
 " If I refused to grant a new trial, knowing that I am against them, 
 they would send a paper ordering me to grant it ! Don't you see they 
 would, knowing I am against 'em ? " 
 
 " Plain as day. Send a paper ordering the Judge of the Superior 
 Court ! " 
 
 " I tell you, Sandidge, before I would stand it I would die first ! 
 In fact, I would resign ! ! " 
 
 This was capping the climax. Dying would be a poor and very in- 
 adequate resentment. He would go beyond that. He would volunta- 
 rily and disgustedly let go his hold upon power. The consequences 
 might be what they pleased, he would resign. " I tell you, Sandidge," 
 he repeated once more, with fearful emphasis, " I should resign ! ! " 
 
 " Oh my conscience. Judge, don't ! don't ! What would become of 
 the country if you were to resign 1 " 
 
 Mr. Sandidge, although purposing to appear alarmed, smiled not- 
 withstanding ; and perhaps the more because he thought such a deplor- 
 able event not very likely to come to pass \ and perhaps yet more, 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. 53 
 
 because it instantly occurred to him that if it ever should, he would 
 console himself in the midst of his own losses and grief as well as he 
 could by replacing the extra interest upon the fi-fa not yet paid off 
 and discharged. 
 
 " And what will you leading lawyers do when young men, smart 
 young men like Mobley, go before the Supreme Court with books in 
 their hands and turn you down ? " 
 
 " I shan't live to see it." And it was doubtless the prospect of a far 
 distant organisation of such a tribunal, rather than of his own early 
 decease, which gave the gratified and complacent expression to that 
 smiling: countenance. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A SLY tap at the door. 
 
 " Come in." 
 
 The door slyly opened, and a short, shaggy individual entered. 
 
 " How do you do^ Jedge Mike ? " This was uttered in a whining 
 but conciliating tone, and after first a low bow, then a sudden lifting up. 
 
 " Why, Sanks, how are you 1 Take a seat, take a seat." 
 
 Mr. Sanks took a seat, after being assured that he was not ' a in- 
 trudin'.' " Busy as I war, Sunday night as it air, with a fixin' of all my 
 papers — and — dockiments as it war, I must, I must, positively I must 
 come by for a minnit, ef jes to tell the Jedge how'd-ye and to ax about 
 his health and the likewise health of his family. I also likewise air 
 glad to see Mr. Sandidge a lookin' so well, and as it war ready for the 
 cote." 
 
 Mr. John Sanks was the sheriff. Two years ago he had beaten 
 Mr. Triplet, an elderly man and an old inhabitant of Dukesborough, 
 in the race for the sheriffalty. A poor fellov/ was Sanks ; but having 
 got into office by a trick, he had hopes of a long and prosperous official 
 career. Like the Judge, he owed his greatness to Mr. Sandidge, and 
 therefore belonged to him. Such a sheriff as he was a valuable piece 
 of property to such a lawyer. But then Mr. Sandidge was a kind 
 master, and had never put upon his man a service which the latter 
 was not fully willing to perform. Then he got his pay in many ways 
 besides in being elevated to the great office of keeper of the county. 
 
54 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 But oh, how glad Mr. Sanks was to see his Honor ! and not only so, 
 but also likewise to see him lookin' so well. Mr. Sanks called Mr. 
 Sandidge's attention to the glorious fact that the Judge got younger 
 and younger every court. 
 
 "And I am glad to see you too, Sanks. You look, Sanks, you look 
 right well yourself. All's well, I hope. Everything ready for court — 
 ch, Sanks ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, sir. People seems to 'spect a oncommon interestin' cote. 
 Thar's a power o' business — dockets is right heavy," 
 
 "How are you up with your matters, Sanks? No money rules this 
 term, I hope ? " 
 
 Mr. Sanks looked a little timidly at Mr. Sandidge, who answered 
 for him. 
 
 " Oh, you are safe in that matter, aint you, Sanks ? Oh yes. Judge, 
 I think so. As a general thing Sanks keeps up with them things." 
 Mr. S. never wore a prettier smile. 
 
 "Ah ! " put in Mr. Sanks, reassured, "As long as things is as they 
 air now, I can git along reasonable well. Tryin' to be 'onest myself, 
 havin' of a 'onest counsellor, and also likewise havin' of a 'onest judge, 
 I can git along farly as things is; that is, ef they don't git changed." 
 Mr. Sanks looked suspicious. 
 
 " Things get changed ? What do you mean ? " inquired the Judge. 
 
 " Well," continued Mr. Sanks, in a mournful voice, " some people 
 looks as ef they can't be satisfied with things as they is, and wants 'em 
 defferent. Some wants defferent lawyers, and also likewise some goes 
 so fur as to say they wants defferent jedges." And Mr. Sanks did look 
 so sad in the contemplation of the unreasonableness of the world. 
 
 "Wants different judges, eh?" His Honor's expression was one of 
 contempt, not unmixed with anger and apprehension. 
 
 " Well, now, they aint no great numbers of people o' that sort in the 
 county. It's mostly with them people down about Dukesborough, whar 
 old Triplet lives. Them Dukesborough people has jest run mad about 
 Dukesborough, and also likewise thinks it's a bigger place than this 
 here county-seat. They goes so fur sometimes as to say that the Cote- 
 house ought to be moved thar. After a while they'll be thinkin' it'll 
 be as big as Augusty." Mr. Sanks laughed immoderately, but not 
 loudly ; and as Mr. Sandidge smiled, he looked grateful and kept on 
 laughing. The Judge could not see the joke, and Mr. Sanks grew 
 serious again. 
 
JUDGJE MIKE'S COURT. 55 
 
 "Yes, it's the Dukesborough people. Don't you see, Jedge, and 
 also likewise you, Mr. Sandidge, I beat old Triplet for sheriff. John 
 Sanks air known to be for Jedge Mike for jedge at next election above 
 and agin — the multiplied world ! " It was terrible to witness the 
 violence with which this defiant conclusion was uttered. The multi- 
 plied world might have been there and welcome to hear it. 
 
 " Yes, sir, above and agin the multiplied world ! And then you see, 
 Jedge, thar's that young fellow, Mobley. The Dukesborough people's 
 proud' of him. He was raised thar, you know; and also likewise they 
 goes on to say that he air a bigger man than what even Mr. Sandidge 
 air, or leastways he air goin' to be, and that in short. Then agin, this 
 fellow have been puttin' in their heads that we ought to have a new 
 jedge, and he also likewise air been talkin' about another sort of a cote 
 that can sas sarire proceedances and carry cases yit higher. But I tells 
 'em they better be satisfied with things as they air ; and so likewise 
 they're agin me at my next election, and swear they intend to beat me 
 with old Triplet yit. I don't keer about thar threats about what they 
 can do to me. Yit I hates to lose my office jest for bein' of a friend 
 to things as they is. It war no longer than last night I told my wife, 
 says I, Sylvy, says I, I don't keer so much about the office myself, says 
 I, but because also likewise I know it air mostly aimed and pinted, 
 says I, at Jedge Mike and Mr. Sandidge, says I, which is my friends, 
 and which I would go fur all things above and agin, says I, the multi- 
 plied world, says I. Them's the very words I said to Sylvy, no longer 
 than last night." 
 
 The artful fellow knew well how to strengthen both himself and 
 Sandidge with the Judge. The lawyer smiled with sincere pleasure 
 at the sight of the increased prejudice of Judge Mike against Mr. 
 Moble)', whom^ as we shall see, he had some reason to respect more 
 highly than he pretended. Mr. Sandidge admitted that the pernicious 
 ideas of Mr. Mobley had somewhat infected the Dukesborough people ; 
 that is, not all — some of them; he, Mr. Sandidge, had some clients 
 among the Dukesborough people, and he was pretty sure that they were 
 right on the judge question. Still, there was a considerable sprinkling 
 (as he expressed it) of Dukesborough people in favor of some changes. 
 
 When the visitors had retired, the Judge sat for a long time looking 
 gloomily into the fire. "That's the way," he muttered at length. 
 "They go to their colleges, learn their Latin and their Greek and their 
 Algebry, and then git above their sizes, and come home and git impu- 
 
56 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 dent to old people, and even want to be so to — to vie. But they shatiH 
 do it. I mean to — sq-uelch 'em." And then his Honor went to bed. 
 
 Thereupon Messrs. Sandidge and Sanks had some confidential chat 
 before separating for the night. Among other things the sheriff ascer- 
 tained that the lawyer would like to avoid the trial of the Rickles case at 
 this term of the court. Mr. Sandidge on the other hand was made ac- 
 quainted with the fact that that young fellow, Mobley, would probably 
 apply for a money rule against Mr. Sanks, for which the latter feared 
 he could not make a satisfactory showing, and which also likewise he 
 would probably need — leastways — oh, cerf'inly, cert'inly — providin' 
 — ahem! Mr. Sanks never had communicated important information 
 more delicately. 
 
 The night was cloudy, though it was the season of the full moon. 
 The latter shone suddenly as they stopped at the corner where they 
 were to separate. The lawyer looked down for a moment upon the 
 sheriff, and the sheriff looked up to the lawyer, and the white moon 
 looked upon both. It seemed a poor sight for all ; so the moon re- 
 tired, and each of the other two slunk away to his home. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Mr. Overton attended the court, and by the assistance of Mr. 
 Mobley, obtained a seat within the bar. He had been introduced 
 to several lawyers from different counties, and to the Judge. He could 
 but remark the immense distance between the latter and several of the 
 former, who were men of decided ability. A certain becoming respect 
 was paid by them to the dignitary, not only in the Court-house, but at 
 the hotel, where the best seat, both in the lawyers' room and at the 
 dinner-table, was reserved for him always. This treatment was received 
 in a way which denoted both pleasure that it could not be avoided, as 
 he thought, and a suUenness from the reflection that it was rendered 
 entirely to his office and not to himself. Upon the introduction of the 
 young man to him, after scanning him closely and rudely for a moment, 
 he made an ungainly attempt to congratulate him upon his expected 
 accession to the Bar. Mr. Mobley was heard to speak of his new 
 acquaintance as a youth of talent and education. Then Mr. Sandidge, 
 who sat by the Judge (it was at the hotel), whispered : 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. 57 
 
 "Them's the sort that always wants the Supreme Court." 
 
 Judge Mike scowled at the new-comer, and afterwards took no further 
 notice of him. 
 
 During the week one could not avoid noticing how much of an art 
 it was to conciliate and control the Court. Mr. Sandidge was the 
 favorite. Everybody knew that ; none better than Mr. Sandidge him- 
 self, who had foreseen and foreordained it. Now of all positions in a 
 free government, the one where favoritism was most worth having, was 
 that of a pet of a Circuit Judge in those times. When the fortunes of 
 men, their security, and even their lives were dependent upon the will of 
 an individual, and he amenable to no earthly tribunal for whatever errors 
 he might commit, or even for wilful injustice, except upon principles the 
 most vague and uncertain, it was an art ranking almost as high as the 
 science of the law itself, and attainable by greater cost and sacrifice, 
 to obtain an easy access to the ear of that most important depositary 
 of power. It was the fortunate accident of our ancient judiciary 
 system that there was a goodly number of virtuous and able men 
 upon the Bench : for neither virtue nor a very considerable amount of 
 talent seemed to be essential qualifications. If the incumbent for the 
 time possessed them, very well : if not, then not so well, but well enough. 
 
 Judge Mike in the matter of virtue was neither good nor very bad. 
 If he was below the capacity to feel or to understand a noble impulse, 
 he was probably above the perpetration of an act of plain judicial 
 dishonesty. He was a considerably better man than Sandidge. Indeed 
 he might be said to maintain in this respect a sort of middle place 
 between high and low, but tending downwards. Fortunately for some, 
 unfortunately for others, he was not brave. Now, of all official person- 
 ages, cowards are the most troublesome and oppressive. They are 
 troublesome to those of whom they are afraid, and oppressive to those 
 who are afraid of them : troublesome to the former by inflicting petty 
 annoyances in the use of small advantages and the punishment of 
 unimportant lapses, on account of the remembrance and the resent- 
 ment they feel towards them ; and oppressive to the latter in order 
 to preserve the equilibrium between the feeling and the excitement of 
 fear. These infirmities are not peculiar to official, nor even to human 
 cowards. For indeed, I remember well to have been much amused, 
 many years ago, by a cur who had been badly bitten and conquered 
 by another. As soon as he was disengaged from his adversary, and, 
 with his tail bent between his hind legs, was making his way home with 
 
58 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 what speed he could employ, he spied one of those little dogs commonly 
 designated amongst the Southern people Z-^fice. The little fellow came 
 trotting down the street in innocent gayety, and I thought then and 
 think now that I had never seen an individual of his species less 
 expectant both of doing and especially of suffering wrong. Yet so it 
 was, that the cur rushed furiously upon him without any known justi- 
 fiable cause, and even, as I suspected, without any previous acquaint- 
 ance ; and then he shook him until he was beaten off with rods. After 
 he had gotten out of the reach of these he went on his way leisurely, 
 apparently satisfied that he was again even with the world. And 
 then, notwithstanding the little beast made, as I considered, rather 
 more ado and for a longer time than was at all necessary, and not- 
 withstanding he was a very useless creature, yet I could but pity him 
 and at the same time be amused, because he seemed to have so thorough 
 a sense of having been made to suffer without the slightest provocation. 
 
 But to return to the Judge. Mr. Sandidge was the favorite. Judge 
 Mike liked Mr. Sandidge ; not only for past favors of the kind we 
 know of, but for another reason. He considered Mr. Sandidge as a 
 man like himself, and about of his quality. He liked to see such a 
 man succeed if anybody must succeed. He felt that he did honor to 
 himself in thus honoring his image, as it were. Mr. Sandidge made 
 no great pretension to a knowledge of books, and he thanked him for 
 that. Mr. Sandidge never so much as hinted about a Supreme Court, 
 but seemed to be, as in fact he was, satisfied with the present ways of 
 administering justice. Such being the relations between them, Mr. 
 Sandidge was lucky in getting rulings in his favor. He was, indeed, a 
 much better lawyer than the Judge, and shrewd enough to beguile him 
 of many a wrong decision, even had the latter been indifferent to him. 
 
 But notwithstanding this favoritism, there were two or three lawyers 
 of real, and even of first-rate ability, who, in spite of their contempt 
 for him and his dislike of them, exerted over him that influence which 
 a strong and bold intellect must always have over a weak and timid 
 one. Above flattering him, they often, and even against Sandidge, 
 obtained rulings of doubtful right, when he was unable, both from his 
 dread of them, and from his confused senses, to resist them. But to 
 compensate Mr. Sandidge for this, and as if to preserve his own 
 regard for himself, he eagerly sought for opportunities to help him 
 in taking advantage of oversights in pleadings and in proof; oversights 
 which Mr. Sandidge himself never committed, and never failed to 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. 59 
 
 observe when committed by others. Then he was graciously allowed 
 to domineer to any extent over the younger lawyers. These stood in 
 great awe of the Bench. They could neither cajole nor browbeat. 
 Even a respectful remonstrance from them was usually followed by a 
 fine, or a threat of it. They therefore timidly went about their business 
 in the Court, hoping for the advent of the time when they could be 
 browbeaters or Sandidges. 
 
 Like most small-minded men who go upon the Bench, Judge Mike 
 set himself up as a great reformer of abuses. He was a terror to evil- 
 doers, especially to those who did it on a small scale. Before great 
 criminals, who had the great lawyers for their advocates, he was wont 
 sometimes to be quite moderate ; but whenever he got a chance at 
 petty offenders, he would stick the law on to them (to use his own 
 phrase) up to the very hub. There were two vices in particular which 
 he hated cordially. These were fighting and usury. Whenever he 
 could get a blow at either of these, he struck with all his official 
 might. On the third day of the term, when a man was tried and con- 
 victed of giving a moderate drubbing to a scoundrel who had used 
 insulting language to his wife, he imposed a fine so heavy that the 
 defendant, not being able to raise the money, was forced to lie in jail 
 for many weeks. It was a great recommendation to the prosecutor 
 that he was known to be one who had been whipped several times for 
 sundry rascalities. 
 
 Mr. Sandidge well knew the Judge's weakness on the subject pf 
 usury, and ever since his elevation had been confining his financial 
 operations to shaving paper, or so wording usurious contracts as to 
 render their proof exceedingly difficult. Then he was lucky enough 
 to make more money from such transactions than ever before ; for 
 now, almost by the invitation of the presiding Judge, the pleading of 
 usury became frequent, and there was no lawyer to be compared with 
 Mr. Sandidge in ferreting testimony in its proof. 
 
 Of the younger lawyers, Mr. Mobley was an exception to being 
 in fear of the Judge. He was usually much embarrassed in the 
 conduct of cases merely from his want of familiarity with precedents 
 and forms. Here was Mr. Sandidge's forte. He understood pleadings 
 thoroughly, and it was his delight to pick flaws in his adversary's 
 papers and drive him out of Court. Mr. Mobley dreaded both the 
 Court and its favorite on this ground ; but otherwise he was insensible 
 to fear. 
 
6o DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 But the people : they felt the weight of this power, and they should 
 feel it. All absences of witnesses and jurors, all noises in the Court- 
 room and Court-yard, all misdemeanors of all sorts, met with ready 
 and condign punishment ; always more condign when their convictions 
 came on shortly after a series of browbeatings from those whom he could 
 not frighten. These had been more frequent than usual during the week 
 from one and another cause. He had reached to Thursday afternoon, 
 and was engaged in a peculiarly perplexing case, when an incident 
 occurred which would seem to be rather singular for a Court of 
 Justice. 
 
 A man in the crowd outside of the bar having a cold, blew his 
 noise — an action natural and even frequently necessary to a man with 
 that ailment. The action in this case was accompanied by the usual 
 loudness of sound produced by those who have uncommonly good 
 lungs; so loud indeed that several members of the Bar, with amused 
 countenances, looked in the direction from which it proceeded. The 
 Judge became thoroughly fierce in an instant; and he needed a 
 diversion from the lawyer who had been goading him, to a less for- 
 midable adversary. 
 
 " Stop this case a minute. Mr. Sheriff, bring that nose-blower inside 
 of this bar." 
 
 Mr. Sanks obeyed with alacrity, and went to the culprit, laying his 
 hand rudely upon him. 
 
 " Look ye here, John Sanks, what do you want with me ? " the man 
 said, in a subdued tone, for he had not heard the Judge's order. 
 
 "Well, now," answered Sanks, loudly, "you jest better come along, 
 and also likewise you better come quick ! " 
 
 " I have yit to see the man," began the gentleman with the cold. 
 But a bystander having whispered to him that the Judge had sent for 
 him, he went in at once. Perhaps it was fortunate that his words had 
 not reached the Bench. 
 
 "I wish to know, sir, if this Court-house is a stable, sir, that you 
 must bray in it like a jackass." The man seemed greatly surprised by 
 the question, but answered it respectfully and candidly in the negative, 
 
 " What do you bray in it for then, sir ? " 
 
 The poor fellow was now becoming confused and alarmed. He 
 said nothing at first, but looked around and seemed to be trying to 
 make out how it was that he should be there. 
 
 " Do you hear, sir? " roared the Judge ; " what are you braying here 
 for, sir?" 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. 6l 
 
 "Why, Jedge, I aint been a brayin'." 
 
 "What, sir?" 
 
 "I said I didn't br — Oh! — leastways I didn't knoiv that I was a 
 brayin', I jest blowed — Oh ! — leastways I thought I jest blowed my 
 nose, havin' of a bad cold." 
 
 " What are you doing here anyway, sir ? " 
 
 "Why, Jedge, I jest come to Cote." 
 
 " Got any business here ? " 
 
 "No, sir. Leastwaj's I haint got no particklar business." 
 
 "What did you come here for then, sir?" 
 
 "Why, I thought, Jedge, that everybody was liable to come to Cote." 
 
 '•^Liable! liable! Yes, and so they are. And you will find that 
 they are liable to behave themselves; and if they don't, that they are 
 liable to be fined. What is your name, sir ? " 
 
 " Allen Thigpen, sir," 
 
 " Thigpen ! Thigpen ! I might have known that anybody with 
 that name couldn't tell a Court-room from a stable. And whereabouts 
 do you live ? " 
 
 This question seemed to relieve Allen of a portion of his appre- 
 hension ; for he was proud of the location of his home. So he 
 answered, almost with dignity : 
 
 " Why, Jedge, I live mighty nigh too Dukesborough, on the big, 
 plain, straightforrard road from Dukesborough to Augusty. Yes, sir, 
 that's right whar I live, shore." And Allen looked as if he thought 
 that if any fact could save him, it was that of his residence. 
 
 " Dukesborough, eh ? De-ukesborough ! A big^ place is Dukes- 
 borough. But I must let the Dukesborough people know that it aint 
 quite big enough for them to run over me. Mr. Thigpen, you of the 
 great town of Dukesborough, you are fined in the sum of two dollars." 
 The Judge turned from him, and ordered the parties to proceed with 
 the cause. Allen in the meanwhile ran his hand into his pocket, and 
 withdrawing an old buckskin purse, emptied its contents into the other 
 hand, and counting the pieces with a rueful face, walked up two or 
 three steps and extended them to the Judge. 
 
 "Jedge," said he, "dollar one and nine is the highth of my ambi- 
 tion, ef I was goin' to be hung. But, Jedge, ef you will trust me, I'll 
 pay you the other half and seven-pence as shore as my name is 
 Thig — that is as — ah ! — oh ! " — 
 
 JBut Allen could not finish it. Whether from looking upward at so 
 
62 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 resplendent a luminary, or from the violence of his cold, we could not 
 say ; but as his Honor was gazing upon the extended hand in ludicrous 
 surprise and wrath, Allen felt a sudden impulse to sneeze — an impulse 
 which, whenever it comes, in court-rooms or elsewhere, must be obeyed. 
 No hum.an being ever could have made greater efforts to suppress it ; 
 and as is usual in such cases, its victory was only the more triumphant, 
 and violent, and disastrous. 
 
 *' Oh, Jedge ! Lord 'a mercy ! " — 
 
 In his terror, and endeavoring to assure the Judge that he was doing 
 his best, he could not avert his eyes from him. His face assumed the 
 agonized contortions of a maniac, his great chest heaved like a 
 mountain in labor, and he uttered a shriek which, in any circumstances 
 but those that plainly showed that nothing uncommonly serious was 
 the matter, would have filled all within a circle of two hundred yards 
 diameter with consternation. In the violence of the paroxysm the coin 
 flew up from his hand as if they had been discharged from a catapult, 
 and coming down, several of them fell upon the Judge's head and 
 rolled into his lap. An .instantaneous roar of laughter followed this 
 explosion, but was as instantly hushed. No words could depict the 
 expressions upon the faces of the two prominent actors. The Judge 
 had been lifted out of his chair, and there the two stood glaring at 
 each other, speechless. His Honor snatched up the docket with the 
 evident intention of knocking Mr. Thigpen down. Mr. Thigpen looked 
 at it beseechingly, as much as to say, " Knock me down in welcome, but 
 please don't hang me." Thus they were for a quarter of a minute; 
 then the Judge, feeling doubtless that neither the penal code nor the 
 Court's discretion was adequate to punish the outrage as it deserved, 
 said almost in a whisper, as the offender stood now with both hands 
 extended and his face yet contorted and unwiped : 
 
 '• For God's sake, be off from here, you cussed fool, and never let me 
 see you again in this world ! " 
 
 Allen picked up his hat. 
 
 " I'm mighty much obleeged to you, Jedge. Far you well, Jedge," 
 and then he hurried away. It was well that he did ; for the Judge was 
 well-nigh committing him for what he would have considered a contempt, 
 his thus bidding him adieu. 
 
 A crowd followed him, and were roaring with laughter as soon as 
 they had gotten fairly without hearing of the Court. 
 
 " How did you feel, Allen t " 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. 63 
 
 " Feel ? " replied Allen ; " I didn't have no feelins to feel with. 
 They was all scared out o' me. Je-rusalem ! wan't the old man hot, 
 and aint he brash with people that's got colds ? " 
 
 " He called you names, eh, Allen ? " 
 
 " He did that, and when he looked so vi-grous at me, and called me 
 a jackass, ding my skin ef I war exactly certin whether I war one or 
 not." 
 
 " But what made you carry him the money ? " 
 
 " Carry him the money ? Why, wan't that right .-• He found me. 
 I thought the money was his'n. I 'lowed that was the way he got his 
 livin'." 
 
 They whooped. 
 
 " But what made you tell him farwell ? If you hadn't come out so 
 quick after that, he would have had you again." 
 
 " What ? Why he told me to be off, and I war off, and as I spozened 
 that I mout never see him no more, I thought I ought to bid him far- 
 well. Well, it doo beat ! It did look like I ought to be perlite ; but 
 sich it is. Tryin' to brace myself agin onpoliteness, it seem like 
 I were mighty nigh bustin' on tother." 
 
 " Well, gentle-men," he continued, after they had somewhat subsided, 
 " I say, gentle-men ! Thar's two things in this country that I am agin : 
 and them's schools and cote-houses. When I war standin' thar before 
 him, and he war talkin' about jackasses, and brayin' and all sich, ef 
 my feelins hadn't been all skeerd out o' me, and ef I had of had my 
 jedgment about me, I should a felt like little Asa Boatright and Sam 
 Pate used to look like they felt when Iserl Meadows told 'em to go 
 to horsin' : and I did hope and did cal'clate never to have them feelins 
 endurin' o' my nat'ral life. Howbesomever, that aint neither here nor 
 thar now. Gentlemen, I never seed a man before that I was afeerd of. 
 I thought everybody was liable to come to Cote : but I comes no 
 more without I'm fotch. It 'pears like, as the old sayin' goes, that 
 he neither likes my name nor my nation. When I sneezed — and I 
 tell you, gentle-men, I couldn't a helped it ef the gallis had been right 
 afore me — when I sneezed, says I to myself — gone! But ding my 
 skin, ef I don't believe that's what saved me. I tell you, gentle-men, 
 I'm agin 'em ; and now I goes home. So far you well." 
 
 So Mr. Thigpen »left. Many, many times after that day, yea even 
 down to old age, he was heard to say that he had " never seed but one 
 man that he was afeerd of, and that was the Jedge — old Jedge Mike 
 as used to be." 
 
64 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Strain vs. Rickles." 
 
 It was now Friday morning. Judge Mike was weary with the session, 
 and fretful from repeated wranglings with several leading lawyers. 
 These had now all gone, the great cases having been either tried or 
 continued. He had announced his determination to adjourn early 
 that afternoon, whether the dockets were finished or not. The Court 
 had not seen its family in two weeks, and it must and would see its 
 family by to-morrow night. Mr. Sandidge was in the enjoyment of 
 mild happiness; not only from the remembrance of having had a good 
 run of luck during the week, but because the Judge was in a hurry, and 
 the case of Strain vs. Rickles was yet untried. He wished it continued : 
 for he was of counsel for the defendant, and they had no just defence. 
 Mr. Mobley, though he had appeared but few limes, was sore from 
 more than one insult from the Bench. 
 
 " Strain vs. Rickles," called the Judge, rapidly and fretfully, with 
 pen in hand, as if to say that this case was expected to follow the fate 
 of the half dozen preceding, and be disposed of summarily. 
 
 " Ready for the plaintiff," announced Mr. Mobley. 
 
 The Judge dropped his pen, leaned back in his chair, and cast a 
 threatening look at the counsel. It did not seem to produce the effect 
 desired. Mr. Mobley looked at him steadily. 
 
 Mr. Sandidge would remark that that was a case in which some 
 pints of law were involved ; and as the Court had not seen its family 
 in two weeks, and as it was anxious to adjourn itself, and to go home 
 and to see its family, he therefore would suggest that, if the counsel 
 was willing, it might be continued generally until the next term. Mr. 
 Mobley, objecting to this disposition, Mr. Sandidge, after having a 
 witness called and receiving no answer, proceeded to make a showing 
 for a continuance by the defendant. This was the absence of a witness 
 whoj as he had been informed, knew ail about the case from beginning 
 to end. Mr. Mobley had begun to argue the insufficiency of the 
 showing for its indefiniteness, when his client. Strain, informed him 
 that he had just seen the witness, who had heard the sheriff's call, and 
 had answered to a bystander, who asked him why he did not obey it, 
 " It's nobody but Mr. Sandidge, and I know what he wants." Mr. 
 Mobley made this fact known to the Court. Mr. Sandidge seemed a 
 little confused by this accident, until Sanks whispered in his ear : 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. 65 
 
 " You needn't be afeerd o' that jury. There's two men on it which 
 they knows nie, and which also likewise I knows them." 
 
 The Judge hesitated. Mr. Sandidge, foreseeing the effect upon both 
 of an exposure of what was the fact, that he had instructed the witness 
 not to obey the call, withdrew his motion. 
 
 " I do this, may it please your Honor, not from anything my brother 
 Mobley has said in his argument, nor from his insinuations, and so 
 forth, and so forth. The showing is a sufficient one; but I'll waive it, 
 I'll waive it, sir." 
 
 And Mr. Sandidge gave such a mighty sweep with his long arm that 
 Mr. Sanks had to dodge in order to prevent his hat being knocked off. 
 Yet that official seemed greatly to admire the action, and also likewise 
 sat down in a chair and giggled. 
 
 "Yes, sir," continued Mr. Sandidge, "I'll waive it, and I think I am 
 prepared — I say, I think I'm prepared " (noticing the dissatisfaction of 
 the Court with the direction the .matter was taking) " to end tiiis case in 
 short order. The defendant is ready." 
 
 The jury were in the box. Mr. Mobley proceeded with his case. It 
 was a simple action upon a promissory note given by the defendant to 
 the plaintiff, who was a merchant from Augusta. He read the declara- 
 tion, exhibited the note, and closed. 
 
 Mr. Sandidge rose, and with a smile which was meant to assure all 
 present that he was expecting a speedy triumph, remarked that this 
 was a case which he apprehended would not long be occupying the 
 time of the Court and time of the country. He then announced to Mr, 
 Mobley, that upon consulting with his client he had just discovered 
 that the consideration of the note sued on was usurious, and that his 
 conclusion being to rely on that defence solely, he should be compelled 
 to ask for time in order to make out the plea, unless counsel would 
 agree to consider it in already. Mr. Mobley, turning to his client, 
 who assured him that it was false, allowed him to proceed. 
 
 A witness, the same who had been called, and who was sent for 
 privately by Mr. Sandidge, went to the stand. After the usual pre- 
 liminary that he did not in particular charge his mind, not expecting 
 to be called on, he did testify that he was present at the giving of the 
 note, and that he heard the parties say that it was in settlement of 
 accounts of three or four years' standing, which the plaintiff held 
 against the defendant. In answer to a question from Mr. Mobley if 
 anything was said about extra interest, the witness declared that he did 
 9 
 
66 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 not in particlar charge his mind, not expecting to be called on. 
 None but Mr. Sandidge would have seen any advantage to be obtained 
 from such testimony. But he looked most gratefully at the witness, 
 expressed himself fully satisfied, dismissed him, smiled benignly on 
 the jury, compassionately on Mr. Mobley, then sat down with the air 
 of a man who had satisfactorily finished one piece of business and 
 after a little rest would be ready for another. 
 
 Plaintiff's counsel looked at the Judge with an expression which 
 seemed to say, " Surely no fool, not even you, would admit such testi- 
 mony." The Judge looked at him, and his expression seemed to ask, 
 "What do you say to that, Mr. Mobley?" The latter avowed his 
 belief that in all judicial history a thing so absurd had never been 
 proposed, and he moved to be allowed to take his verdict. Mr. San- 
 didge began at once to argue the law point, and was proceeding to say 
 that in all his recollection, in a practice of twenty-five years and better, 
 he had never seen a case where interest could be collected on open 
 accounts. " But, may it please your Honor, the plaintiff in this case — 
 and these Augusty merchants " — 
 
 " Go on to the jury ! " thundered the Judge. 
 
 Mr. Sandidge bowed, and turned to the panel. " Gentlemen of the 
 jury, these Augusty merchants as a general thing always know what 
 they are about. I say always — not a single exception ; " and he 
 bestowed on the plaintiff a look fully significant of his admission that 
 he was entitled to his share of the encomium thus passed upon the 
 class of which he was an individual. 
 
 " These Augusty merchants know more in an hour about some things 
 than we plain country-people know in a week. And it is reason- 
 able to suppose that they do, and that's because they are Augusty 
 merchants." Then Mr. Sandidge took a big smile and a small drink 
 of water, and oh how cunning he did look as his eyes peered over the 
 tumbler at the jury. 
 
 " Why, gentlemen, what chance have we got, away off here in the 
 country, to keep up along with them Augusty merchants.'' We don't 
 have the boats, and the power of the wagons, and the thousands of 
 cotton-bags, and tobacco-hogsheads, and the fine brick war-houses, 
 and the hardwar-stores, and the other stores that always keeps full of 
 one particlar kind of goods, and sometimes more in one of 'em there 
 than there is in every store in this here town — yes, and them in Dukes- 
 borough put together. Why, gentlemen, if Tommy Rickles was to go 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. 67 
 
 to Augusty — you aint never been there, have you, Tommy ? No — 
 you may tell from Tommy Rickles' looks and from this case that he's 
 never been to Augusty. But if he was to go there, and was to want 
 to buy a dog-knife for his little boy, Tommy Rickles would just as apt 
 to go into a store that had nothing but calico and dry-goods ; and 
 when they laughed and told him they was jest out of knives, he might 
 go to a hat-store, and then into a shoe-store, and then into a candy- 
 store — yes, gentlemen, into a store that the shelves was farly linded 
 with jars of candy and nothing but candy. And so it might be an 
 hour before he got to a hardwar-store and found a dog-knife for his 
 little boy ; and then ten to one Tommy Rickles couldn't find his way 
 back to his wagon." 
 
 Oh how Mr. John Sanks did laugh at Tommy during this harangue ! 
 not loudly, but heartily and good-humoredly. And then how innocent 
 and pitiful Tommy did look, and how ashamed of his ignorance ! The 
 jury smiled approvingly with Mr. Sanks ; but Tommy looked so bashful 
 and bad that they got sorry for him and quit smiling. 
 
 "I say, gentlemen of the jury," continued Mr. Sandidge, "we don't 
 know anything at all to compare with these Augusty merchants. But 
 still there are some things that we do know, if we do live here in the 
 country where there aint any boats, and hat-stores and candy-stores 
 and hardwar-stores ; and one of them things is that you ce-ant collect 
 interest on open accounts. We all know that — that is, all except 
 Tommy Rickles." 
 
 General laughter, notwithstanding that Tommy looked still more 
 pitiful. Mr. Sanks winked at the two jurymen which he knew and 
 which also likewise knew him. Mr. Mobley noticed this action, but 
 perhaps he did not mind it. 
 
 " And, gentlemen. Tommy Rickles knew it too, if he had thought 
 about it and hadn't been with a Augusty merchant, and hadn't been 
 thinking of the boats, and the power of the wagons, and the hat-stores 
 and the shoe-stores and the candy-stores and the hardwar-stores, and 
 got his senses all mixed up, and confused up, and muddled up together, 
 as it war." 
 
 Continued laughter, several of the jury appearing to be fully satisfied. 
 The Judge waxing stern at the disorder, Mr. Sandidge had to moderate 
 his humor, and concluded by arguing, as heatedly and seriously as he 
 could, that interest not being collectible on open accounts, even the 
 defendant ought not to have included it in the note, and that therefore 
 
68 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 the whole transaction was usurious. With another avowal of his desire 
 not to take up the time of the Court and the time of the country by 
 arguinu; so pi lin a case, he Sit down, his countenance expressing both 
 a virtuous indignation at a great wrong which was attempted, and a 
 proud satisfaction that it could not be done over his shoulders. 
 
 Mr. Mobley felt, that with all the prejudices of the Judge against 
 himself and his weakness on the subject of usury, he was in some 
 danger of losing his case. He spoke with great energy on the 
 absurdity of the defendant's plea, and of its plain dishonesty. In the 
 midst of his argument, Mr. Sandidge flippantly a>ked him for his 
 authorities. This was done of course to embarrass him, as he would 
 have been forced to admit that there was no authority on such a point. 
 But he had now gotten too high to be reached by Mr. Sandidge. 
 
 " I am asked," he said, " for the production of authority that the 
 giving a promissory note in liquidation of a just debt is not usurious. 
 1 am thus asked by a lawyer of twenty five years' practice — a lawyer 
 who is old enough and prominent enough to be what it behooves every 
 lawyer to be, a conservator of public tranquillity and private integrity — 
 one who, with all his boasted contempt of legal precedents and his 
 real ignorance of them, yet knows full well that in no Court of Justice, 
 even the most insignificant, was this question, or any other one so 
 absurd as this, ever raised ; and whose only reason for raising it at this 
 time was his knowledge of the existence of dishonest habits and un- 
 reasonable prejudices which, as a leading citizen, he ought to be one 
 of the last to encourage. Violent as the presumption often is, and far 
 from the very semblance of truth, it is nevertheless a presumption 
 that Judges know the laws ; and it ought to be the habit of attorneys 
 and solicitors, especially those of experience and influence, to refrain 
 from raising questions, a moment's entertainment of which by any 
 Court is sufficient to deprive it of the respect of all men. But it has 
 remained for this day to witness that the highest Court in one of the 
 sovereign States of this Confederacy shall be insulted in its dignity 
 and majesty by a course of conduct which seems to have been design- 
 edly pursued in order to test the sanity of that Court's presiding officer. 
 Assuredly to no other mind than to that of the counsel had it been 
 possible to fail to occur, that an in-ignificant advantage in a suit at 
 law was scarcely worth the having when it was to be gained in a way 
 which, to say nothing of its influence upon his client, would establish 
 either the stultification of the Court, or " (and he looked fixedly and 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. 69 
 
 fearlessly into the Judge's face) " raise the suspicion of a yet greater 
 infirmity. Even if he should consider himself as so great a friend to 
 the Court, whether from past favors or present adulation, or from any 
 other cause, as to think himself entitled to the exalted privilege of 
 being its favorite, one would have supposed that, if for no other 
 reason, at least from motives of prudence and decency, he would have 
 confined his conduct within that sphere where there would have been 
 left at least a doubt as to what judgment that conduct ought to receive. 
 It is a duty which we owe even to our private friends not to demand 
 a service of which there can be found no reason but friendship to 
 justify the rendering, while every other reason but friendship would 
 demand its refusal. There are some services which no ardor of 
 friendship is adequate to procure — some indeed which a proper and 
 worthy friendship would be the last to exact." 
 
 A large crowd had gathered into the Court-room, attracted by the 
 vehemence of the young lawyer's declamation. He was an eloquent 
 speaker, and his speech was telling upon the bystanders. He saw it, 
 and it stimulated hJm to continually increasing endeavor. 
 
 "There is a vulgar maxim that there is nothing to be lost by the 
 asking of favors. The counsel has long and well learned how to 
 profit by it. His successful experience in this respect, while it reflects 
 no great honor upon his sincerity, or even upon his ingenuity, pays a 
 consideration to the source from which these favors flow, which it is 
 impossible to be considered as in the smallest degree respectful. I 
 warn him this day of the necessity to beware how he abuses an in- 
 fluence which his every action shows that he is conscious of exerting. 
 
 "There is a decorum which men, even of the greatest ability, when 
 in the enjoyment of honors, even those the most fairly won, cannot 
 neglect with impunity. Let him, then, especially beware, the success 
 of whose career is mainly dependent upon favor. For granting that 
 the power which, strange as it is, he may truly think that he has im- 
 measurably above others succeeded in conciliating and controlling, is 
 absolute and unlimited, yet when it shall at last of all others become 
 convinced that such a control is no longer compatible, not only with 
 the appearance of respectability, but even with its own security, and 
 shall, as it assuredly will, withdraw from him the favor in which he 
 seems to live, and move, and have his being, he must then know how 
 vain will be the late pursuit of those other and higher means of success 
 which it has been his constant habit to neglect. And even if this 
 
7<5 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 should come to pass, if dullness shall never be able to be conscious 
 
 of and to resist a control which binds it like the spell of the charmer, 
 surely, in a country so free and so humane in all its institutions except 
 its Courts of Justice, in a country where there are so many good and 
 brave men — men who have been good enough and brave enough to 
 resist and to destroy every other form of tyranny, it is not too much to 
 expect that the time must come, and come soon, when this last form 
 must yield to the necessities of an advancing civilisation, and follow 
 the fate of those which have gone before it. Surely, surely, it cannot 
 long remain that a free people, who have broken the last shackle of 
 political despotism, must continue to bow in abject submission before 
 another which is the more odious because their own hands have 
 created it, and because their own hands may peaceably destroy it." 
 
 Mr. Mobley spoke for half-an-hour in this strain, during many parts 
 of which, Mr. Sandidge, smiling as he was, was rather piteous to be 
 seen ; and when he spoke of the merits of the plea itself. Tommy 
 Rickles, but that he had the great Mr. Sandidge for his friend, would 
 have felt as if he ought to be in the Penitentiary. 
 
 In the midst of this harangue, one of the jury, a Sanks and Sandidge 
 man, rose up and hastily rushed out of the box. Upon being caught 
 and brought back, he was asked by the Judge why he had left his seat. 
 The man, looking timidly at Mr. Sanks, answered : 
 
 " Ef it mout please the Cote, I had heerd Mr. Sandidge speak and 
 made up my mind, and when that youngster was a speakin' I didn't 
 like the way the argiment was a gwine, and my idees got confusid, and 
 so I thought I better leave.'' 
 
 The Judge sternly informed him that his ideas must be controlled 
 by the Court, and that in future he would do well to remain in the box. 
 Mr. Sanks also gave him a look which seemed to nail him to his seat. 
 
 Mr. Mobley caught up his Honor at this juncture, and had much to 
 say about the rights both of juries and counsel. Besides, he cut Mr. 
 Sanks without mercy, whose secret meddling with the jury he had 
 noticed. The Judge, although he saw that Mobley was quite superior 
 to what he supposed, yet felt that he must do something in order to 
 restrain him. Several times he had been upon the point of fining him ; 
 but he seemed to be waiting for the most favorable opportunity. Mr. 
 Mobley called for the Digest of the laws of the State, and was pro- 
 ceeding to read upon the subject of Usur}'. Judge Mike, who had now 
 lost all patience, ordered him to put down the book, and declared that 
 he should pay no regard to whatever he might read. 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. It 
 
 The young man shut the book at once, and abandoning himself to 
 
 his rage, exclaimed : , r c nr- ■ 
 
 "Then must the laws of Georgia lie prostrate at the feet ot a. JVisz- 
 Prius Judge, because there is no higher tribunal to correct his follies or 
 restrain his audacity ! " And lifting the book with both hands high 
 above his head, he brought it down upon the clerk's desk with a 
 vehemence which made that official rise suddenly from his seat and 
 retreat to the farthest corner of the bar. 
 
 " Mr. Sheriff, arrest that man ! " roared Judge Mike, and he seized 
 his pen to make out the order. Mr. Sanks arose and approached the 
 counsel. The latter raised his left hand and turned the palm towards 
 him with a warning gesture, when the sheriff hesitated a moment and 
 then retreated behind Mr. Sandidge. Then turning to the Judge, Mr. 
 Mobley said, almost in a whisper : 
 
 "Behold!" tt- t, • 
 
 The Judge paused in his writing and looked at him. His hair 
 stood almost upright ; his color was that of the dead ; and lookmg 
 alternately at the Judge and the sheriff, his eyes rolled and burned like 
 the chafed lion's, as lifting his right arm above his head, he said : 
 
 "There are some things which, in so far as I am concerned, even a 
 Judge of the Superior Court and his most servile minister would do 
 well to hesitate before they attempt to perform." 
 
 The poor creature sank back in his chair, and bowed his head m 
 the unutterable anguish of feeling that a mere boy, whom he had un- 
 justly assaulted, had turned upon him and vanquished him in his own 
 
 Mr.' Mobley sat down. His Honor had determined to charge the 
 jury in favor of the defendant. For he desired to uproot in his circuit 
 not only usury, but everything that looked at all like it. Indeed, all 
 rates of interest in his eyes seemed criminal, and therefore usurious. 
 He honestly believed that there was no evil under the sun to be com- 
 pared with it. Some wag had told him that it was interest that had 
 overthrown the great Roman Empire, and that it was once sold under 
 execution by the sheriff. So a transaction had but to look in the 
 slightest degree usurious, and it would have his condemnation. He 
 intended so to charge in tliis case ; but now he was so subdued that 
 he dismissed the jury to their room without a word, and proceeded 
 with taking the rules usual at the end of the term. Half-an-hour after- 
 wards, the jury having obtained leave to return to the box, upon inquiry 
 
72 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 as to whether they had agreed upon a verdict, their foreman, a little 
 dark man wiih short straight-up hair and a sharp voice, answered : 
 
 " May it please the Cote, we has not. We desires to ask the Cote 
 ef upon the provoso — you mind, Jedge — ef upon the provoso" — 
 
 " I don't want to hear any more about your provosoes," screamed the 
 Judge, feeling that he must reassert himself after his late defeat; 
 " 1 have no instructions to give on your provosoes. Go back to your 
 room, and, mark me, I am going to adjourn this Court at three o'clock. 
 Mr. Sanks, if this jury have not agreed upon a verdict by that time, 
 do you have ready a wagon and a six-horse team. Hire it at the county's 
 expense. If you jury don't agree upon a verdict by that time, I'll have 
 you hauled around this circuit with me until you do agree. Now go 
 to your room." 
 
 The little man dodged, turned quickly, and pocketing his provosoes, 
 led his followers back. But Mr. Sanks spoke the truth when he said, 
 "There's two men on that jury which they knows me, and which I also 
 likewise knows them." And so after another hour both counsel agreed 
 to a mis-trial. 
 
 And now the sun was fast declining. Unless the Court could get 
 fifteen or twenty miles on its way home to-day, it would not reach it 
 and see its family by to-morrow night. Business had to be dispatched 
 in a hurry, as everybody knew that that Court was bent on seeing its 
 family at all cost. 
 
 Mr. Mobley was writing rapidly. Mr. Sanks peeped over his 
 shoulder, and then went to Mr. Sandidge and whispered in his ear. 
 
 "What are you so skeerd about? " asked the lawyer. 
 
 "Yes, but I aint ready; and ah — and also likewise I let the 
 money go," answered the sheriff. 
 
 " How much do you happen to have about you at this particlar time ? " 
 
 " Twenty dollars." 
 
 " Hand 'em to me. That'll do. Don't you see he's bent on home ? " 
 
 The last docket was cleared, the juries discharged, and the Judge 
 took out his watch. 
 
 " May it please your Honor," said Mr. Mobley, " I desire to take a 
 rule against the sheriff." 
 
 " Will it be resisted t " asked the Judge, with a sullen look. 
 
 "It will, may it please your Honor," blandly but firmly answered 
 Mr. Sandidge. 
 
 " Mr. Sheriff, go to my office and get me the Acts of the last Legis- 
 
JUDGE MIKE'S COURT. 73 
 
 lature. Bring those of the two last, if you please, Mr. Sheriff; I dis- 
 remember which it is that contains the law I wish to refer to. I ask 
 the indulgence of the Court for a few, only a very {g:^ minutes, until I 
 can make out the showing," and Mr. Sandidge looked as if he would 
 indeed like to be in a hurry, if such a thing were possible. 
 
 " Will there be any other rules ? " asked the Judge. 
 
 " I have several," Mr. Sandidge answered. " But unless your Honor 
 could hold over until to-morrow, I shall be obliged to postpone them 
 until the next term, as this rule will take up all, or pretty much all of 
 the balance of to-day — leastways, probably" — 
 
 Mr. Mobley, knowing his adversary's intention, rose and exclaimed : 
 
 " It is a most base subterfuge with both client and counsel ! Within 
 my certain knowledge this money was collected more than a month 
 ago. I think that knave has had indulgence enough for his rascalities." 
 
 The sheriff was going slowly towards the door, and was looking 
 back beseechingly to the Judge. 
 
 " Come back here, sir ! " cried the latter, rising in his chair. " This 
 Court has got powers ; it has got rights ; it may be insulted, but it 
 has got privileges. Mr. Sheriff, adjourn this Court till the Court in 
 course ! " 
 
 "I protest against this disgraceful" — began Mr. Mobley; but the 
 sherifT was shrieking the announcement at the door ; and as his Honor, 
 pale and haggard, rushed rapidly past him, " God save the State ! " he 
 cried in thankful glee, " and the onerble Cote." Mr. Mobley was too 
 full of indignation to trust himself with many words. 
 
 "You two, and he, form a beautiful trio in the dispensation of 
 human justice," he said bitterly to the lawyer and the sheriff "It 
 was well that you" (to Mr. Sanks) "kept your dirty hands off me to- 
 day. As for you, Sandidge, mark me, your day is passing ; mine is 
 coming ; ay, it is already here ! " 
 
 " I think he'll have to wait for his big Cote, eh, Mr. Sandidge } " Mr. 
 Sanks remarked as Mobley left. Mr. Sandidge made no answer, 
 but taking a big chew, smiled seriously. In twenty minutes from that 
 time, the two rascals compelled the plaintiff in execution who had 
 sought the rule to settle his debt by taking off twenty per cent., and 
 deducting also the twenty dollars paid Mr. Sandidge for his fee ; 
 " which war but jestice," claimed Mr. Sanks, " because, and so forth, 
 and also likewise because of them disgraceful proceedances." 
 
 " Rather lively times in Court to-day," said the young lawyer to 
 Overton, after they had reached the former's office. 
 10 
 
74 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 " Surely such scenes must happen seldom ? " 
 
 " Exactly, such do happen seldom indeed ; but something like them 
 occurs often." 
 
 " In all the circuits?" 
 
 " No, thank Heaven ! We do have some Judges who are neither 
 fools nor rascals. Indeed, we have some who are eminently able and 
 honest. Our judiciary system is the best in the world, I believe, 
 except that it has no Court of Appeals — in fact, no head. When, there- 
 fore, a fellow like Mike gets upon the Bench, there is no counting what 
 folly or what rascality he may commit. The miserable creature used 
 to crowd me until I felt that 1 must resist, or become as vile as a 
 collared slave. He knows now, I think, that I am not afraid of him." 
 
 " He is now evidently afraid of you." 
 
 " I do not know as to that." Mr. Mobley brushed the hair from his 
 forehead, and looked as if he did know as to that. 
 
 "Well, well," he continued, "let it be so, if it be so. For humili- 
 ating as it is to a gentleman's sense of propriety and decency, he must 
 either become a favorite of the Court or make the Court afraid of 
 him. Between the two, unhappy as is the choice of either, he cannot 
 hesitate." 
 
 The student made no answer, but parting from him, ordered his 
 horse, and rode slowly back to Mr. Parkinson's. 
 
 And now as I look back to the scenes of this week, they seem long, 
 oh ! so long ago. 
 
HOW MR. BILL WILLIAMS TOOK THE 
 RESPONSIBILITY. 
 
 " Our honor teacheth us 
 That we be bold in every enterprise." 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WHEN Josiah Lorriby came into our neighborhood to keep a 
 school I was too young to go to it alone. Having no older 
 brother or sister to go along with me, my parents, although they were 
 desirous for me to begin, were about to give it up, when fortunately it 
 was ascertained that William Williams, a big fellow whose widowed 
 mother resided near to us, intended to go for one term and complete 
 his education preparatory to being better fitted for an object of vast 
 ambition which he had in view. His way lay by our door, and as he 
 was one of the most accommodating persons in the world, he proffered 
 to take charge of me. Without hesitation and with much gratitude 
 this was accepted, and I was delivered over into his keeping. 
 
 William Williams was so near being a man that the little boys used 
 to call him Mr. Bill. I never can forget the stout homespun dress- 
 coat which he used to wear, with the big pockets opening horizontally 
 across the outer side of the skirts. Many a time, when I was fatigued 
 by walking or the road was wet with rains, have I ridden upon his 
 back, my hands resting upon his shoulders and my feet standing in 
 those capacious pockets. Persons who have never tried that way of 
 travelling have no just idea, I will venture to sa}^, how sweet it is. 
 Mr. Bill had promised to take care of me, and he kept his word. 
 
76 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 On the first mornino; when the school was opened, we went together 
 to it. About one mile and a half distant stood the school-house. 
 Eighteen by twenty feet were its dimensions. It was built of logs and 
 covered with clap-boards. It had one door, and opposite to that a 
 hole in the wall two feet square, which was called the window. It 
 stood in the corner of one of our fields (having formerly been used as 
 a fodder-house), and on the brow of a hill, at the foot of which, over- 
 shadowed by oak trees, was a noble spring of fresh water. Our way 
 led us by this spring. Just as we reached it, Mr. Bill pointed to the 
 summit and said: 
 
 "Yonder it is. Squire." 
 
 Mr. Bill frequently called me Squire, partly from mere facetious- 
 ness, and partly from his respect for my father, who was a Justice of 
 the Peace. 
 
 I did not answer. We ascended the hill, and Mr. Bill led me into 
 the presence of the genius of the place. 
 
 Mr. Josiah Lorriby was a remarkable man, at least in appearance. 
 He was below the middle height, but squarely built. His body was 
 good enough, but his other parts were defective. He h^d a low flat 
 head, with very short hair and very long ears. His arms were reason- 
 ably long, but his hands and legs were disproportionately short. Many 
 tales were told of his feet, on which he wore shoes with iron soles. He 
 was sitting on a split-bottom chair, on one side of the fire-place. 
 Under him, with his head peering out between the rounds, sitting on 
 his hind legs and standing on his fore legs, was a small yellow dog, 
 without tail or ears. This dog's name was Rum. On the side of the 
 hearth, in another split-bottom, sat a tall raw-boned woman with the 
 reddest eyes that I have ever seen. This was Mrs. Mehitable, Mr. 
 Lorriby's wife. She had ridden to the school on a small aged mare, 
 perfectly white and totally blind. Her name was Kate. 
 
 When I had surveyed these four personages, — this satyr of a man, 
 this tailless dog, this red-eyed woman, and this blind old mare, a sense of 
 fear and helplessness came over me, such as I had never felt before, and 
 have never felt since. I looked at Mr. Bill Williams, but he was 
 observing somebody else, and did not notice me. The other pupils, 
 eighteen or twenty in number, seemed to be in deep meditation. My 
 eyes passed from one to another of the objects of my dread ; but they 
 became finally fastened upon the dog. His eyes also had wandered, 
 but only with vague curiosity, around upon all the pupils, until they 
 
How Mr. Bill Williams took the Responsibility. 77 
 
 became fixed upon me. We gazed at each other several moments. 
 Though he sat still, and I sat still, it seemed to me that we were 
 drawing continually nearer to each other. Suddenly I lifted up my 
 voice and screamed with all my might. It was so sudden and sharp 
 that everybody except the woman jumped. She indifferently pointed 
 to the dog. Her husband arose, came to me, and in soothing tones 
 asked what was the matter. 
 
 " I am scared ! " I answered, as loud as I could speak. 
 
 "Scared of what, my little man.? of the dog?" 
 
 " I am scared of all of you ! " 
 
 He laughed with good humor, bade me not be afraid, called up Rum, 
 talked to us both, enjoined upon us to be friends, and prophesied that 
 we would be such — the best that had ever been in the world. The 
 little creature became cordial at once, reared his fore feet upon his 
 master, took them down, reared them upon me, and in the absence of 
 a tail to wag, twisted his whole hinder-parts in most violent assurance 
 that if I should say the word we were friends already. Such kindness, 
 and so unexpected, dissolved my apprehensions. I was in a condition 
 to accept terms far less liberal. So I acceded, and went to laughing 
 outright. Everybody laughed, and Rum, who could do nothing better 
 in that line, ran about and barked as joyously as any dog with a tail 
 could have done. In the afternoon when school was dismissed, I 
 invited Rum to go home with me ; but he, waiting as I supposed for a 
 more intimate acquaintance, declined. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 It was delightful to consider how auspicious a beginning I had made. 
 Other little boys profited by it. Mr. Lorriby had no desire to lose 
 any of his scholars, and we all were disposed to take as much advan- 
 tage as possible of his apprehension, however unfounded, that on 
 account of our excessive timidity our parents might remove us from 
 the school. Besides, we knew that we were to lose nothing by being 
 on friendly terms with Rum. The dread of the teacher's wife soon 
 passed away. She had but little to say, and less to do. Nobody had 
 any notion of any reason which she had for coming to the school. At 
 first she occasionally heard a spelling-class recite. After a little time 
 
78 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 she began to come much less often, and in a ^z'fi weeks her visits had 
 decreased to one in several days. Mrs. Lorriby seemed a very proud 
 woman ; for she not only had little to say to anybody, but although 
 she resided only a mile and a half from the school-house, she never 
 walked, but invariably rode old Kate. These were small things, yet 
 we noticed them. 
 
 Mr. Lorriby was not of the sort of schoolmasters whom men use 
 to denominate by the title of knockdown and drag out. He was not 
 such a man as Israel Meadows. But although he was good-hearted 
 enough, he was somewhat politic also. Being a newcomer, and being 
 poor, he determined to manage his business with due regard to the 
 tastes, the wishes, and the prejudices of the community in which he 
 labored. He decidedly preferred a mild reign ; but it was said he 
 could easily accommodate himself to those who required a more 
 vigorous policy. He soon learned that the latter was the favorite 
 here. People complained that there was little or no whipping. Some 
 who had read the fable of the frogs who desired a sovereign, were 
 heard to declare that Josiah Lorriby was no better than "Old King 
 Log." One patron spoke of taking his children home, placing the boy 
 at the plough and the girl at the spinning-wheel. 
 
 Persons in those days loved their children, doubtless, as well as 
 now ; but they had some strange ways of showing their love. The 
 strangest of all was the evident gratification which the former felt 
 when the latter were whipped at school. While they all had a notion 
 that education was something which it was desirable to get, it was 
 believed that the impartation of it needed to be conducted in most 
 mysterious ways. The school-house of that day was, in a manner, a 
 cave of Trophonius, into which urchins of both sexes entered amid 
 certain incomprehensible ceremonies, and were everlastingly subject 
 and used to be whirled about, body and soul, in a vortex of confusion. 
 I might pursue the analogy and say that, like the votaries of Tro- 
 phonius, they were not wont to smile until long after this violent and 
 rotatory indoctrination ; but rather to weep and lament, unless they 
 were brave like Apollonius, or big like Allen Thigpen, and so could 
 bully the priest far enough to have the bodily rotation dispensed with. 
 According to these notions, the principles of the education of books 
 were not to be addressed to the mind and to the heart ; but, if they 
 were expected to stick, they must be beaten with rods into the back. 
 Through this ordeal of painful ceremonies had the risen generation 
 
How Mr. Bill Williams took the Responsibility. 79 
 
 gone, and through the same ordeal they honestly believed that the 
 present generation ought to go, and must go. No exception was made 
 in favor of genius. Its back was to be kept as sore as stupidity's ; 
 for, being yoked with the latter, it must take the blows, the oaths, and 
 the imprecations. I can account for these things in no other way than 
 by supposing that the old set of persons had come out of the old system 
 with minds so bewildered as to be ever^^a^fterwards incapable of 
 thinking upon it in a reasonable manner. In one respect there is 
 a considerable likeness between mankind nlid some individuals of 
 the brute creation. The dog seems to love best that master who 
 beats him before giving him a bone, I have heard persons say (those 
 who had carefully studied the nature and habits of that animal) that 
 the mule is wont to evince a gratitude somewhat touching when a 
 bundle of fodder is thrown to him at the close of a day on which he 
 has-been driven within an inch of his life. So with the good people 
 of former times?! They had been beaten so constantly and so myste- 
 riously at school, that they seemed to entertain a grateful affection for 
 it ever afterwards. It was, therefore, with feelings of benign satisfac- 
 tion, sometimes not unmixed with an innocent gaiety of mind, that they 
 were wont to listen to their children when they complained of the 
 thrashings they daily received, some of which would be wholly unac- 
 countable. Indeed the latter sort seemed to be considered, of all 
 others, the most salutary. When the punishment was graduated by 
 the offence, it was supporting too great a likeness to the affairs of 
 every day life, and therefore wanting in solemn impressiveness. But 
 when a schoolmaster for no accountable reason whipped a boy, and 
 so set his mind in a state of utter bewilderment as to what could be 
 the matter, and the most vague speculations upon what was to become 
 of him in this world, to say nothing of the next, ah ! then it was that 
 the experienced felt a happiness that was gently ecstatic. They 
 recurred in their minds to their own school time, and they concluded 
 that, as these things had not killed them, they must have done them 
 good. So some of our good mothers in Israel, on occasions of great 
 religious excitement, as they bend over a shrieking sinner, smile in 
 serene happiness as they f'^.n his throbbing temples, and fondly encour- 
 age him to shriek on ; thinking of the pit from which they were digged, 
 and of the rock upon which they now are standing, they shout, and 
 sing, and fan, and fanning ever, continue to sing and shout. 
 
8o DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 When Mr. Lorriby had sounded the depths of public sentiment, 
 he became a new man. One Monday morning he announced that 
 he was going to turn over a new leaf, and he went straightway to 
 turning it over. Before night several boys, from small to medium, had 
 been flogged. He had not begun on the girls, except in one instance. 
 In that I well remember the surprise I felt at the manner in which her 
 case was disposed of. Her name was Susan Potter. She was about 
 twelve years old, and well grown. When she was called up, inquiry 
 was made by the master if any boy present was willing to take upon 
 himself the punishment which must otherwise fall upon her. After a 
 moment's silence. Seaborn Byne, a boy of fourteen, rose and presented 
 himself. He was good-tempered and fat, and his pants and round 
 jacket fitted him closely. He advanced with the air of a man who 
 was going to do what was right, with no thought of consequences. 
 Miss Potter unconcernedly went to her seat. 
 
 But Seaborn soon evinced that he was dissatisfied with a bargain 
 that was so wholly without consideration. I believed then, and I 
 believe to this day^that but for his being so good a mark he would 
 have received fewer stripes. But his round fat body and legs stood 
 so temptingly before the rod, and the latter fell upon good flesh so 
 entirely through its whole length, that it was really hard to stop. He 
 roared with pain so unexpectedly severe, and violently rubbed each 
 spot of recent infliction. When it was over, he came to his seat and 
 looked at Susan Potter. She seemed to feel like laughing. Seaborn 
 got no sympathy, except from a source which he despised; that was 
 his younger brother, Joel. Joel was weeping in secret. 
 
 " Shut up your mouth," whispered Seaborn, threateningly, and Joel 
 shut up. 
 
 Then I distinctly heard Seaborn mutter the following words: 
 
 " Ef I ever takes another for her, or any of 'em, may I be dinged, 
 and then dug up and dinged over again." 
 
 I have no doubt that he kept his oath, for I continued to know 
 Seaborn Byne until he was an old man, and I never knew a person 
 who persistently held that vicarious system of school punishment in 
 deeper disgust. What his ideas were about being " dinged," and about 
 that operation being repeated, I did not know j but I supposed it was 
 something that, if possible, would better be avoided. 
 
How Mr. Bill Williams took the Responsibility. 8i 
 
 Such doings as these made a great change in the feelings of us 
 little ones. Yet I continued to run the crying schedule. It failed at 
 last, and I went under. 
 
 Mr. Lorriby laid it upon me remorselessly. I had never dreamed 
 that he would give me such a flogging — I who considered myself, 
 as everybody else considered me, a favorite. Now the charm was 
 gone ; the charm of security. It made me very sad, I lost my love 
 for the teacher. I even grew cold towards Rum, and Rum in his turn 
 grew cold towards me. Not that we got into open hostilities. For 
 saving an occasional fretfulness, Rum was a good fellow and personally 
 I had liked him. But then he was from principle a thorough Lorriby, 
 and therefore our intimacy must stop, and did stop. 
 
 In a short time Mr. Lorriby had gone as nearly all round the school 
 as it was prudent to go. Every boy but two had received his portion, 
 some once, some several times. These two were Mr. Bill Williams, 
 and another big boy named Jeremiah Hobbes. These were, of course, 
 as secure against harm from Mr. Lorriby as they would have been had ' 
 he been in Guinea. Every girl also had been flogged, or had had a 
 boy flogged for her, except Betsy Ann Aery, the belle of the school. 
 She was a light-haired, blue-eyed, plump, delicious-looking girl, fourteen 
 years old. Now for Miss Betsy Ann Aery, as it was known to every- 
 body about the school-house, Mr. Bill Williams had a partiality which, 
 though not avowed, was decided. He had never courted her in set 
 words, but he had observed her from day to day, and noticed her 
 ripening into womanhood with constantly increasing admiration. He 
 was scarcely a match for her even if they both had been in condition to 
 marry. He knew this very well. But considerations of this sort 
 seldom do a young man any good. More often than otherwise they 
 make him worse. At least such was their effect upon Mr. Bill. The 
 greater the distance between him and Miss Betsy Ann, the more he 
 yearned across it. He sat in school where he could always see her, 
 and oh, how he eyed her ! Often, often have I noticed Mr. Bill, lean- 
 ing the side of his head upon his arms, extended on the desk in front 
 of him, and looking at her with a countenance which, it seemed to me, 
 ought to make some impression. Betsy Ann received it all as if it was 
 no more than she was entitled to, but showed no sign whether she set 
 any value upon the possession or not. Mr. Bill hoped she did ; the 
 rest of us believed she did not. 
 
 Mr. Bill had another ambition, which was, if possible, even higher 
 
82 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 than the winning of Miss Aery. Having almost extravagant notions 
 of the greatness of Dukesborough, and the distinction of being a 
 resident within it, he had long desired to go there as a clerk in a store. 
 He had made repeated applications to be taken in by Messrs. Bland 
 & Jones, and it was in obedience to a hint from these gentlemen that 
 he had determined to take a term of finishing off at the school of Mr. 
 Lorriby. This project was never out of his mind, even in moments of 
 his fondest imaginings about Miss Betsy Ann. It would have been not 
 easy to say which he loved the best. The clerkship seemed to become 
 nearer and nearer after each Saturday's visit to town, until at last he 
 had a distinct offer of the place. The salary was small, but he waived 
 that consideration in view of the exaltation of the office and the great- 
 ness of living in Dukesborough. He accepted, to enter upon his 
 duties in four weeks, when the quarter session of the school would 
 expire. 
 
 The dignified ways of Mr, Bill after this made considerable impres- 
 sion upon all the school. Even Betsy Ann condescended to turn her 
 eyes oftener in the direction where he happened to be, and he was 
 almost inclined to glory in the hope that the possession of one dear 
 object would draw the other along with it. At least he felt that if he 
 should lose the latter, the former would be the highest consolation 
 which he could ask. The news of the distinguished honor that had 
 been conferred upon him reached the heads of the school early on the 
 Monday following the eventful Saturday when the business was done. 
 I say heads, for of late Mrs. Mehitable and old Kate came almost 
 every day. Mrs. Lorriby received the announcement without emotion. 
 Mr. Lorriby, on the other hand, in spite of the prospect of losing a 
 scholar, was almost extravagant in his congratulations. 
 
 " It was a honor to the whole school," he said. " I feels, it myself. 
 Sich it war under all the circumstances. It was oblee§e3^o be, and 
 sich it war, and as it war sich, I feels it myself" 
 
 Seaborn Byne heard this speech. Immediately afterwards he turned 
 to me and whispered the following comment : 
 
 *' He be dinged ! the decateful old son-of-a-gun ! " 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 It was the unanimous opinion amongst Mr. Lorriby's pupils that he was 
 
How Mr, Bill Williams took the Responsibility. 83 
 
 grossly inconsistent with himself: that he ought to have begun with the 
 rigid policy at first, or have held to the mild. Having once enjoyed 
 the sweets of the latter, thoughts would occasionally rise and questions 
 would be asked. Seaborn Byne was not exactly the head, but he was 
 certainly the orator of a revolutionary party. Not on his own account ; 
 for he had never yet, except as the voluntary substitute of Miss Susan 
 Potter, felt upon his own body the effects of the change of discipline. 
 Nor did he seem to have any apprehensions on that score. He even 
 went so far as to say to Mr. Bill Williams, who had playfully suggested 
 the bare idea of such a thing, that " ef old Jo Lorriby raised his old 
 pole on him, he would put his lizzard " (as Seaborn facetiously called 
 his knife) " into his paunch." He always carried a very big knife, with 
 which he would frequently stab imaginary Lorribys in the persons of 
 saplings and pumpkins, and even the air itself. This threat had made 
 his brother Joel extremely unhappy. His little heart was bowed down 
 with the never-resting fear and belief that Seaborn was destined to 
 commit the crime of murder upon the body of Mr. Lorriby. On the 
 other hand Seaborn was constantly vexed by the sight of the scores of 
 floggings which Joel received. Poor Joel had somehow in the begin- 
 ning of his studies gotten upon the wrong road, and as nobody ever 
 brought him back to the starting point, he was destined, it seemed, to 
 wander about lost evermore. The more floggings he got, the more 
 hopeless and wild were his efforts at extrication. It was unfortunate 
 for him that his brother took any interest in his condition. Seaborn 
 had great contempt for him, but yet he remembered that he was his 
 brother, and his brother's heart would not allow itself to feel no concern. 
 That concern manifested itself in endeavoring to teach Joel himself out 
 of school, and in flogging him himself by way of preventing Joel's 
 having to submit to that disgrace at the hands of old Joe. So eager 
 was Seaborn in this brotherly design, and so indocile was Joel, that for 
 every flogging which the latter received from the master he got from 
 two to three from Seaborn. 
 
 However, the inflictions which Seaborn made, strictly speaking, 
 could not be called floggings. Joel, among his other infirmities, had 
 that of being unable to take care of his spelling-books. He had torn 
 to pieces so many that his mother had obtained a paddle and pasted 
 on both sides of it as many words as could be crowded there. Mrs. 
 Byne, who was a woman of decision, had been heard to say that she 
 meant to head him at this destructive business, and now she believed 
 
84 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 that she had done it. But this instrument was made to subserve a 
 double purpose with Joel. It was at once the object, and in his 
 brother's hands was the stimulus, of his little ambition. Among all 
 these evils, floggings from Mr. Lorriby and paddlings from Seaborn, 
 and the abiding apprehension that the former was destined to be 
 murdered by the latter, Joel Byne's was a case to be pitied. 
 
 "It ar a disgrace," said Mr. Bill to me one morning as we were going 
 to school, " and I wish Mr. Larrabee knowed it. Between him and 
 Sebe, that little innocent individiel ar bent on bein' useded up boda- 
 ciously. Whippins from Mr. Larrabee and paddlins from Sebe ! The 
 case ar wusser than ef thar was two Larrabees. That ar the ontime- 
 liest paddle that ever /seen. He have to try to larn his paddle, and 
 when he can't larn it, Sebe, he take his paddle, fling down Joel, and 
 paddle him with his paddle. In all my experence, I has not seed jest 
 sich a case. It ar beyant hope." 
 
 Mr. Bill's sympathy made him serious, and indeed gloomy. The 
 road on which the Bynes came to school met ours a few rods from the 
 spring. We were now there, and Mr. Bill had scarcely finished this 
 speech when we heard behind us the screams of a child, 
 
 " Thar it is agin," said Mr. Bill. " At it good and soon. It do 
 beat everything in this blessed and ontimely world. Ef it don't, ding 
 me!" 
 
 We looked beind us. Here came Joel at full speed, screaming with 
 all his might, hatless, with his paddle in one hand and his dinner- 
 bucket, without cover, hanging from the other. Twenty yards behind 
 him ran Seaborn, who had been delayed by having to stop in order to 
 pick up Joel's hat and the bucket-cover. Just before reaching the 
 spring, the fugitive was overtaken and knocked down. Seaborn then 
 getting upon him and fastening his arms with his own knees, seized the 
 paddle and exclaimed : 
 
 " Now, you rascal ! spell that word agin, sir. Ef you don't, I'll 
 paddle you into a pancake. Spell ' Crucifix^ sir." 
 
 Joel attempted to obey. 
 
 " S agin, you little devil ! S-i, si! Ding my skin ef you shan't larn 
 it, or I'll paddle you as long as thar's poplars to make paddles outen." 
 
 And he turned Joel over and made him ready. 
 
 " Look a here, Sebe ! " interposed Mr. Bill ; " fun's fun, but too much 
 is too much." 
 
 Now what these words were intended to be preliminary to, there was 
 
How Mr. Bill Williams took the Responsibility. 85 
 
 no opportunity of ascertaining- for just then Mr. Josiah Lorriby, who 
 had diverged from his own way in order to drink at the spring, 
 presented himself. 
 
 " What air you about thar, Sebion Byne ? " 
 
 Seaborn arose, and though he considered his conduct not only justifi- 
 able, but praiseworthy, he looked a little crest-fallen. 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! You're the assistant teacher, air you ? Interfering 
 with my business, and my rights, and viy duties, and my — hem ! Let 
 us all go to the school-house now. Mr. Byne will manage business 
 hereafter. I — as for me, I aint nowhar now. Come, Mr. Byne, le's 
 go to school." 
 
 Mr. Lorriby and Seaborn went on, side by side. Mr. Bill looked as 
 if he were highly gratified. " Ef he don't get it now, he never will." 
 
 Alas for Joel ! Delivered from Seaborn, he was yet more miserable 
 than before, and he forgot his own griefs in his pity for the impending 
 fate of Mr. Lorriby, and his apprehension for the ultimate consequence 
 of this day's work to his brother. He pulled me a little behind Mr. 
 Bill, and tremblingly whispered : 
 
 " Poor Mr. Larrabee ! Do you reckon they will hang Seaby, Phil ? " 
 
 "What for.?" I asked. 
 
 " For killing Mr. Larrabee." 
 
 I answered that I hoped not. 
 
 " Oh, Phil ! Seaby have sich a big knife ! An' he have stob more 
 saplins ! and more punkins ! and more watermillions ! and more mush- 
 millions ! And he have even stob our old big yaller cat ! And he have 
 call every one of 'em Larrabee. And it's my pinion that ef it warn't for 
 my paddle, he would a stob me befo' now. You see, Phil, paddlin me 
 sorter cools and swages him down a leetle bit. Oh, Seaby ar a tre- 
 menduous boy, and he ar goin to stob Mr. Larrabee this blessed day." 
 
 As we neared the school-house we saw old Kate at the usual stand, 
 and we knew that Mrs. Lorriby was at hand. She met her husband 
 at the door, and they had some whispering together, of which the case 
 of Seaborn was evidently the subject. Joel begged me to stay with 
 him butside until the horrible thing was over. So we stopped and 
 peeped in between the logs. We had not to wait long. Mr. Lorriby, his 
 mate standing by his side, at once began to lay on, and Seaborn roared. 
 The laying on and the roaring continued until the master was satisfied. 
 When all was over, I looked into Joel's face. It was radiant with 
 smiles. I never have seen greater happiness upon the countenance of 
 
86 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 childhood. Happy little fellow ! Seaborn would not be hung. That 
 illusion was gone forever. He actually hugged his paddle to his breast, 
 and with a gait even approaching the triumphant, walked into the 
 house. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Having broken the ice upon Seaborn, Mr. Lorriby went into the 
 sport of flogging him whenever he felt like it. Seaborn's revolutionary 
 sentiments grew deeper and stronger constantly. But he was now, of 
 course, hopeless of accomplishing any results himself, and he knew 
 that the only chance was to enlist Jeremiah Hobbes, or Mr. Bill 
 Williams, and make him the leader in the enterprise. Very soon, 
 however, one of these chances was lost. Hobbes received and accepted 
 an offer to become an overseer on a plantation, and Seaborn's hopes 
 were now fixed upon Mr. Bill alone. That also was destined soon to be 
 lost by the latter's prospective clerkship. Besides, Mr. Bill, being even- 
 tempered, and never having received and being never likely to receive 
 any provocation from Mr. Lorriby, the prospect of making anything out 
 of him was gloomy enough. In vain Seaborn raised innuendoes con- 
 cerning his pluck. In vain he tried every other expedient, even to 
 secretly drawing on Mr. Bill's slate a picture of a very little man 
 flogging a very big boy, and writing as well as he could the name 
 of Mr. Lorriby near the former and that of Mr. Bill near the latter. 
 Seaborn could not disguise himself; and Mr. Bill when he saw the 
 pictures informed the artist that if he did not mind what he was about 
 he would get a worse beating than ever Joe Larrabee gave him. 
 Seaborn had but one hope left, but that involved some little delicacy, 
 and could be managed only by its own circumstances. It might do, 
 and it might not do. If Seaborn had been accustomed to asking 
 special Divine interpositions, he would have prayed that if anything 
 was to be made out of this, it might be made before Mr. Bill should 
 leave. Sure enough it did come. Just one week before the quarter 
 was out it came. But I must premise the narration of this great event 
 with a few words. 
 
 Between Mrs. Lorriby and Miss Betsy Ann Aery the relations were 
 not very agreeable. Among other things which were the cause of this 
 were the unwarrantable liberties which Miss Aery sometimes took with 
 
Mow Mr, Bill Williams took the Responsibility. 87 
 
 Kate, Mrs. Lorriby's mare. Betsy Ann, in spite of all dangers (not 
 the least of which was that of breaking her own neck), would treat her- 
 self to an occasional ride whenever circumstances allowed. One day at 
 play-time, when Mrs. Lorriby was out upon one of her walks, which she 
 sometimes took at that hour, Betsy Ann hopped upon the mare, and 
 bantered me for a race to the spring and back. I accepted. We set 
 out. I beat old Kate on the return, because she stumbled and fell. 
 A great laugh was raised, and we were detected by Mrs. Lorriby. 
 Passing me, she went up to Betsy Ann, and thus spoke : 
 
 " Betsy Ann Acree, libities is libities, and horses is horses, which is 
 mars is mars. I have ast you not to ride this mar, which she was give 
 to me by my parrent father, and which she have not been rid, no, not 
 by Josiah Lorribee hisself, and which I have said I do not desires she 
 shall be spilt in her gaits, and which I wants and desires you will not 
 git upon the back of that mar nary nother time." 
 
 After this event these two ladies seemed to regard each other with 
 even increased dislike. 
 
 Miss Betsy Ann Aery had heretofore escaped correction for any of 
 her shortcomings, although they were not few. She was fond of 
 mischief, and no more afraid of Mr. Lorriby than Mr. Bill Williams 
 was. Indeed, Miss Betsy Ann considered herself to be a woman, and 
 she had been heard to say that a whipping was something which she 
 would take from nobody. Mr. Lorriby smiled at her mischievous 
 tricks, but Mrs. Lorriby frowned. These ladies came to dislike 
 each other more and more. The younger, when in her frolics, fre- 
 quently noticed the elder give her husband a look which was expres- 
 sive of much meaning. Seaborn had also noticed this, and the worse 
 Miss Aery grew, the oftener Mrs. Lorriby came to the school. The 
 truth is that Seaborn had pondered so much that he at last made a 
 profound discovery. He had come to believe fully, and in this he was 
 right, that the object which the female Lorriby had in coming at all was 
 to protect the male. A bright thought ! He communicated it to Miss 
 Aery, and slyly hinted several times that he believed she was afraid 
 of Old Red Eye, as he denominated the master's wife. Miss Aery 
 indignantly repelled every such insinuation, and became only the 
 bolder in what she said and what she did. Seaborn knew that the 
 Lorribys were well aware of Mr. Bill's preference for the girl, and he 
 intensely enjoyed her temerity. But it was hard to satisfy him that 
 she was not afraid of Old Red Eye. If Old Red Eye had not been 
 
88 DUKESBOROUGH TALES, 
 
 there, Betsy Ann would have done so and so. The reason why she did 
 not do so and so, was because Old Red Eye was abftut. Alas for 
 human nature ! — male and female. Betsy Ann went on and on, until 
 she was brought to a halt. The occasion was thus. 
 
 There was in the school a boy of about my own size, and a year 
 or two older, whose name was Martin Granger. He was somewhat of 
 a pitiful-looking creature — whined when he spoke, and was frequently 
 in quarrels, not only with the boys, but with the girls. He was sus- 
 pected of sometimes playing the part of spy and informer to the 
 Lorribys, both of whom treated him with more consideration than any 
 other pupil, except Mr. Bill Williams. Miss Betsy Ann cordially dis- 
 liked him, and she honored myself by calling me her favorite in the 
 whole school. 
 
 Now Martin and I got ourselves very unexpectedly into a fight. 
 I had divided my molasses with him at dinner-time for weeks and 
 weeks. A few of the pupils whose parents could afford to have that 
 luxury, were accustomed to carry it to school in phials. I usually ate 
 my part after boring a hole in my biscuit and then filling it up. I have 
 often wished since I have been grown that I could relish that prepara- 
 tion as I relished it when a boy. But as we grow older our tastes 
 change. Martin Granger relished the juice even more than I. In all 
 my observations I have never known a person of any description who 
 was as fond of molasses as he was. It did me good to see him eat it. 
 He never brought any himself, but he used to hint, in his whining way, 
 that the time was not distant when his father would have a whole keg- 
 ful, and when he should bring it to school in his mother's big snuff- 
 bottle, which was well known to us all. Although I was not so 
 sanguine of the realisation of this prospect as he seemed to be, yet 
 I had not on that account become tired of furnishing him. I only 
 grew tired of his presence while at my dinner, and I availed myself 
 of a trifling dispute one day to shut down upon him. I not only 
 did not invite him to partake of my molasses, but I rejected his 
 spontaneous proposition to that effect. He had been dividing it with 
 me so long that I believe he thought my right to cut him off now was 
 estopped. He watched me as I bored my holes and poured in and 
 ate, and even wasted the precious fluid. I could not consume it all. 
 When I had finished eating, I poured water into the phial and made 
 what we called "beverage." I would drink a little, then shake it and 
 hold it up before me. The golden bubbles shone gloriously in the 
 
Hoza Mr. Bill Williams took the Responsibility. 89 
 
 sun-light. I had not said a word to Martin during these interesting 
 operations, nor even looked towards him. But I knew that his eyes 
 were upon me and the phial. Just as I swallowed the last drop, his full 
 heart could bear no more, and he uttered a cry of pain. I turned to 
 him and asked him what was the matter. The question seemed to be 
 considered as adding insult to injustice. 
 
 " Corn deternally trive your devilish hide," he answered, and gave 
 me the full benefit of his clenched fist upon my stomach. He was 
 afterwards heard to say that " thar was the place whar he wanted to 
 hit fust." *We closed, scratched, pulled hair, and otherwise struggled 
 until we were separated. Martin went immediately to Mr. Lorriby, 
 gave his version of the brawl, and just as the school was to be dis- 
 missed for the day, I was .called up and flogged without inquiry and 
 without explanation. 
 
 Miss Betsy Ann Aery had seen the fight. When I came to my seat, 
 crying bitterly, her indignation could not contain itself 
 
 " Mr. Larribee," she said, her cheeks growing redder, "■ you have 
 whipped that boy for nothing." 
 
 Betsy Ann, with all her pluck, had never gone so far as this. Mr. 
 Lorriby turned pale and looked at his wife. Her red eyes fairly 
 glistened with fire. He understood it, and said to Betsy Ann in a 
 hesitating tone, — 
 
 " You had better keep your advice to yourself." 
 
 " I did not give you any advice. I just said you whipped that boy 
 for nothing, and I said the truth." 
 
 " Aint that advice, madam t " 
 
 " I am no madam, I thank you, sir ; and if that's advice — " 
 
 " Shet up your mouth, Betsy Ann Aery." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Betsy Ann, very loud, and she fastened her pretty 
 pouting lips together, elevated her head, inclined a little to one side, 
 and seemed amusedly awaiting further orders. 
 
 The female Lorriby here rose, went to her husband, and whispered 
 earnestly to him. He hesitated, and then resolved. 
 
 " Come here to me, Betsy Ann Aery." 
 
 She went up as gaily as if she expected a present. 
 
 " I am going to whip Betsy Ann Aery, Ef any boy here wants to 
 take it for her, he can now step forrards." 
 
 Betsy Ann patted her foot, and looked neither to the right nor to the 
 left, nor yet behind her. 
 12 
 
90 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 When a substitute was invited to appear, the house was still as a 
 graveyard. I rubbed my legs apologetically, and looked up at Seaborn, 
 who sat by me. 
 
 " No, sir ; if I do may I be dinged, and then dug up and — " I did 
 not listen to the remainder ; and as no one else seemed disposed to 
 volunteer, and as the difficulty was brought about upon my own account, 
 and as Betsy Ann liked me and I liked Betsy Ann, I made a desperate 
 resolution, and rose and presented myself. Betsy Ann appeared to be 
 disgusted. 
 
 " I don't think I would whip that child any more to-day, if I was in 
 your place, especially for other folk's doings." 
 
 "That's jest as you say." 
 
 " Well, I say go back to your seat, Phil." 
 
 I obeyed, and felt relieved and proud of myself. Mr. Lorriby began 
 to straighten his switch. Then I and all the other pupils looked at 
 Mr. Bill Williams. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Oh ! what an argument was going on in Mr. Bill's breast. Vain had 
 been all efforts heretofore made to bring him in any way into collision 
 with the Lorribys. He had even kept himself out of all combinations 
 to get a little holiday by an innocent ducking, and useless had been all 
 appeals heretofore to his sympathies ; for he was like the rest who had 
 been through the ordeal of the schools, and had grown to believe that 
 it did more good than harm. If it had been anybody but Betsy Ann 
 Aery, he would have been unmoved. But it luas Betsy Ann Aery, and 
 he had been often heard to say that if Betsy Ann Aery should have to be 
 whipped, he should take upon himself the responsibility of seeing that 
 that must not be done. And now that contingency had come. What 
 ought to be done ? How was this responsibility to be discharged ? 
 Mr. Bill wished that the female Lorriby had stayed away that day. 
 He did not know exactly why he wished it, but he wished it. To add 
 to his other difficulties. Miss Betsy Ann had never given any token of 
 her reciprocation of his regard ; for now that the novelty of the future 
 clerkship had worn away, she had returned to her old habit of never 
 seeming to notice that there was such a person as himself. But the 
 idea of a switch falling upon her whose body from the crown of her 
 
'How Mr. Bill Williams took the Responsibility. 91 
 
 head to the soles of her feet was so precious to him, outweighed every 
 other consideration, and he made up his mind to be as good as his 
 word, and take the responsibility. Just as the male Lorriby (the female 
 by his side) was about to raise the switch — 
 
 "Stop a minute, Mr. Larrabee ! " he exclaimed, advancing in a highly 
 excited manner. 
 
 The teacher lowered his arm and retreated one step, looking a little 
 irresolute. His wife advanced one step, and looking straight at Mr. 
 Bill, her robust frame rose at least an inch higher. 
 
 " Mr. Larrabee ! I — ah — don't exactly consider myself— ah — as 
 a scholar here now; because — ah — I expect to move to Dukes- 
 borough in a few days, and keep store thar for Mr. Bland & Jones." 
 
 To his astonishment, this announcement, so impressive heretofore, 
 failed of the slightest effect now, when, of all times, an effect was 
 desired, Mr. Lorriby, in answer to a sign from his wife, had re- 
 covered his lost ground, and looked placidly upon him, but answered 
 nothing. 
 
 " I say," repeated Mr. Bill distinctly, as if he supposed he had not 
 been heard, " I say that I expect in a few days to move to Dukes- 
 borough j to live thar; to keep store thar for Mr. Bland & Jones." 
 
 "Well, William, I think I have heard that before. I want to hear 
 you talk about it some time when it aint school time, and when we aint 
 so busy as we air now at the present." 
 "Well, but — " persisted Mr. Bill. 
 " Well, but ? " inquired Mr. Lorriby. 
 " Yes, sir," answered the former, insistlngly. 
 
 " Well, but what t Is this case got anything to do with it ? Is she 
 got anything to do with it ? " 
 
 ^' In cose it have not," answered Mr. Bill, sadly. 
 " Well, what makes you tell us of it now, at the present .? " Oh ! 
 what a big word was that us, then, to Josiah Lorriby. 
 
 " Mr. Larrabee," urged Mr. Bill, in as persuasive accents as he could 
 employ ; « no, sir, Mr. Larrabee, it have not got anything to do with 
 It ; but yit — " ^ J b 
 
 " Well, yit what, William ? " 
 
 "Well, Mr. Larrabee, I thought as I ims a-goin to quit school soon, 
 and as I was a-gom to move to Dukesborough — as I was a-goin ri^ht 
 outen yom school intoo Dukesborough as it war, to keep store thar, 
 may be you mout, as a favor, do me a favor before I left " 
 
92 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 "Well ! may I be dinged, and then dug up and dinged over agin ! " 
 This was said in a suppressed whisper by a person at my side. 
 " Beggin ! beggin ! ding his white-livered hide — beg-gin ! " 
 
 " Why, William," replied Mr. Lorriby, " ef it war convenant, and 
 the favor war not too much, it mout be that I mout grant it." 
 
 "I thought you would, Mr. Larrabee. The favor aint a big one — 
 leastways, it aint a big one to you. It would be a mighty — " But 
 Mr. Bill thought he could hardly trust himself to say how big a one it 
 would be to himself. 
 
 " Well, what is it, William ? " 
 
 " Mr. Larrabee ! — sir, Mr. Larrabee, I ax it as a favor of you, not 
 to whip Betsy Ann — which is Miss Betsy Ann Aery." 
 
 " Thar now ! " groaned Seaborn, and bowed his head in despair. 
 
 The male Lorriby looked upon the female. Her face had relaxed 
 somewhat from its stern expression. She answered his glance by one 
 which implied a conditional affirmative. 
 
 " Ef Betsy Ann Aery will behave herself, and keep her impudence 
 to herself, I will let her off this time." 
 
 All eyes turned to Betsy Ann. I never saw her look so fine as she 
 raised up her head, tossed her yellow ringlets back, and said in a tone 
 increasing in loudness from beginning to end: 
 
 " But Betsy Ann Aery won't do it'' 
 
 " Hello agin thar ! '' whispered Seaborn, and raised his head. His 
 dying hopes of a big row were revived. This was the last opportunity, 
 and he was as eager as if the last dollar he ever expected to make had 
 been pledged upon the event. I have never forgotten his appearance, 
 as with his legs wide apart, his hands upon his knees, his lips apart, 
 but his teeth firmly closed, he gazed upon that scene. 
 
 Lorriby, the male, was considerably disconcerted, and would have 
 compromised ; but Lorriby, the female, again in an instant resumed 
 her hostile attitude, and this time her great eyes looked like two balls 
 of fire. She concentrated their gaze upon Betsy Ann with a ferocity 
 which was appalling. Betsy Ann tried to meet them, and did for one 
 moment ; but in another she found she could not hold out longer ; so 
 she buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Mr. Bill could endure 
 no more. Both arms fairly flew out at full length. 
 
 " The fact ar," he cried, " that I am goin to take the responsibility ! 
 Conshequenches may be conshequenches, but I shall take the respon- 
 sibility." His countenance was that of a man who had made up his 
 mind. It had come at last, and we were perfectly happy. 
 
How Mr. Bill Williams took the Responsibility. 93 
 
 The female Lorriby turned her eyes from Betsy Ann and fixed them 
 steadily on Mr. Bill. She advanced a step forward, and raised her 
 arms and placed them on her sides. The male Lorriby placed himself 
 immediately behind his mate's right arm, while Rum, who seemed to 
 understand what was going on, came up, and standing on his mistress's 
 left, looked curiously up at Mr. Bill. 
 
 Seaborn Byne noticed this last movement. " Well, ef that don't 
 beat creation ! You in it too, is you ? " he muttered through his teeth. 
 "Well, never do you mind. Ef I don't fix you and put you whar you'll 
 never know no more but what you've got a tail, may I be dinged, and 
 then," etc. 
 
 It is true that Seaborn had been counted upon for a more important 
 work than the neutralising of Rum's forces ; still, I knew that Mr. 
 Bill wanted and needed no assistance. We were all ready, however — 
 that is, I should say, all but Martin. He had no griefs, and therefore 
 no desires. 
 
 Such was the height of Mr. Bill's excitement that he did not even 
 seem to notice the hostile demonstrations of these numerous and 
 various foes. His mind was made up, and he was going right on to 
 his purpose. 
 
 " Mr. Larrabee," he said firmly, " I am goin to take the responsibility. 
 I axed you as a favor to do me a favor before I left. I aint much used 
 to axin favors ; but sich it war now. It seem as ef that favor cannot 
 be grant. Yea, sich is the circumstances. But it must be so. 
 Sense I have been here they aint been no difficulties betwixt you and 
 me, nor betwixt me and Miss Larrabee ; and no nothin of the sort, 
 not even betwixt me and Rum. That dog have sometimes snap at my 
 legs; but I have bore it for peace, and wanted no fuss. Sich, there- 
 fore, it was why I axed the favor as a favor. But it can't be hoped, 
 and so I takes the responsibility. Mr. Larrabee, sir, and you. Miss 
 Larrabee, I am goin from this school right intoo Dukesborough, straight 
 intoo Mr. Bland's store, to clerk thar. Sich bein all the circumstances, 
 I hates to do what I tells you I'm goin to do. But it can't be hoped, 
 it seem, and I ar goin to do it." 
 
 Mr. Bill announced this conclusion in a very highly elevated tone. 
 
 "Oh, yes, ding your old hides of you ! " I heard at my side. 
 
 " Mr. Larrabee, and you, Miss Larrabee," continued the speaker, "I 
 does not desires that Betsy Ann Aery shall be whipped. I goes on to 
 say that as sich it ar, and as sich the circumstances, Betsy Ann Aery 
 can't be whipped whar I ar ef I can keep it from bein done." 
 
94 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 " You heerd that, didn't you ? " asked Seaborn, low, but cruelly 
 triumphant ; and Seaborn looked at Rum as if considering how he 
 should begin the battle with him. 
 
 Mrs. Lorriby seldom spoke. Whenever she did, it was to the point. 
 
 " Yes, but Weelliam Weelliams, you can't keep it from bein done." 
 And she straightened herself yet taller, and raising her hands yet 
 higher upon her sides, changed the angle of elbows from obtuse to 
 acute. 
 
 " Yes, but I kin," persisted Mr. Bill. " Mr. Larrabee ! Mr. Larrabee ! " 
 
 This gentleman had lowered his head, and was peering at Mr. Bill 
 through the triangular opening formed by his mate's side and arm. 
 The reason why Mr. Bill addressed him twice, was because he had 
 missed him when he threw the first address over her shoulder. The 
 last was sent through the triangle. 
 
 " Mr. Larrabee ! I say it kin be done, and I'm goin to do it. Sir, 
 little as I counted on sich a case, yit still it ar so. Let the conshe- 
 quenches be what they be, both now and some futur day. Mr. 
 Larrabee, sir, that whippin that you was a-goin to give to Betsy Ann 
 Aery cannot fall upon her shoulders, and — that is, upon her shoulders, 
 and before my face. Instid of sich, sir, you may jest — instid of whip- 
 pin her, sir, you may — instid of her, give it, sir — notwithstandin and 
 nevertheless — you may give it to me." 
 
 \ 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Oh ! what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
 Then you and I and all of us fell down ! " 
 
 If the pupils of Josiah Lorriby's school had had the knowledge of all 
 tongues ; if they had been familiar with the histories of all the base 
 men of all the ages, they could have found no words in which to char- 
 acterise, and no person with whom to compare, Mr. Bill Williams. If 
 they had known what it was to be a traitor, they might have admitted 
 that he was more like this, the most despicable of all characters, than 
 any other. But they would have argued that he was baser than all 
 other traitors, because he had betrayed, not only others, but himself. 
 Mr. Bill Williams, the big boy, the future resident of Dukesborough, 
 the expectant clerk, the vindicator of persecuted girlhood in the per- 
 
How Mr. Bill Williams took the Responsibility. 95 
 
 r"u°^ i?u ^'"^ ¥ ^""^^^^ ^^^ pledge-taker of responsibilities,- that 
 he should have taken the pains, just before he was going away, to de- 
 grade himself by proposing to take upon his own shoulders the rod 
 that had never before descended but upon the backs and legs of chil- 
 dren .1 Poor Seaborn Byne ! If I ever saw expressed in a human 
 beings countenance disgust, anger and abject hopelessness, I saw 
 them as I turned to look at him. He spoke not one word, not even in 
 
 moSfles^f ^' '^ ^^ ''°"^'^ "^''^' """'^ P^^^^ confidence in 
 
 When Mr Bill had concluded his ultimatum, the female Lorribv's 
 arms came down, and the male Lorriby's head went up. Thev sent 
 each the other a smile. Both were smart enough to be satisfied The 
 latter was more than satisfied. 
 
 " I am proud this day of William Williams. It air so, and I can but 
 say I air proud of him. William Williams were now in a position to 
 stand up and shme in his new spere of action. If he went to Dukes- 
 borough to keep store thar, he mout now go sayin that as he had been 
 a good scholar, so he mout expect to be a good clerk, and fit to be 
 trusted, yea, with thousands upon thousands, ef sich mout be the case 
 But as It was so, and as he have been to us all as it war, and no dif- 
 ficulties, and no nothin of the sort, and he war goin, and it mout be 
 soon, yea, it mout be to-morrow, from this school straight intoo a 
 !nl'^ ""^7^' T ^^^""°t-. No, far be it. This were a skene too 
 solemn and too lovely for sich. I cannot, nor I cannot. William 
 Williams may now take his seat." 
 
 Mr. Bill obeyed. I was glad that he did not look at Betsy Ann as 
 she turned to go to hers. But she looked at him. I saw her, and little 
 as I was, I saw also that if he ever had had any chance of winning 
 her, It was gone from him forever. It was now late in the afternoon 
 and we were dismissed. Without saying a word to any one, Mr Bill 
 took his arithmetic and slate (for ciphering, as it was called hen, was 
 his only study). We knew what it meant, for we felt, as well aL he, 
 that this was his last day at school. As my getting to school depended 
 upon his continuance, I did not doubt that i? was my last also 
 
 M^Vu^'u^^ f""^' ^"r "°t.""f'l separating from all the other boys, 
 Mr. Bill showed some disposition to boast. 
 
 SQuiTe°'' ^^^ ^'"^^ ^^"°'''^ '^^^ monstous badly skeerd this evening, 
 
 " Wasn't you scared too > " I asked. 
 
g6 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 " Skeerd ? I'd like to see the schoolmaster that could skeer me. 
 I skeerd of Joe Larrabee ? " 
 
 " I did not think you were scared of him." 
 
 " Skeerd of who then ? Miss Larrabee ? fOld Red Eye ?7 She 
 mout be redder-eyed than what she ar, and then not skeer me." Why 
 look here, Squire, how would I look goin into Dukesborough, into Mr, 
 Bland and Jones' store, right from bein skeerd of old Miss Larrabee ; 
 to be runnin right intoo Mr. Bland and Jones' store, and old Meheti- 
 billy Larrabee right arter me, or old Joe^uther. It wur well for him 
 that he never struck Betsy Ann Aery. \ Ef he had a struck her, Joe 
 Larrabee's strikin days would be over." 
 
 " But wasn't you goin to take her whippin for her ? " 
 
 "Lookee here, Squire, I didn't take it, did 1 1 " 
 
 " No, but you said you was ready to take it." 
 
 " Poor little fellow ! " he said, compassionately. " Squire, you are 
 yit young in the ways of this sorrowful and ontimely world. Joe Lar- 
 rabee knows me, and I knows Joe Larrabee, and as the feller said, that 
 ar sufficient." 
 
 We were now at our gate. Mr. Bill bade me good evening, and 
 passed on ; and thus ended his pupilage and mine at the school of 
 Josiah Lorriby. 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. ADIEL SLACK, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Companions 
 That do converse, and waste the time together, 
 Whose soiils do bear an equal yoke of love." 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 MR. BENJAMIN (but as everybody called him, Uncle Ben) 
 Pea resided two miles out of Dukesborough, He was a small 
 farmer — not small in person, but a farmer on a small scale. He 
 raised a fair crop of corn, a trifle of cotton, great quantities of potatoes, 
 and some pinders. It was said that in his younger days he used to be 
 brisk in his business, and to make something by hauling wood to town. ' 
 He spent as little as he could and saved as much as he could ; but 
 for a certain purpose he kept as good an establishment as he could. 
 His little wagon used to be good enough to carry him and the old 
 woman to town ; yet he bought a second-hand gig, and did other things 
 in proportion. It was extravagant, and he knew it, but he had a 
 purpose. That purpose was to marry off his daughter Georgiana. 
 Now, Georgiana had told him for years and years, even before the old 
 woman died, that if he wanted to marry her off (a thing she cared 
 nothing about herself), the only way to do that was for the family to go 
 in a decent way. And now that the old woman had died and her 
 father had grown old, she had her own way, and that was as decent as 
 could be afforded, and no more. 
 
 Miss Georgiana Pea was heavy — heavy of being married off, and 
 heavy of body. Her weight for fifteen years at the least had not been 
 13 
 
98 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 probably less than one hundred and seventy pounds. In her seasons ^ 
 of highest health, which were probably oftener in the latter part of the 
 Fall than at any other period of the year, people used to guess that 
 it might be even more ; but there was no getting at it at any time, 
 because she always stoutly refused to be weighed. True, she laced ; 
 but that did not seem to diminish her materially ; for what was pressed 
 down in one region re-appeared in another. She had a magnificent 
 bust. This bust was her pride, that was evident. Indeed, she as 
 good as confessed as much to me one day. I knew the family well ; 
 she didn't mind me, I was a very small boy, and she was aware that I 
 considered that bust a wonderful work of nature. I have often been 
 amused, since I have grown old and less impressible by such things, 
 to remember how tremendously magnificent I used to regard the bust 
 of Georgiana Pea. 
 
 Yet she didn't marry. The old gentleman had been so anxious 
 about it that he had long ago rather given it out in a public w'ay, that 
 upon her marriage with his consent (she was the only child — Peterson 
 died when a boy, of measles) he should give up everything, houses, 
 lands, furniture, and mone}', and live upon the bounty of his son-in- 
 law. These several items of property had been often appraised by the 
 neighbors as accurately as could be done (considering that the exact 
 amount of money could not be verified), in view of ascertaining for 
 their own satisfaction what her dowry might be. The appraisement 
 had gone through many gradations of figures while the bridegroom 
 delayed his coming. At the period of which I am now telling, there 
 were those who maintained that Uncle Ben was worth four thousand 
 dollars ; others shook their heads and said thirty-five hundred ; while 
 others yet, who professed to know more about it than anybody else, 
 they didn't care who it was, insisted that three thousand was the outside. 
 Many a man, it seemed to me, and some that would have been worth 
 having, might have been caught by that bust and that prospective 
 fortune. But they were not ; and now, at thirt}', or thereabout, she was 
 evidently of the opinion that even if she had many desires to enter 
 into the estate of marriage, their chances of gratification were few. 
 Indeed, Miss Pea was at that stage when she was beginning to speak 
 at times of the other sex with disgust. 
 
 I\Ir. Jacob Spouter resided in the very heart of Dukesborough, and 
 kept a hotel. The town being small, his business was small. He was 
 a small man, but looked bright, capable, and business-like. He dressed 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. ADIEL SLACK. 
 
 99 
 
 pretty well. But this was for effect, and was both a delusion and a 
 snare. It was for a sign for his hotel. To look at him, you would 
 have supposed that he kept a good hotel ; but he did not. It is sur- 
 prising, indeed, to consider how few men there are who do. But this 
 is a great theme, and entirely independent of what I wish to tell, 
 except so far as it may relate to the fact that Mr. Spouter had yet 
 living with him an only child, a daughter, whose name was Angeline. 
 Miss Angeline, instead of taking after the Spouters, who were short, 
 took after the Fanigans, who were long. She was a very thin young 
 lady, almost too thin to look well, and her hair and complexion were 
 rather sallow. But then that hair curled — every hair curled. 
 
 Who has not a weakness ? Miss Pea had hers, as we have seen ; and 
 now we shall see, as everybody for years had seen, that Miss Spouter 
 had hers also. It was an innocent one: it was her curls. In the memory 
 of man that hair had never been done up ; but through all changes of 
 circumstances and weather it had hung in curls, just as it hung on the 
 day when this story begins. They had been complimented thousands 
 of times, and by hundreds of persons ; the guests of years had noticed 
 them, and had uttered and smiled their approbation ; and there had 
 been times when Miss Spouter hoped, in spite of the want of other as 
 striking charms, and in spite of the universally known fact that her 
 father had always been insolvent and always would be, that those curls 
 would eventually entangle the person without whom she felt that she 
 could never be fully blest. While this person was a man, it was not 
 any particular individual of the species. Many a time had she seen 
 one who, she thought, would answer. She was not very fastidious, but 
 she positively believed (and this belief made her appear to be anxious) 
 that in view of all the circumstances of her life, the best thing that she 
 could do for herself would be to marry. Yet Miss Spouter did -rwt 
 regard herself as wholly selfish in this wish ; for there was somethibg' 
 in her, she thought, which she constantly understood to be telling hef^ 
 that if she had the opportunity she could make some man extremely 
 happy. 
 
 But though those curls had been so often praised — yea, though 
 they had been sometimes handled — to such a degree did people's 
 admiration of them extend, that Miss Spouter, like her contemporary 
 in the country, was unmarried, and beginning to try to feel as if she 
 despised the vain and foolish world of man. 
 
 These young ladies were friends, and always had been. They were 
 
loo DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 so much attached that each seemed, to a superficial observer, to belieere 
 that she had been born for but one special purpose, and that was to 
 help the other to get married ; for Miss Spouter believed and Miss 
 Pea knew that marriage was a subject which, without intermission, 
 occupied the mind of her friend. It was pleasant to hear Miss Pea 
 extol Miss Spouter's curls ; then it was pleasant to hear Miss Spouter, 
 who was more sentimental and the better talker of the two, praise Miss 
 Pea's " figger," by which term she meant only her bust. No one ever 
 dreamed that it was possible for any jealousy to rise between them ; 
 for Miss Spouter had no figure worth mentioning, and not a hair of 
 Miss Pea's head could be curled. Not only so, but the fact was, that 
 in her heart of hearts (so curious a thing is even the most constant 
 friendship) neither thought much of the other's special accomplish- 
 ment ; rather, each thought that there was entirely too much of it, 
 especially Miss Spouter touching the " figger." If Aliss Pea considered 
 the property qualification in her favor. Miss Spouter did not forget that 
 she resided right in the very heart of Dukesborough, and that her 
 father kept a hotel. Now, as long as the world stands, persons of their 
 condition who live in town will feel a little ahead of those who live in 
 the country ; while the latter, though never exactly knowing why, will 
 admit that it is so. Miss Pea was generally very much liked by the 
 neighbors ; Miss Spouter had not made a great number of friends. 
 Probably town airs had something to do in the matter. Miss Pea was 
 considered the superior character of the two, but neither of them 
 thought so ; Miss Spouter, especially, who knew the meaning of many 
 more words in the dictionary than her friend, and who had read Alonzo 
 and Melissa, and the Three Spaniards, until she had the run of them 
 fully, never dreamed of such a thing. 
 
 Miss Spouter was fond of visiting Miss Pea, especially in water- 
 melon time. Miss Pea valued the friendship of Miss Spouter because 
 it afforded her frequent opportunities of staying at a hotel, a privilege 
 which she well knew not many country. girls enjoyed. To stay there, 
 not as a boarder, but as a friend of the family, to eat there and 
 sleep there, and not to pay for either of these distinctions as other 
 people did, but to do these things on ^ invitation. Now, while Miss 
 Pea got much better eating and sleeping at home, yet she could but 
 consider the former as privileges. She never would forget that once 
 when there was a show in Dukesborough, given by a ventriloquist 
 who was also a juggler, she had been at Mr. J. Spouter's, and had been 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. ADIEL SLACK. loi 
 
 introduced to the wonderful man, and his wife too, and had heard them 
 talk about general matters just as other people did. 
 
 But time was waxing old. The bust had about ceased to be 
 ambitious, and the curls, though wishful yet, were falling into the habit 
 of giving only despondent shakes. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Miss Spouter sat in the hotel parlor ; it was on the first floor and 
 opened upon the street. In it were two wooden rocking-chairs, six 
 split-bottoms, and a half-round. I shall not undertake to describe the 
 window-curtains. She was pensive and silent ; the still summer 
 evening disposed her to meditation. She sat silent and pensive, but 
 not gloomy. Looking out from the window, she espied on the further 
 side of the square. Miss Pea, who was in the act of turning towards 
 her. Here she came, in yellow calico and a green calash. As she 
 walked, her arms were crossed peacefully upon her chest. 
 
 " Howdye, stranger ! " saluted Miss Spouter. They had not met in 
 a fortnight. 
 
 " Stranger yourself," answered Miss Pea, with a smile and a sigh. 
 They embraced ; the curls fell upon the bust and the bust fostered 
 the curls, as only long tried friends can fall upon and foster. Miss 
 Pea came to stay all night ; never had they slept in the same house 
 without sleeping together. 
 
 "Well, Georgy," Miss Spouter remarked, sweetly, but almost invid- 
 iously, as they were getting into bed, " figger is figger." 
 
 " It's no sich a thing," answered Miss Pea, with firm self-denial ; 
 " it's curls, you know it's curls." 
 
 " No, George, its figger." 
 
 " Angeline Spouter, you know it aint ; it's curls, and you know it's 
 curls." 
 
 They blew out the candle, and for a short time continued this 
 friendly discussion ; but soon Miss Pea got the best of it, as usual, 
 and Miss Spouter, by silence and other signs, admitted that it was 
 curls. 
 
 "We've been sleeping a long time together, George." 
 "We have that." 
 
102 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 "Ten years." 
 
 " Yes, fifteen of 'em." 
 
 " Gracious me ! fifteen?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed." 
 
 "Well, but I was but a child then." 
 
 Miss Pea coughed. She was the elder by exactly six months. 
 
 " Did we think ten years ago that you would now be a Pea and I a 
 Spouter?" 
 
 " I didn't think much about myself, but I had no idea you would." 
 
 " Yet so it is ; you with your figger and yet a Pea." 
 
 "And what is worsfe, you with your curls and yet a Spouter." 
 
 "No, not worse. You ought to have been married years ago, 
 Georgiana Pea." 
 
 " If I had had your curls and had wanted to marry, I should a been 
 married and forgot it." 
 
 " No, George, I never had the requisite figger." 
 
 " Angeline Spouter, do hush." 
 
 " Suppose we had married, George ? " 
 "Well." 
 
 " I think I could have made my husband love me, as few men have 
 ever loved, be they whomsoever they might." 
 " Ah ! everybody knows that." 
 " No, alas ! none but thee, George." 
 "Yes, but I know better." 
 Miss Spouter again gave it up. 
 
 Miss Pea would fain have gone to sleep. Her hour for that purpose 
 had come- But there was yet no slumber upon the eyelids of Miss 
 Spouter. She talked away. She made hypothetical cases ; supposing 
 for instance they were married. Miss Spouter ventured to look far into 
 such a possible future, and made some speculations upon the best and 
 properest ways of bringing up families. It appeared during the con- 
 versation that Miss Spouter, as a general thing, liked girls in families 
 better than boys, while Miss Pea's preference for boys was bold and 
 decided.. She' admitted Miss Pea's argument to be true, that girls are 
 prettier, especially if they have curls ; but. La me ! they are such a 
 trouble ! Besides, boys were bad. She must admit that too. But 
 then they could be whipped and made to mind. 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. ADIEL SLACK. 103 
 
 " Oh, you cruel creature ! " right there exclaimed the merciful Miss 
 Spouter, 
 
 " No, Angeline," remonstrated her companion, " no, I am not cruel ; 
 but I believe in makin children mind and behave theirselves." Miss 
 Pea was as firm as a rock. 
 
 "So do I," replied Miss Spouter; "but I can't understand how a 
 woman, a good woman, and a kind woman, and an affectionate woman, 
 and a woman that had — La, bless me ! how could such a woman beat 
 her own family to death, when in the wide, wide world there was none 
 others to stand by them in the solemn hour, and — " 
 
 " No ! no ! no ! " interposed Miss Pea, " I don't meaji that. What I 
 do mean — La ! Angeline Spouter, what are you and me a talkin about ? 
 It's redickerlous. I'm done." 
 
 Miss Pea laughed outright. - But Miss Spouter sighed, and remarked 
 that it wasn't in people to say neither what was to be, nor what wasn't 
 to be. 
 
 "George, I do believe you are going to sleep." 
 
 Miss Pea declared that she wasn't, and like all persons of her size, 
 she thought she was telling the truth. Miss Spouter had one or two 
 other remarks which she always made on such occasions, and which 
 she wanted to make now. 
 
 " Georgiana Pea, do you or do you not ever expect to marry ? I 
 ask you candidly.'' 
 
 " No, Angeline, I don't. I may have had thoughts, I may have had 
 expectations; pap looks as if he would go distracted if I don't marry; 
 but to tell you the truth, I have about come to the conclusion that 
 there's more marries now than ever does well. Pap declares that he 
 means to marry me off to somebody before he dies. He thinks that I 
 couldn't take care of myself if he was to die, and that he takes care 
 of me now himself I think I'm the one that takes care of him, and I 
 think I could take as good care of myself then as I do now. He says 
 I shall marry though, and I'm waitin to see how it'll be. But I tell 
 you, Angeline Spouter, that there's more marries now than ever does 
 well." 
 
 " And — well," answered Miss Spouter, " and so have I concluded 
 about it. It is the honest expression of the genuine sentiments of my 
 innermost heart. What is man .? A deceitful, vain and foolish creature, 
 who will to-day talk his honey words and praise a girl's curls, and to- 
 
I04 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 morrow he is further off than when we first laid our eyes on him. 
 What is your opinion of man, George? What now is your opinion of 
 Tom Dyson, who used to melt before the sight of you like summer 
 clouds ere the sun had set ? " 
 
 " I think of Tom Dyson like I think of Barney Bolton who used to 
 praise your curls just like they were so much gold, and like I think 
 of all of 'em, and that's about as much as I think of an old dead pine 
 tree or post-oak." 
 
 Miss Pea had not read many books like Miss Spouter, and must 
 necessarily, therefore, borrow her comparisons from objects familiar to 
 her country life. Miss Spouter noticed the difference, but refrained 
 from remarking on it. 
 
 " And yet, Georgiana, there is something in me ; I feel it. It tells 
 me that I could have made Barney Bolton much happier than Malinda 
 Jones has. Barney Bolton is not happy, Georgiana Pea." 
 
 Miss Pea only coughed. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! Alas ! I see it in his eye ; I see it in his walk ; I see 
 it in his every action. The image of Ahgeline Spouter is in his breast, 
 and it will stay there forever." 
 
 Miss Pea was always perfectly silent, and endeavored to feel solemn 
 when this last speech was said. 
 
 " If you were to marry, George, I should be the lonesoimst creature 
 in the wide, wide world." 
 
 " Ah, well ! when I marry, which is never going to.be the case (that 
 is exceptin pap do go distracted and hunt me up a good chance), 
 you'll be married and forgot it, and that little curly-headed girl 
 will be readin, ritin and cypherin." Miss Pea yawned and laughed 
 slightly. 
 
 " Never, never ! But won't you let your little boy come sometimes 
 in a passing hour to see a lonesome girl, who once was your friend, 
 but now, alas !' abandoned ? " 
 
 " Angeline Spouter, do hush." 
 
 " George, it is very warm to-night Is it late ? " 
 
 "I should — think — it was," answered Miss Pea, and snored. 
 
 Miss Spouter lay for some time awake, but silent. She then lifted 
 
 the curtain from the window, through which the moon, high in heaven, 
 
 shone upon the bed, withdrew from her cap five or six curls, extended 
 
 them upon her snowy breast, smiled dismally, put them up again, looked 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. ADIEL SLACK. 105 
 
 a moment at her companion, then abruptly turned her back to her and 
 went to sleep. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "Is all the counsel that we too have shared, 
 The sisters' vows, the hours that we havfe spent 
 When we .have chid the hasty-footed time 
 For parting us — O, and is all forgot?" 
 
 Midsummer-Night's Dream. 
 
 But friendship, like other good things, has enemies. One of the most 
 dangerous of these is a third person. These beings are among the most 
 ■ inconvenient and troublesome upon earth. Not often do confidential 
 conversations take place in a company of three, especially conversa- 
 tions appertaining to friendship or love. When sentiment, hot from 
 the heart, Jias to move in triangles, it must often meet with hindrances 
 and cool itself before it has reached its destination. As in mathe- 
 matics, between two points, so in social life between two hearts, the 
 shortest way is a straight line. A third person makes a divergence 
 and a delay. Third persons have done more to separate very friends 
 and lovers than all the world besides. They had gotten between 
 other persons before, and now one of them had come to get between 
 Miss Spouter and Miss Pea. 
 
 Adiel Slack had left his native Massachusetts, and from going to 
 and fro upon the earth, came in an evil day and put up at the inn of 
 Jacob Spouter. He was tall, deep-voiced, big-footed, and the most 
 deliberate-looking man that had ever been in Dukesborough. He was 
 one of those imperturbable Yankees that could fool you when you were 
 watching him just as well as when you were not. When he said that 
 he was twenty-eight his last birth-day, his fresh-looking hair, his un- 
 wrinkled and unblushing cheek, and his entire freedom from all signs 
 of wear and care, made one believe that it must be so. If he had said 
 that he was forty-five, the gravity of his countenance, the deliberation 
 of his gait, and the deep worldly wisdom of his eye would have made 
 one believe that he spoke truly. 
 
 The mere arrival of such a person in that small community must 
 necessarily create some stir. He was decidedly the most remarkable 
 of all the passengers who came by that morning's stage. While they 
 14 
 
io6 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 ate their breakfast with that haste which is peculiar to the travelling 
 public, he took his time. The stage went away and left him at the 
 table eating his fifth biscuit, while Mrs. Spouter's eyes were fixed upon 
 him with that steadfast look with which she was wont to regard all 
 persons who ate at her table more than she thought was fair. He 
 took another biscuit, looked about for more butter, and attempted to 
 open a conversation with that lady ; but she was not in the mood to be 
 communicative, so he set to the work of studying her. He made her 
 out to be a woman of a serious turn of mind, less attentive to dress 
 than her husband, but at the same time aspiring, and possibly with 
 propriety and with success, to be the head of the family. After break- 
 fast, he stood about, sat about, picked his teeth (" with a ivory lancet, 
 blamed if it weren't," Mr. Spouter said), then took his hat and strolled 
 about the vill39:e all the forenoon. He went into both the stores, got 
 acquainted with the doctor, and the blacksmith, and the shoemaker, 
 found and bargained for the rent of a room, and at dinner announced 
 himself a citizen of Georgia and a merchant of Dukesborough. In 
 less than a week a small stock of goods had arrived, and were neatly 
 arranged in the room, over the door of which hung a sign-board, painted 
 by himself, which made Mr. Boggs and Messrs. Bland & Jones wish 
 either that they had never had sign-boards, or that Adiel Slack, dry- 
 goods merchant, had never come there. 
 
 Being a single man, Mr. Slack boarded at the hotel of J. Spouter. 
 Now, no sooner was it settled that he was to become a citizen, than 
 Miss Spouter, according to ancient usage in such cases, felt herself to 
 be yielding to the insidious influences of yet another love. Who 
 knew, she thought, that the fond dream of her life was not destined 
 now to become a blissful realisation ? The fact that Mr. Slack had 
 come from afar, made her sentimental soul only the more hopeful. 
 How this was so she could not tell ; but it was so, and the good girl 
 began at once to bestow the most assiduous cultivation upon every 
 charm which she thought she possessed. Mr. Slack soon began to be 
 treated with more consideration than any of the boarders. He had 
 within a week moved from Mr. Spouter's end of the table up to Mrs. 
 Spouter's, and become, as it were, that lady's left bower. Miss Angeline 
 being, of course, her right. The hot biscuit were always handed first 
 to him, and if anybody got a hot waffle, it was he. People used to 
 look up towards Mrs. Spouter and get occasional glimpses of little plates 
 of fresh butter and preserves that tried to hide behind the castors or 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. ADIEL SLACK. 
 
 107 
 
 the candlestick. When there was pie, Mr. Slack was helped first; 
 because, among other things, he was the more sure of getting another 
 piece, if the pie, as it sometimes would happen, in spite of precaution, 
 should not go around the second time. 
 
 The servants did not like him because he never gave them a kind 
 word nor a cent of money. But let any one of them omit to hand the 
 best things to him first. Oh, the partiality that was shown as plain as 
 day to that man ! Everybody saw it, and spoke of it among confidential 
 friends. Some said it was a sin ; some said it was a shame ; and some 
 went so far as to say it was both. 
 
 Among the boarders was one whom we have seen before. For Mr. 
 Bill Williams had now been installed in his office, and had already 
 begun to take new responsibilities. When this conduct towards the 
 new-comer had become notorious, he was heard by many persons even 
 to swear that he'd " be dinged ef he had had a hot waffle, even when 
 thar was wafiles, sense that dadblasted Yankee had moved up to old 
 Miss Spouter's eend. As for the second piece of pie, he had done 
 gin out ever hearin of the like any more, thro'out the ages of a sorrow- 
 ful and ontimely world." He spoke with feeling, it is true ; but he was 
 a clerk in Mr. Bland's store, and he thought that if he could not take 
 some responsibility, the question was who could. " Consequenches 
 mout be consequenches," said Mr. Bill, " be they now or at some futer 
 day. I takes the responsibility to say that the case ar a onfair, and 
 a imposition on the boarders and on the transhent people, and it war 
 also a shame on Dukesborough, and also — " Mr. Bill shook his 
 head for the conclusion. 
 
 But in spite of everybody and everything, Mr. Slack kept his place. 
 He soon discovered Miss Spouter's weakness and her passion. Flatter- 
 ing as it might be to find himself the favored object of her pursuit, 
 yet the reflection that her only capital was a head of curls which in 
 time would fade, caused him to determine, after making his calculations, 
 that no profit was to be netted in being caught. It was not to be over- 
 looked, however, that there would be, if not an entire saving of expense, 
 at least a postponement of its payment in keeping his thoughts to 
 himself and in seeming to be drawing nearer and nearer the vortex 
 which was ready to swallow him up. The terms of board at Mr. 
 Spouter's included monthly payments. These did not suit calculations 
 which were made upon the principle of collecting his own dues at once 
 and postponing his payments as long as possible, and if possible, to 
 
io8 UUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 the end of time. Now, he guessed that great as were Mr. Spouter's 
 needs, that affectionate father would not be the man to run the risk of 
 driving off his daughter's suitor by worrying him with dues for a little 
 item of board, which might all come back again into the family. In 
 addition to this, he was not insensible to the advantage of maintaining 
 his seat at the dinner table, where biscuits, waffles and pies, when they 
 came at all, were wont to make their first appearance. These several 
 matters, being actual money to him, were not to be overlooked by a 
 man who did nothing without deliberation. After deliberating, there- 
 fore, he determined to so conduct himself before the Spouters as to 
 create the hope that the time would come when he would solicit the 
 hand of her who long had been willing to bestow it upon somebody. 
 But he was careful to keep his own advances and his meetings of ad- 
 vances without the pale of such contingencies as he had learned were 
 accustomed in the South to follow breaches of marriage contracts. 
 If there was anything that Mr. Slack was afraid of, it was a cane, or 
 perhaps a cowhide. He maintained his place at the table, therefore, 
 and took what it afforded in the manner of a man who was very near to 
 being one of the family. He chatted in a very familiar manner with Mrs. 
 Spouter, and sympathised with her and Mr. Spouter's complaints of 
 the high price of everything except board. He lounged in the parlor, 
 where he told to Miss Angeline touching stories of his boyhood's home. 
 He bestowed due admiration upon those curls which, every time he 
 saw them, reminded him of a portrait of his mother (now a saint in 
 heaven), taken when she was a girl eighteen years old. Then he spoke 
 feelingly of how he had been a wanderer, and how he began to think 
 it was time he had settled himself for good ; how he had never felt 
 exactly ready for that until since he had come to Dukesborough ; and 
 
 how — and how — and how embarrassment would prevent him 
 
 from saying more. But whenever he got to this point, and Miss Ange- 
 line's heart would be about to burst, and she would be getting ready 
 to cast herself upon his faithful bosom, he would change abruptly, 
 become frightened, and go away and stay away for a week. 
 
 At their first meeting at the breakfast table after such scenes, Miss 
 Spouter would appear quite conscious, hold herself yet straighter, and 
 endeavor to show that she had spirit. But before she had carried it 
 far, she would conclude to stop where she was, go back and begin 
 again. 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. ADIEL' SLACK. 109 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 But while these things were going on among the Spouters, what 
 had become of the Peas ? Whoever supposes that Miss Georgiana 
 was buried in the country dead or alive, is simply mistaken. When 
 she heard that there was a new store in town she wanted to see it ; 
 and when Uncle Ben heard that it was kept by a bachelor, he was 
 determined that he should see his daughter ; for as he grew older, his 
 anxiety became more intense for Georgiana to find somebody, as he 
 expressed it, "to take keer of her when my head gits cold." He 
 begged her several times to go before she was ready. 
 " Georgy, put on your yaller calliker, and go long." 
 " Pap, do wait till I get ready. I do believe you will go distracted." 
 Georgiana waited until she got ready, and when she did get ready 
 she went. Her plan was to go and spend the night with Miss 
 Spouter, and in company with her visit the new store the next morning. 
 Some persons believe in presentiments, and some do not. I hardly 
 know what to think of such things, and have never yet made up my 
 mind whether they are reliable or not. Sometimes they seem to fore- 
 shadow coming events, and sometimes they are clearly at fault. I have 
 occasionally had dreams, and subsequent events were in such exact 
 sequence with them that I have been inclined to accord to them much 
 of the importance that by some persons it is maintained they have. 
 Then again, the dreams I have had (for I have always been a dreamer) 
 have been so entirely unreasonable, nay, absurd, and even ridiculous, 
 as to be impossible of fulfilment. For instance, I have more than once 
 dreamed that I was a woman ; and I have since been much amused by 
 the recollection of some of the strange things that I did and said while 
 in that estate. I do not consider this an opportune place to mention 
 them, even if they were worthy of mention on any occasion, and I 
 allude to them for the purpose of saying that after such dreams I have 
 been disposed to reject the whole of the theory of dreams. 
 
 But all this is neither here nor there. The divergence from my 
 story, though natural, cannot with propriety be farther extended ; and 
 I will return at once to my two heroines, in whose deportment will be 
 found the reason why such divergence was made. 
 
 No sooner had Miss Spouter determined fully in her mind that she 
 would catch Mr. Slack if she could, than she was conscious of a 
 
no DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 wavering in her friendship for Miss Pea ; for she felt that that person 
 was destined to be the greatest, if not the only barrier between her 
 and the object of her pursuit. She, Miss Spouter, had seen him first, 
 she thought. She had, as it were, found him, and when George was 
 not even looking for any such property. George did not have even a 
 shadow of the remotest claim to him. It was wrong and unkind in 
 George to interfere. She, Miss Spouter, wouldn't have treated her so. 
 Now all this was before Miss Pea had ever laid eyes on Mr. Slack, 
 and Miss Spouter knew it. That made no difference, she said to 
 herself. If anything, it made it worse. She was hurt, and she could 
 not help it. 
 
 Miss Pea might have had a presentiment of this state of things, and 
 she might not. But at all events, when she went upon her visit she 
 carried a bucket of butter as a present to Mrs. Spouter. It was just 
 before supper-time, and consequently too late for her to return that 
 evening. If it had not been, as she afterwards declared upon her 
 word and honor, she would have done so. The Spouters were as cold 
 as ice. Not even the bucket of butter could warm Mrs. Spouter a 
 single degree. Strange conduct for her ! Miss Angeline at first 
 thought that she would not go in to the supper table. But then that 
 would be too plain, and upon reflection she thought she preferred to 
 be there. 
 
 Miss Pea and Mr. Slack, of course, had to be introduced. He 
 found her disposed to be chatty. Miss Spouter looked very grave, 
 and raised her pocket handkerchief to her mouth as an occasional 
 provincialism fell from the lips of her country visilress, while her dear 
 mother, taking the cue, would glance slyly at Mr. Slack and snicker. 
 
 "This is oncommon good butler, Mrs. Spouter," he remarked to the 
 lady' of the house; and oh, the quantities of butter that man did con- 
 sume ! 
 
 Now, it was from Miss Pea's bucket ; they did not like to confess it, 
 but they had it to do. 
 
 " Want' know ! Wal, Miss Pea's mother must be a noble house- 
 keeper." 
 
 Mrs. Pea had been dead several years. 
 
 " Dew tell ! You, then t " 
 
 Miss Georgiana would have told a lie if she had not acknowledged 
 that it was. 
 
 Mr. Slack bestowed a look of intense admiration upon her, which 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. ADIEL SLACK. m 
 
 made Miss Spouter become quite grave, and her mother somewhat 
 angry. 
 
 After supper the gentleman follov/ed the ladies into the parlor. 
 Miss Spouter was pensive, and complained of headache. Miss Pea 
 did not believe she had it, and therefore she spoke freely of her 
 father's plantation, of what he was to her and she to him, and of how 
 he was always urging her to get married, a thing which she had made 
 up her mind never to do. When they retired for the night, Miss 
 Spouter being no better, but rather worse, they did what they had never 
 done in their lives before, whenever there had been an opportunity of 
 doing differently — they slept apart. This was capping the climax, and 
 Miss Pea went home the next morning, asking herself many times on 
 the way if friendship was anything but a name. 
 
 It seemed to be a sad thing that these young ladies should part. 
 Hand in hand they had traveled the broad road of life, and never 
 jostled each other when men were plentiful. But these animals had 
 broken from them like so many Vv'ild cattle, some dodging and darting 
 between them, some takii)g to by-paths, and some wildly leaping over 
 precipices, until now they were drawing nigh to the road of young 
 womanhood, and there was but one left for them both. If they could 
 have divided him it might have been well ; but he was indivisible. 
 The fact is, Mr. Slack ought never to have come there, or he ought to 
 have brought his twin-brother with him. 
 
 *' Wal, Where's your friend ? " he inquired at breakfast. 
 
 " She's gone to look after what she calls her father's plantation, I 
 reckon," answered Mrs. Spouter, sharply. 
 
 " Be n't her father got no plantation, then ? " 
 
 " He's got a little bit of two hundred acres of tolerble poor land. 
 That's all the plantation he's got." 
 
 " Oh, Ma ! " interceded Miss Angeline, " Georgiana is a very good 
 girl." 
 
 " She may be good, but if you call her a girl I don't know what you 
 would call them that's fifteen or twenty years younger ; and if she is 
 young that wouldn't make her daddy rich." 
 
 " Oh, no ! But, oh. Ma ! " Miss Spouter persisted in a general way, 
 for she seemed to think that this was all that could be said in her 
 favor. Upon reflection she asked Mr. Slack if he did not think Miss 
 Pea had a good figger. Then she took a very small sip of water, wiped 
 her mouth carefully and coughed slightly. 
 
112 DUKESBOROUCH TALES. 
 
 " Wal, I — ah," began Mr. Slack, but Ma laughed so immoderately 
 that he laughed too, and did not finish giving his opinion in words. 
 Alas, for Miss Pea ! Big as she was, she was cut all to pieces and 
 salted away by Mrs. Spouter, while Miss Angeline could only look a 
 little reproachfully now and then, and say " Oh, Ma ! " 
 
 " Two hundred acres," mused Mr. Slack on his bed that night. " In 
 Maas'chewsetts that is a considerable farm ; other property in propor- 
 tion. What would it bring in ready money if the old man (I cal'late 
 he's old) should take a notion tew give it up neowl Already some 
 money. He brought me a watermelon this morning, and asked me to 
 go out and see them all. I'm a going. Quick work, Adiel, quick 
 work." 
 
 Mr. Slack was a hard man to catch ; it had been tried before and 
 had failed. Nevertheless, Mrs. Spouter and Miss Spouter, about six 
 weeks later, actually caught him in the act of coming away from Mr. 
 Pea's. What made it worse, he had a bunch of pinks in his hand. 
 The next time Miss Spouter met Miss Pea she did not speak to her. 
 She only shook her curls and said to herself in words which were 
 audible, " Such is life !" Georgiana folded her hands over her bosom 
 and asked, if friendship was anything but a name, what was it ? 
 
 But the man maintained his place at the table, to which he marched 
 with unusual confidence and good humor at the first meal after his 
 detection ; what is more, the little plates maintained their places. In 
 spite of all his goings to the Peas and his returning with bunches of 
 pinks in his hands, his deportment in any other respect had not, at 
 least for the worst, changed. Indeed, he looked oftener and more 
 fondly at the curls. Yes, thought Miss Spouter, he may marry her, 
 but the image of Angeline Spouter is in his breast, and it will stay 
 there forever. But for her entreaties her Ma would have removed the 
 little plates and sent him back to the other end of the table, where he 
 came from. 
 
 " I'm jest the woman to do it," she said. " That long-legged Yankee 
 has eat more than his worth in butter alone. The house'll break or 
 be eat up, it makes no difference which, and nary cent of money has 
 he paid yit. Settle hisself, indeed ! He'll never settle his nasty self 
 except whar thar's money, or everlastin butter, and he not to pay for 
 it neither. And I'll move them plates to-morrow mornin. If I don't 
 you may — " 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. A DIET SLACK. 113 
 
 " Oh, Ma ! he don't love her, I know he don't. Let them stay a 
 while longer." 
 
 And the next morning the little plates would come in, take their 
 places and look as cheerful as if nothing had happened. 
 
 Mr. Slack did a cash business. Time rolled on ; the faster it rolled 
 the cheaper he sold. His stock dwindled, and everybody asked why 
 it was not being replenished. It began to be rumored that he was 
 going to buy a plantation and settle himself. The rumor was traced 
 to Uncle Ben Pea. Miss Georgiana was asked about it and became 
 confused. 
 
 " She jest as well a give it up," said Mr. Bill Williams, at Mr. 
 Spouter's table. Mr. Bill was gradually edging up towards " quality 
 eend," as he termed the head. "In fac, she did give it up fariy. I 
 axed her a plain question ; she couldn't say nothin, and she didn't. 
 She merrily hung her head upon her bres, and she seemed monsous 
 comfortubble. She ar evidently scogitatin on the blessed joys of a 
 futur state." 
 
 The next morning the little plates were absent, and Mr. Slack, 
 without seeming to notice thai Mr. Bill Williams had usurped his 
 place, took his seat by Mr.Spouter and talked with him in the manner 
 of a man who had been on a journey "of some weeks and had now 
 returned. That gentleman did not seem to be at all congratulatory on 
 the occasion, but immediately after breakf^ist brought within view of 
 his guest an account for three months' board. The latter looked over 
 it carefully, remarked that he thought it was correct, begged that it 
 might be considered as cash, and walked away. This was an eventful 
 day to Mr. Slack, for besides the aforementioned incident, he sold out 
 the remainder of his stock to Messrs. Bland & Jones, went without his 
 dinner, borrowed a gig from the Justice of the -Peace, took him along 
 with him to Mr. Pea's, where, at three o'clock P. M. he was married to 
 Miss Georgiana. 
 
 " Wretched creature ! " exclaimed Angelina, the forsaken, when her 
 mother informed her of the news at night. At first she thought she 
 would faint ; but she did not. She retired to her room, undressed, 
 looked at her curls in the glass even longer than was her wont, put 
 them away tenderly, got into bed, apostrophised property and the other 
 sordid things of this world, and went to sleep with this thought upon 
 her mind : " Georgiana Pea may be by his side ; but the image of 
 Angelina Spouter is in his breast, and it will stay there forever." 
 IS 
 
114 DUKESBOROUCII TALES. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "Are we not one? are we not joined Ijy Heaven?" 
 
 Fair Pknitent. 
 
 Georgiana was married, and her father was glad of it. It was 
 what he had wanted long to see. The danger of going distracted 
 was over. He was happy ; indeed, jubilant. For the truth is, he had 
 made the match. He and Mr. Slack had persuaded and begged, and 
 made such fair promises, that she had been won rather against her 
 judgment. Uncle Ben at one time would have preferred a Southern 
 man ; but all of that class had shown svich a want of sense to appreciate 
 his Georg)' that he persuaded himself that she had made a narrow escape 
 in not marrying one of them. Then Mr. Slack had come from such 
 an immense distance, and knew so much, and talked so much, that 
 Uncle Ben, as he admitted, was actuall}' proud of him. He maintained 
 upon the day of the marriage that Mas-sa-chn-sctts was the biggest 
 word in the English language. But Georgiana, who was as honest and 
 as truthful a woman as was in the world, insisted that her " Pap " went 
 too far, or rather that he did not go far enough, and that Coh-stan-ti-no-ple 
 was a bigger. Uncle Ben didn't like to have to give it up ; but when he 
 found out from Mr. Slack that the place bearing that name was not in 
 this country, and not even in America, he and Mr. Slack together got 
 Georgy so badly, and wound her up so completely that — oh, how they 
 all did laugh and go on ! The truth is that Uncle Ben was rapidly 
 lapsing into a state where he could scarcely be considered faithful to 
 his native section. 
 
 Yet in spite of all this, his son-in-law had some ways of doing and 
 talking that he did not quite understand ; but he trusted that they 
 would wear off Georgy now had a husband to take care of her when 
 his head got cold ; by which he meant to signify the time when he 
 should be a dead man. She did not seem to be perfectly happy, but, 
 on the contrary, somewhat ill at ease. But then she wasn't any young 
 thing to let getting married run her raving distracted. He liked Mr. 
 Slack upon the whole ; he suited him well enough, and that is what 
 parents generally care most for. He was a business man, that's what 
 he was. He talked upon business even on the afternoon of his mar- 
 riage, and renewed the subject after supper and the next morning. 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. A DIET SLACK. 115 
 
 One would have thought, to hear him talk about business, that the 
 honeymoon had shone out and gone down long ago. It did not look 
 exactly right ; but now that Mr. Slack was a married man, he was for 
 making something, li /le owned the farm, he should do this thing and that 
 thing ; sell this piece of property and convert it into cash ; in short, he 
 should sell out the whole concern and go where land was cheaper and 
 better. If it were left to him, he should turn it over so that in twelve 
 months it should be worth at least twice as much as it was now. It was 
 very clear to Uncle Ben that his son-in-law was a business man. Still 
 he did not make out the title-deeds. Notwithstanding his hints to that 
 effect heretofore, he had never entertained the slightest notion of such 
 a thing. When Mr. Slack persisted in saying w'hat he should do if he 
 were the owner, the old gentleman took occasion to say, but in a some- 
 what jocose way, that he and Georgy would have to wait for that until 
 his head got cold ; which, he said by way of consoling for the disap- 
 pointment, wouldn't be much longer. Mr. Slack seemed to be some- 
 what hurt, but he merely remarked that he had a plenty to live on, and 
 that all he wanted with property was for Georgiana to enjoy it. He 
 had money enough to buy a tract of land adjoining Mr. Pea's, and two 
 or three " fellows. " If Georgiana had a good house-woman it would save 
 her from a good deal of work which now, since she was his wife, he 
 would rather she didn't have to do ; but — ah — he supposed he should 
 have to wait for that. 
 
 Yes, but he needn't do any such thing, Mr. Pea stoutly maintained. 
 Those being Mr. Slack's intentions, the 'oman should be bought. The 
 money was there in that side-board drawer whenever they found one 
 to suit them. He should buy the 'oman himself. The son-in-law's 
 countenance brightened a little. He might have to go to Augusta in 
 a few days ; the likeliest gangs were there generally ; and it might suit 
 just as well to take the money along with him and buy the woman 
 there. Georgiana didn't say anything ; but, La me ! what did she know 
 about business ? 
 
 Mr. Slack sent into the village every day for the mail, for Dukes- 
 borough being immediately on the great line of travel, had its daily 
 mail. He had been married just two days, when one morning a letter 
 was brought to him which made him turn a little pale. Upon his 
 father-in-law's inquiry from whence it came, he answered after a 
 moment's hesitation that it was from a man who owed him some 
 mone}', and who had written to say that if he would meet him the next 
 
Il6 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 day in Augusta, he would pay him a hundred dollars and renew the 
 note. A hundred dollars, indeed ! The rascal had promised to pay 
 half the note, and now as he was about settling himself he was- to be 
 put off with a hundred dollars ! He had a good mind not to go, and 
 would not but for the importance of having the note renewed. But 
 could he get there in time ? How was that, Mr. Pea ? Why, it was 
 easy enough ; the stage would pass in a couple of hours, and as it 
 travelled all night, he could reach Augusta by nine o'clock the next 
 morning. Mr. Slack hesitated. He was loth to go so soon after being 
 married ; but as he had expected to go in a' few days anyhow, he 
 guessed he had as well go on at once, especially as negroes seemed 
 to be rising in price, and it was im.portant to get the woman as soon as 
 possible. Certainly ; business was business, if people were married. 
 Mr. Slack ought to go at once ;• he should, if it was him. 
 
 Uncle Ben took out the money, and Georgiana ordered lunch. Mr. 
 Slack had so often complained of the old gentleman's time-piece that 
 the latter, upon his entreaties to be allowed to take it with him for 
 repairs (at no expense to the owner, of course), consented. The man 
 of business then went to packing his trunk and satchel. Although he 
 was to stay but three days at furthest, yet, not knowing but that he 
 might need them, he packed. in all his clothes, looking about all over 
 the house to be sure that he had not mislaid anything. 
 
 It was a nice lunch. It ought to have been, for it took a long time 
 in getting ready. Mr. Slack was not sure that he was going to get his 
 supper, and he therefore determined to put away enough to last him to 
 the end of his journey. He had barely finished Avhen the servant, who 
 had been stationed to watch for the stage, announced that it was 
 coming. He bade bo.th an affectionate adieu, looked into the stage to 
 see if there was any person in it whom he knew, didn't seem to be 
 disappointed that there was not, hopped in, and off he went. 
 
 Far from pining on account of the absence of her mate, Georgiana, 
 sensible woman that she was, went about her work as cheerfully as if 
 nothing had happened. She had been so taken up with Mr. Slack that 
 several small domestic matters needed to be put to rights again, and 
 she seemed to be even glad of the opportunity to look after them. 
 She actually sang at her work ; she was a good singer, too. The 
 Peas always had been : I knew the family well. Georgiana wasn't 
 going to fret herself to death ; so she resumed her old tasks and 
 habits, moved things back to their old places, and in every respect 
 did as if she had forgotten that she had ever been married. 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. ADIEL SLACK. 117 
 
 Uncle Ben was glad to see her in such gay spirits. He knew what 
 it was all for, and he laughed inwardly and became gay himself. It 
 was that nigger 'oman. The old man counted the days and nights. 
 As much as he wanted to see Mr. Slack, he wanted yet more to see 
 his watch ; without it he felt like a man without a newly-amputated 
 leg ; but he would not allow it to trouble him very much. He 
 talked a great deal, especially at meal times, about his Georg}''s pros- 
 pects, joked her about many things, talked of the prospects again, and 
 what he and Mr. Slack were going to do to make her the happiest 
 woman in the world. Geoigiana never suggested any change of 
 their plans, and looked as if she intended to be but clay in their 
 hands. 
 
 Three days passed. Mr. Slack's very longest time was out. The 
 stage hove in view ; Mr. Pea was at his gate • his hat was in his hand. 
 
 "Good mornin. Uncle Ben," said the driver, and was passing on. 
 
 " Hello ! hello, Thompson ! " shouted the old man. Thompson drew 
 up. 
 
 " Haint vou got Mr. Slack aboard?" 
 
 "No, Sir!" 
 
 " Haint vou got a nigger 'oman .' " 
 
 "No, Sir." 
 
 " Whar's Mr. Slack ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Haint you seed him ? '' 
 
 "No, Sir." 
 
 " Haint vou heern of him ? " 
 
 "No, Sir." 
 
 "Why, what upon yearth does it mean.'" 
 
 " Mr. Slack didn't go to nary tavern, but got off at a privit 'ouse way 
 up town. I haint seed him nor heern from him sence. Was he to get 
 back to-night ? " 
 
 "Why, yes, certain and shore, without fail." 
 
 "Well, he aint here, certin. Good evenin." 
 
 " He haint come, Georg}-," said Uncle Ben as he went into the 
 house. ' 
 
 "Hasn't he?" 
 
 "Why, no, he haint." 
 
 "Well, we must try and wait till he does come." 
 
 Uncle B m was too much occupied with his own disappointment to 
 
ii8 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 observe the equanimity with which Georo;y bore hers. It was now 
 bed-time ; the daughter went to her room : the father sat up at least 
 half an hour longer than usual. He was disappointed, certain and 
 sure. \Mien people told people they were coming at a certain time, 
 people wanted 'em to come ; especially when they had people's watches. 
 Oh, how he had missed it ! If he had missed it by day, he had missed 
 it as much by night. It used to hang by a nail over his bed, and he 
 longed for the gentle lullaby of its tickings. He had to go to bed, of 
 course, but he lay awake another half hour. A dreadful thought came : 
 What if Mr. Slack, after all, was an imposterer ! Oh, he couldn't 
 bear it ! So he turned over and went to sleep ; but it w'ouldn't stay 
 behind, it crawled over and came close to him in his sleep, and he 
 dreamed that he was the owner of a jeweller's shop, and that while he 
 had no power to move, thieves wei-e breaking through and stealing. 
 
 The next morning, immediately after breakfast. Uncle Ben stood at 
 his gate. He had a notion that Mr. Slack was coming in a private 
 convevance. Sure enough, yonder came a gig with a man in it, and a 
 horse behind with something on the horse. Uncle Ben's eyes were 
 dim, and he couldn't make it "out ; but he hoped and believed that it was 
 a nigger 'oman. Vain hope and vain belief! The gig carried Mr. 
 Triplet, the sheriff, and the horse bore Mr. Bucket, a joung lawyer 
 from tow^n. Uncle Ben had no business with them ; so he bade 
 them a good-morning as they came up, and again turned his eyes 
 up the road. But the gentlemen stopped and inquired if Mr. Slack 
 was at home. No, but Mr. Pea looked for him every instant. He 
 had been gone to Augusty three days, and was to a been back last 
 night, but he didn't. 
 
 "Mr. Triplet looked upon Mr. Bucket and smiled. We must observe 
 that a new election had come on, and Mr. Triplet had beaten Mr. 
 Sanks. Mr. Bucket looked upon Mr. Triplet, but did not smile. 
 
 "You must follow him." 
 
 "Them must some foUer him that kin run faster than I kin," 
 answered Mr. Triplet. 
 
 " Poller who ? " asked Mr. Bea. 
 
 " Mr. Slack." 
 
 "Why, he'll be here to-night. Or I'll be bound he's in a prnate 
 conveyance, and'U be here this mornin. In cose he's comin back, 
 becase he's got four hundred dollars of my money to buy a nigger 
 oman with, and my watch besides. /;/ cose he's coming back." 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. ADIEL SLACK. 119 
 
 Mr. Triplet looked upon Mr. Pea and smiled compassionatel}-. Mr. 
 Pea looked upon Mr. Triplet and frowned threateningly. 
 
 " What's the matter, Jim Triplet ? " 
 
 "The matter ar, that you won't see 3^our four hundred dollars agin, 
 nor your watch, nor the gentleman what carried 'em off." 
 
 " Why, what upon yearth is you talkin about 1 " 
 
 " I ar talkin about the business of my office ; which ar to arress Mr, 
 Adiel Slack, or Mr. Elishay Lovejoy, or Mr. Ephraim Hamlin, or 
 what mout be the name of the gentleman that carried off j^our four 
 hundred dollars and your watch." 
 
 " Don't _ kick before you're spurred. Triplet ; becase nobody aint 
 accused him of takin the money and watch — leastways of stealin it. 
 Mr. Slack is a honest man and my son-in-law ; and I tell you he'll be 
 back to-night, and I look for him every minnit of the day." 
 
 " So much the better for us if he do come. I has not come to arress 
 him for taking of the money and the watch, which is misdemeanors 
 that I didn't know tell now. But he is charge of obtainin credit by 
 false pretensions, of stealin divers money, of tradin with niggers, and 
 finually, with marryan three wimming, and not waitin for naiy one of 
 'em to die fust." 
 
 " Oh, Lordy ! " exclaimed Mr. Pea. He then approached the sheriff, 
 and in a tone which invited candor and conlidence, and even hinted 
 at gratitude, said, " Jeems Triplet, I voted for you : you know I did ; 
 I always has. Ar what you say a fac .? " 
 
 " I know you did. Uncle Ben, and I tell you the plain truth — it ar a 
 fac. Thay aint no doubt about it. Mr. Pucket here can tell you all 
 about it." 
 
 Mr. Pea, without waiting to hear further, turned and got into the 
 house as fast as he could. He went into a shed-room with uncommon 
 desperation for a man of his years, and raised ^is hands in order to 
 take down a shot-gun from two forks on which it used to hang. The 
 forks wer^ there, but the gun was gone. He looked at the forks with 
 the most resentful astonishment, and with a voice towering with passion 
 asked them what in the name of thunder had become of his gun ? Not 
 receiving any answer, he put the same interrogatory to the corner 
 behind the door, to the space under the bed, and even to two small 
 glass drawers, after opening and shutting them with great violence. 
 He then ran back to the front door and questioned the whole universe 
 on the subject. 
 
no DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 " Robbed ! robbed ! ! " roared the old man. " Gen-tul-men, ef I 
 aint robbed — " Mr. Pea had not "cussed " before (as he afterwards 
 declared upon his word and honor) "in twenty year." 
 
 "Georgy! Where's Georg)^?" It just now occurred to him that it 
 was possible Georgy might not like the state of things herself. 
 
 Georgiana had been at the dairy, superintending her butter. She 
 had seen the men as they came, had gone into the house as quietly as 
 she could, and was peeping and listening through the window of her 
 own room. 
 
 " Pap," she said, not loudly, but earnestly, " do come here, if you 
 please." 
 
 He went into her room. 
 
 " I reckon now you're satisfied. He's got what he came here for ; 
 he's stole from you, and he's stole from me ; I haint got a pocket- 
 handkerchief to my name. But do, for goodness' sake, go and send 
 them men away." 
 
 " Oh, Lordy ! " reiterated Mr. Pea, retiring. " Gen-tul-men, it's no 
 use : we are cotcht ; Georg}' and me has both been cotcht — I acknow- 
 ledge the corn ; and what is worser, it seem that I am the cause of it 
 all. He have took my money ; he have took my watch ; he have took 
 my gun ; he have took my rumberiller ; and da-ing his low-life skin, he 
 have even took Georgy's pocket-handkerchers. It seem like he jest 
 picked me and Georgy out for all his rascalities. And to think that I 
 should be xused of it all. I did want her to marry. It look like a 
 pity for her not to git married. And now she is married, and what 
 have she married 1 A nasty, dad-blasted, thievious Yankee ; and aint 
 even married at that ! She is married, and she aint married ; and 
 she's a orphlin ; and she's a widder ; and nobody can't tell w^iat she 
 ar and what she aint ; and I don't understand it ; and Georg}''s name 
 will go doiuji to ptBterity, and the Peas wont be nobody any more ; 
 and — oh, Lordy ! " 
 
 " Pap, do for goodness gracious' sake hush and come in the house ! " 
 said Georgiana, advancing to the front door. " The Lord knows, I'm 
 glad I aint married ; and if them other women don't grieve after him 
 any more than /grieve after him, they've done forgot him, that's all. 
 Pap, do come in the house." 
 
 Mr. Pea subsided, and the men rode away. Mr. Pucket begged 
 Mr. Triplet to hasten ; but the latter, who was too old to be running 
 for nothing, declared in round terms that he'd be dinged ef he did. 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. ADIEL SLACK. 12 1 
 
 "I wouldn't a made myself ridicerlous, Pap, before company, if I'd 
 a been in your place. That was pretty talk to have before men, and I 
 in the house hearin every word." 
 
 Mr. Pea, hearing himself accused of a new crime, couldn't stand it. 
 
 " I do believe that if old Saton was to come, it would be me 
 that fotch him ; or leastways sent for him ; and I'd leave he had a 
 come as that d-adblasted Yankee. Yes, it's me : in cose it's me. Any- 
 thing wrong, I done it ; oh yes, in cose : certing. Whar's my hat ? " 
 And the good man sallied forth to his field, where he remained until 
 dinner-time. There were so many contending emotions in his breast 
 that he ate in silence. Georgiana had a good appetite ; she ate away 
 with a gusto and eyed her father amusedly. 
 
 " Pap, if I'll tell you something will you swear you'll keep it.'" 
 
 Uncle Ben laid down his knife and fork and gazed at her in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 "Wipe your mouth. Pap, and tell me if you'll swear." 
 
 " What is it ? " he demanded authoritatively. 
 
 "Will you swear, I asked you.'"' 
 
 "That's a mighty pooty question for a child to ask its parrent." 
 
 "Oh, very well." And she helped herself again from her favorite 
 dish. "Won't you have some more, Pap ?" 
 
 " Georgy, what does you mean ? " 
 
 "Will you swear?" 
 
 " No, I won't. " 
 
 "Oh, very well then." And she peppered and salted. 
 
 " Well, I never 'spected to come to this while my head was hot. My 
 own child: that I've raised: and raised respectable: to be settin^thar, 
 at my own table : a axin her own parrent to swar : jest the same as ef 
 I was gwine into a Free Mason's lodge : which she knows I don't hold 
 with no sich." 
 
 " Pap, I've heard you often talking against the Free Masons. I never 
 thought they were so mighty bad. What do they do that is so awful 
 bad ? " 
 
 "You don't, do you ? No, I suppose you don't ; in cose you don't : 
 takin arter them as you do : in cose you don't. I sposen you'll be a 
 jinin 'em yourself befo long. For they tells me they takes in wimming 
 too ; and swars thefn ; and they rips and rears round jest like the men, 
 and car's on ginnilly. Oh no : in cose you don't : takin arter 'em as 
 you do." 
 16 
 
122 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 " I don't know what I might do after what I've done already. But 
 how do I take after 'em ? " 
 
 " In havin o' secrets that's a sin to keep ; and in trying to make 
 people swar that they won't tell 'em ; and not even to their own par- 
 rents. That's how you are takin arter 'em." 
 
 ."Oh, yes, I see now," she said, appearing to muse. "Still, this is 
 something that I couldn't tell without your swearing not to mention to 
 a blessed soul. It's worth swearin for. Pap." 
 
 The old man was silent for a moment. 
 
 " Arlit anything concernin that mean runaway Yankee ? " 
 
 " If it is, will you swear ? " 
 
 "Yes, I WILL, and cuss too, if you want me. I've been a cussin to 
 myself all day anyhow." 
 
 " You've cursed to other people besides yourself: but I only want 
 you to swear." 
 
 She brought the family Bible. 
 
 "La, Georgy ! is you in yearnest, sure enough? Why, what do you 
 mean? You aint no Jestice." 
 
 It made no difference ; she made him place his hand on the book 
 and swear that he would never reveal what she was going to tell him 
 without her consent. Uncle Ben was very solemn while the oath was 
 being administered. It required several minutes to impart the secret. 
 When it was over the old man's joy was boundless. He jumped up and 
 ran into his own room, where he cut up more capers than any one 
 could have believed that he could cut up ; he ran back again, made 
 Georgiana rise from the table, hugged her, and made her sit down 
 again ; he rushed to the front door and huzzaed to the outer world ; 
 he rushed back again and hugged Georgy as she sat. Then he took 
 his seat again and looked upon her with ineffable admiration. Sud- 
 denly he grew serious. 
 
 " Oh, Georgy, now if I only had — " 
 
 Before he could speak further she had taken something from her 
 bosom, and handed it to him. He seized it with both hands, gazed 
 at it, held it at arm's length and gazed at it, opened and looked into 
 it, shut it up again, held it for a moment to his ear, patted it gently, 
 laid it on the table, then lifted up his voice and wept. 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. A DIET SLACK. 123 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I grant I am a woman. 
 
 Julius C^sar. 
 
 When the news of Mr. Slack's escapade reached Dukesborough, 
 there was running to and fro. Business was suspended. Some asked 
 if the like had ever been heard of; others asked everj-body if they 
 hadn't told him so. J. Spouter was among the former, and Mr. Bill 
 Williams among the latter. He got leave of absence from the store, 
 in order to roam up and down all the forenoon for the purpose of 
 proving that he had prophesied what had taken place, or its equivalent. 
 He was delighted : my observation is that almost everybody is, by the 
 verification of a prophecy which he has made, or which he thinks he 
 has made. Miss Spouter tried to laugh, but she didn't make much out 
 of it. Mrs. Spouter didn't laugh at all. How could she when she 
 remembered the plates of butter that had been consumed, not only 
 without thanks but without pay ? She did all the talking in the domestic 
 circle. Mr. Spouter seemed inclined to be taciturn. . He merely 
 remarked that he had never been so outed in his born days, and then 
 shut up. But then Mr. Spouter never had much to say when Mrs. 
 Spouter had the floor ; if, however, he had had the floor now, there 
 was nothing for him to say. He had not sued his debtor, but for 
 reasons other than the being a merciful creditor. He was not used to 
 such things. Indeed, the very word suit was, and had long been, 
 disagreeable to his ear ; so much so that he had never gone into 
 court of his own accord. It was one of his boasts, in comparing 
 himself with some others, that he had never been plaintiff in an action, 
 and never expected to be. He always discouraged people from going 
 to law, maintaining that people never got much by going there : a 
 remark that was true when confined in its application to those who 
 had gone there carrying him with them. Yet, Mr. Spouter seldom 
 lost a bill. It was always a wonder to me how rapidly persons in his 
 condition could collect their bills. But this time Mr. Spouter, as he 
 said, was "outed." As he didn't relish Mr. Bill Williams' jokes ; and 
 as Mrs. Spouter didn't, and at last as Miss Spouter didn't, Mr. B. 
 W. had to suspend. 
 
 Poor Mr. Pucket ! his mind had been set upon a fee ; but as no one 
 
124 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 could be found who could run faster than Mr. Triplet, and as the 
 fugitive had three days' start, there was no pursuit. None but a brief- 
 less lawyer can imagine how badly Mr. Pucket felt. 
 
 " And' so she isfl't married after all ! " said Miss Spouter to herself,* 
 when she was alone in her chamber that night. " Not married after 
 all ; no more than I am. Yes, I suppose more than I am ; because 
 she thought she was married, and I knew I wasn't. That makes some 
 difference ; and then — and then — " But it was too wonderful for 
 Miss Spouter : she couldn't make it out. So she only said, " Oh, I 
 wonder how she feels ! " 
 
 Now, there was but one way to get the desired information, and 
 that was to see her and hear it from her own mouth. To most persons 
 that way would seem to be barred, because the last time the two ladies 
 met, Miss Spouter had refused to speak. But it did not seem so to 
 her ; she would herself remove all obstacles. She would forgive 
 George ! Yes, that she would. Wasn't it noble to forgive ? Didn't 
 the Bible teach us to forgive ? Yes, she would forgive. What a glory 
 overspread the heart of the injured when, in that tender moment, she 
 found she could forgive. She wished now that she had gone to 
 Georgiana to-day ; she would go to-morrow. Malice should never 
 have an abiding place in that heart. It might have it in other people's 
 hearts, but it should never have it in that one. Never, no never, 
 while memory remains. She laid herself calmly and sweetly upon her 
 bed, and was forcibly reminded, as she thought of herself and her 
 conduct, of the beauty and the serenity of a summer's evening. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "In that same place thou hast appointed me, 
 To-morrow truly will I meet with thee." 
 
 Midsummer-Night's Dream. 
 
 Mr. Pea writhed and chafed under his oath. He begged his Georgy 
 to let him tell somebody. He swore another oath — that he should 
 die if he didn't. He did tell it there in the house several times to 
 imaginary auditors, after looking out of the doors and windows to see 
 if no real ones were near. Even when he was out of doors, he went 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. ADIEL SLACK. 125 
 
 all about whispering excitedly to himself, occasionally laughing most 
 tumultuously. Georgiana became uneasy. 
 
 " Pap, are you going to run distracted again ? " 
 
 "Georgy, ef I don't believe I am, I'll — you may kill me !" 
 
 Georgiana had to yield. She wished to see Mr. Spouter upon a 
 little matter of business connected with Mr. Slack, and she concluded 
 to consent for him to be sent for and her father to inform him of what 
 she saw he must inevitably tell somebody. The old man was extremely 
 thankful, but he wanted to make a request. 
 
 " Georgy, you must let me send for Triplet. I've got a good joke on 
 Triplet : a powerful joke on him. And he's a officer, Georgy, too," he 
 added, seriously. "Things like them, when they ar told, ought to be 
 told befo a officer, Georgy. Triplet is a officer. This case, an a leetle 
 more, an it would a got into cote ; an as Triplet ar a officer, he ought to 
 be here, in cose." . 
 
 Georgiana consented on hearing this last argument. But she ex- 
 pressly enjoined upon her father, that at any period of his disclosures, 
 when she called upon him to stop, he would have to do it. He promised 
 to obey ; and the servant was sent into Dukesborough with the request 
 that Messrs. Spouter and Triplet should come out the next morning on 
 particular business. Georgiana knew fully what she, who was her 
 friend, but now, alas ! abandoned, was thinking about, and therefore she 
 was included in the summons. 
 
 Early the next morning the party arrived. Miss Spouter alighted in 
 great agitation, rushed through the front room into Georgiana's, who 
 was there waiting for what she knew was to happen, looked all around 
 as if she was expecting to find somebody besides Georgiana, fell upon 
 her in the old way, pronounced her pardon, and then demanded to be 
 told all about it. Oh, my ! Dreadful ! Did ever ! Vain and foolish 
 man ! How did Georgiana feel ? 
 
 Georgiana led her into her father's room, which also served for the 
 parlor. She was surprised and annoyed to find Mr. Pucket there with 
 the other gentlemen. Mr. Pucket had, somehow, gotten the wind of 
 it, and said to himself that he didn't know what might happen. He 
 had been told by an old lawyer that the only way for a young man to 
 succeed at the bar was to push himself forward. So he determined 
 to go, and he went. Uncle Ben was glad of it. He was going, for 
 the first time in his life, to make a speech ; and he wished as large an 
 audience as possible. No, no ; in cose there wern't no intrusion, and 
 no nothin of the sort, nor nothin else. 
 
126 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 Georgiana sat very near her father. 
 
 Then Uncle Ben opened his mouth, and began : — 
 
 " You see, gentul-men, it was all my fault, from the fust. After 
 Georg}' seed him she didn't think much of him. She said she didn't 
 keer about marryin nohow, and ef she did, she wanted it to be to a 
 Southering man. But I and him too, we overpersuaded her. He 
 seemed to think so much of me and her too ; and he had a store, and 
 'peared like a man well to do. And I did want to see my only daughter 
 settle herself. The feelin is nat'ral, as you know yourself, Mr. Spouter ; 
 all parrents that has daughters, has 'em : aint it so, Mr. Spouter?" 
 
 Mr. Spouter answered rather by his manner than in words. Miss 
 Spouter became confused, and didn't look at Mr. Bucket when he 
 coughed. Mr. Triplet had seen something of life in his time : still he 
 took a chew of tobacco. 
 
 " Go on, Bap," said Georgiana. 
 
 "Yes. Well, you see, gentulmen, sich it war — anyhow they got 
 married. Georg)' said when she gin her consent she gin it to keep me 
 from runnin distracted, as it did 'pear like I war. Howbeever, I ar 
 clean out o' that now. Circumances is altered powerful. Well, as I 
 said, anyhow they got married — that is, they didn't git married ; 
 because he were already married, and thay warn't no law for it, as you 
 know yourself, Mr. Bucket, thay warn't. But — ah — leastways they 
 went throo the — :ah — the motions, and the — ah — gittin out lisens, 
 and the — ah — rstannin up in the floor and jinin o' hands; and he 
 come here to live. Well, now, don't j'ou b'leeve that Georgy, she 
 spishuned him from the very fust day : for no sooner were he married 
 hardly, than he begun to sarch behind every nuke and corner about 
 here, and before night, bless your soul, he knowed more about whar 
 things was in this house than I did. Leastways, Georg)' says so, 
 and it's obleeged to be so ; for there's things, many of 'em in this 
 house, that I don't know whar they are." And Mr. Bea looked around 
 and above, taking as big a view as if he were surveying the whole 
 universe. 
 
 "Well, Georg)', she and he tuk a walk that fust evenin. Instid of 
 talkin along like tother folks that's jest got married, he went right 
 straight to talkin about settlin hisself, and put at her to begin right 
 away to git all she could out'n me ; which Georgy she didn't like no 
 sich, and nobody wouldn't a liked it that thought anything of herself. 
 You wouldn't, Angeline Spouter, you know you wouldn't, the very fust 
 day you was married." 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. ADIEL SLACK. 12 7 
 
 "Go on, Pap, please." 
 
 " Yes. Well, Georgy spishuned him again at supper, from the way he 
 looked at the spoons on the table ; which ef they had a been the 
 ginuine silver, they wouldn't a been in this house now, to my opinion ; 
 probly ; leastways, ef — " Uncle Ben smiled, and concluded to post- 
 pone the balance of this sentence. 
 
 " Well, you see, Georgy Ann, arter supper, she got sick, she did, and 
 she hilt on to her head powerful. In cose, bed-time, hit had to come 
 arter a while. When hit did come, she were wusser, and she give that 
 feller a candle to go long to bed. When Georgy goes to bed, she 
 goes on throo into the little jinin back room and she locked the door 
 arter her. I never knowed one word o' this untel arter he went off. 
 Well, arter he went to sleep, Georgy she heerd a mighty groanin. So 
 she ups, she does, an onlocks the door, and creeps in mighty sly. It 
 seem like he were dreamin and talkin in his sleep powerful. He called 
 names, sich as Jemimy, Susan Jane, Betsy Ann, and — what was all 
 them names, Georgy ? " 
 
 " It makes no difference, Pap ; go on." 
 
 " And a heap more of 'em. Georgy can tell you, cose she heard 
 'em over and ofting. Well, he seemed to be powerful shamed of all 
 of 'em, and he swore he wern't married, and them that said so was a 
 liar, and all sich. Well, sich carrin on made Georgy b'leeve that he 
 was a married man befo, and had two or three wives already, or probable 
 four or five. * And so Georgy seed righta^'ay that she wasn't no wife o' 
 his'n, and didn't have no intrust in no sich a d-evil. And she war 
 right. Triplet. Triplet, warn't she right ? " 
 
 " In cose," answered Mr. Triplet. » 
 
 "Do go on. Pap." 
 
 "Well, yes. Yit still she didn't let on. She kept up tolerble well 
 in the day-time, but when night come agin, Georgy she gits sick agin and 
 goes into the jinin little room agin. I never seed sich carrin on befo." 
 
 Uncle Ben had to stop and laugh a while. Georgy begged him to 
 go on. 
 
 " Well, she kep on hearin him a goin on, and you think she would 
 tell me the fust thing o' all this? Ef she had a told me — howbeever, 
 that aint neither here nor thar. Well, it seem he talked in his sleep 
 about other people besides wimming, about men and about money, and 
 declared on his soul that he never stole it, which goes to show Georgy 
 that he war a rogue, as well as a rascal about wimming. Yit in this 
 
128 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 time he begin to hint even around me about propert)^, and even insini- 
 vated that he would Uke to have the whole plantation and all that's on 
 it ! " Mr. Pea showed plainly by his manner, after making this last 
 remark, that no man had ever had an ambition more boundless than 
 the late MrT Slack. " But I mighty soon give him to understand that 
 he war barkin up the wrong tree ef he thought I was gwine to give 
 up this plantation and viy property before my head got cold. Them's 
 always fools that does it. Howbeever, he talked so much about settlin 
 hisself, and so easy and good about Georg}', and how that all he keered 
 about property was for her, and I knowed that was all /keered about it 
 for, that I told him I'd pay for a nigger 'oman for 'em. Well, you see, 
 I no sooner says that than he ups with a lie about havin to go to Augusty. 
 But shore enuff, arter he had been here two days, he had to go too 
 August}^-, or somewhar else. Becase he got a letter which skeered him 
 powerful, and he said he war goin right off. I didn't spishun nothin 
 agin the man, and I lets him have the money to buy the nigger 'oman. I 
 had no more spishun of him, Jeems Triplet, than I have of you, only 
 knowin that he was monstrous fond of money, which is all right enough 
 ef a man comes by it honest. Well, Georgy she was tuk back tremen- 
 duous by his gittin the money so all on a sudding. Yit she didn't let on, 
 but makes out like she's mighty sorry he war goin so soon, but mighty 
 glad he's goin to fetch her a nigger 'oman when he come back. She has 
 him got a mighty good snack of vittles, and what ain't common for 
 dinner, she puts on the tabla a plate of nice fresh butter and a plenty 
 of biscuit, Triplet." Mr. Pea now looked as sly and as good-humored 
 as it was possible for him to be. " Triplet, I've got a good joke on 
 you." 
 
 Mr. Triplet seemed to guess what it was, and smiled subduedly. 
 
 " You know what you said about my never seein certing people and 
 certing things — certing property no more ? " 
 
 Mr. Triplet acknowledged that he did. 
 
 " Well, Triplet, part of it was so and part of it were not so ; all which 
 both is jest as I wants it to be. Triplet, that butter and them biscuit 
 is what saved me. He never expected to eat no more tell he got to 
 Augusty, and I tell you he hung to that butter and them biscuit. While 
 he was at 'em, and Georg)' she made 'em late a comin in a purpose, 
 she takes some old keys which she had picked up, and finds one that 
 could onlock his peleese whar she seed him put the money, and whar 
 she knowed he kep all he had." 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. ADIEL SLACK. 129 
 
 Uncle Ben intended to laugh mercilessly at Triplet, but he was 
 stopped by the sight of Mr. Packet, who did look as if he was trying 
 to swallow something that was too big for his throat. 
 
 " Ar anything the matter with you, Mr. Pucket .'' Is you got a cold ? 
 Ar your thoat so' ? " asked the old gentleman, with undisguised interest. 
 
 Triplet snickered as Mr. Pucket denied being sick. 
 
 Uncle Ben proceeded : 
 
 " So she jest opened it sly as a mice and tuk out my money — " 
 
 " And what else ? " eagerly asked Mr. Pucket. 
 
 " My watch, that the villion beg me to let him take with him to have 
 it worked on, which I didn't like no — " 
 
 " What else ? " asked Mr. Pucket again. 
 
 "That's the last pint I'm a comin too, and that's why Georgy sent 
 arter Mr. Spouter. She knowed that he owed Mr. Spouter thirty 
 dollars, and she made up her mind to pay the debt as now she seed 
 his money, and she tuk out thirty dollars o' his money, which here it 
 ar for you, Mr. Spouter." 
 
 " I garnishee the thirty dollars ! " interposed Mr. Pucket, holding out 
 his hands. 
 
 " You are too late," answered Mr. Spouter, taking the money, putting 
 it into his pocket, and looking as if he had gotten in again after being 
 outed by Mr. Slack. 
 
 " Can't I garnishee. Triplet ? " 
 
 " Garnishee for what ? " 
 
 " For my fee ? " 
 
 " Fee for what t " 
 
 " Why, for my services in — ah — coming out here on two occasions." 
 
 "Well, you can't garnishee." 
 
 Mr. Triplet looked as if he was ashamed of Mr. Pucket. Uncle 
 Ben hoped there was goin to be no bad feelins, and no difficulties. 
 
 " Certainly not," answered Mr. Triplet. " Mr. Pucket ar a young 
 lawyer, and forgot at the minnit that it war other people that owed him 
 for his services instid of Mr. Slack. Besides, furthermo, Mr. Pucket 
 ought to know that you can't garnishee jest dry so, without fust gittin 
 out some sort o' paper from the cote. That would take so much time 
 that Spouter here mout spend his thirty dollars befo he got it, that 
 is ef Spouter wanted too." Mr. Triplet looked interrogatively at the 
 other gentleman. 
 
 " Yes, ef I wanted too," answered Mr. S., oracularly, 
 17 
 
I30 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 " But," persisted Mr. Pucket, " there was other moneys." 
 
 "Whar?" asked Mr. Triplet. 
 
 " In Mr. Slack's trunk." 
 
 " No thay wan't," answered Mr. Pea, who thought he ought to keep 
 Mr. Pucket to the true word. "They was in his peleese." 
 
 "Well, in his peleese. That makes no difference," and Mr. Pucket 
 looked as if he thought he had them on that point. 
 
 "Pucket," said Triplet, "it won't make no difference. You are 
 right. It don't make nary bit o' difference with nobody, ner with your 
 fee neither. That fee ar a lost -ball. Thay aint no money here to pay 
 it with, an ef there was, it would be Mr. Slack's lawyer and not you 
 that would git it. Well, gin it up, and another time try to have better 
 luck." 
 
 Mr. Pucket 7aas a young lawyer, and was, in part, owned by Mr. 
 Triplet. So he subsided. Uncle Ben looked troubled, until the 
 sheriff" assured him that there could be no difficulties. " Go on. Uncle 
 Ben. You got your gun, of course ? " 
 
 "Triplet, you rascal! You may laugh ; but I don't want the gun. 
 He may keep it, and do what he pleases with it, even to blowin out his 
 own thievious brains with it for what I keer. He's welcome to the gun. 
 You, Triplet ! " 
 
 " Don't mind me. Uncle Ben. Go on." 
 
 " Well, thar's lots more to tell, ef Georg\' would only let me ; and 
 some things as would make you laugh powerful. Triplet, ef you was to 
 hear 'em. But she's made me swar, actilly swar, that I won't tell with- 
 out her leave. Maybe she'll tell your ole 'oman some o' these days. 
 Well, I felt mighty glad when I got my money back, and, ef anything, 
 a leetle gladder when I got back my watch agin. Triplet, when I 
 seed her " (and the old man drew out a watch as big and as round as 
 a turnip), " when I seed her agin, ef I didn't cry you may kill me. I've 
 had her thirty year, and none o' your new-fangled ones can beat her 
 runnin when you clean her out and keep her sot right with the sun. 
 Ah, well," he continued, putting it back and shaking his foot in mild 
 satisfaction, " the thing is over, and the best of it all ar that — " 
 
 " Hush, Pap," said Georgiana, raising her finger. 
 
 The old man smiled, and hushed. 
 
 After hearing parts of the story over several times, the part}- rose to 
 gOi Mr. Triplet rising, said that in cose it war not any of his bisiness, 
 but he would like to ax Miss Georgy one question, ef he wouldn't be 
 
THE PURSUIT OF MR. ADIEL SLACK. 131 
 
 considered as meddlin with what didn't belong to him ; and that was, 
 why she didn't tell on the \illion as soon as she found him out? 
 Georgiana answered : 
 
 " Well, Mr. Triplet, I many times thought I would ; but you see I 
 didn't know for certain that he had done all the things that I was afraid 
 he had. Besides, Mr. Triplet, even if he wasn't my husband, I one 
 time thought he was, and before God and man I had promised to be 
 faithful to him. And then he had stayed in this house : and eat at our 
 table : and — . and called Pap father, and — and — and — Well, Mr. 
 Triplet, somehow it didn't look right for me to be the first one to turn 
 against him ; and — and when I did think of telling on him, something- 
 would rise up and tell me that I ought not." 
 
 "Wimming aint like men nohow. Uncle Ben," said Triplet, wiping 
 his eye as he bade him good-bye. 
 
 " No they aint. Triplet," and he laid his hand fondly on his daughter's 
 shoulder while the tears ran down his cheeks. 
 
 The visitors now left, all except Miss Spouter. She wished to get 
 behind the scenes and know more. How much more she learned I 
 cannot say. They went to bed early when the day ended, and to sleep 
 late. There was something which made them easily reunite. It was 
 pity. Miss Spouter imagined that she pitied her friend because she 
 had been deceived by a man, even more than herself had ever been, 
 and because of the hurtful influence which that deception would 
 probably exert upon any future expectations of marriage. Miss Pea, 
 who, instead of having any regrets, felt relief in the thought that hence- 
 forth her father would be satisfied to allow her to manage such matters 
 for herself, and that she should be satisfied to have none to manage, 
 really pitied her friend because she yet yearned for an impossible 
 estate. When the time came for them to go to sleep (and Georgiana 
 thought it long coming), she did not wait a moment. Miss Spouter 
 lay awake some time further. She pondered long on what she had 
 heard. It was strange. It was almost like a novel. How could 
 George be still the same Georgiana Pea ? She had been Mrs. Slack. 
 Wasn't she Mrs. Slack now ? And how, oh ! how exciting everything 
 must have been. Her thoughts followed Mr. Slack a while ; but he 
 was so far away that they came back and went looking after Mr. Bill 
 Williams. He was not much ; but he was something. He had never 
 exhibited any regard for her yet, but it was possible that he would 
 some day. He was at least ten years younger than herself. But her 
 
132 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 curls were the same as ever ; and besides, were not marriages made in 
 heaven ? or were they not a lottery, or something of the sort ? Mr. 
 Bill Williams, after all, might be the very one to whom the something 
 in her alluded when it had so repeatedly told her that she was destined 
 to make some man so happy ; who knows ? Then her mind turned 
 again, and notwithstanding Mr. Slack's great distance ahead, it started 
 forth in the direction he had taken. She dwelt upon his strange conduct 
 and his running away, and although it was plain that he had done the 
 like before, and when he had never seen her nor heard of her, yet she 
 half persuaded herself that she was the cause, though the perfectly 
 innocent cause of it all. " Yes, yes ! " she was saying to herself, as 
 sleep stole upon her at last, " he is gone ; but the image of Angelina 
 Spouter is in his breast, and it will stay there forever ! " 
 
THE EARLY MAJORITY OF MR. THOMAS 
 
 WATTS. 
 
 "O 'tis a parlous boy." 
 
 Richard III. 
 
 LITTLE TOM WATTS, as he used to be called before the unex- 
 pected developments which I propose briefly to narrate, was the 
 second in a family of eight children, his sister Susan being the eldest. 
 His parents dwelt in a small house situate on the edge of Dukes- 
 borough. Mr. Simon Watts, though of extremely limited means, had 
 some ambition. He held the office of constable in that militia district, 
 and in seasons favorable to law business, made about fifty dollars a 
 year. The outside world seemed to think it was a pity that the head 
 of a family so large and continually increasing should so persistently 
 prefer mere fame to the competency which would have followed upon 
 his staying at home and working his little field of very good ground. 
 But he used to contend that a man could not be expected to live 
 always, and therefore he ought to try to live in such a way as to leave 
 to his family, if nothing else, a name that they wouldn't be ashamed 
 ever to hear mentioned after he was gone. 
 
 Yet Mr. Watts was not a cheerful man. Proud as he might justly 
 feel in his official position, it went hard with him to be compelled to live 
 in a way more and more pinched as his family continued to multiply 
 with astonishing rapidity. His spirits, naturally saturnine, grew worse 
 and worse with every fresh arrival in the person of a baby, until the 
 eighth. Being yet a young man, comparatively speaking, and being 
 used to make calculations, the figures seemed too large as he looked 
 to the future. I would not go so far as to say that this prospect 
 
134 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 actually killed him ; but at any rate he took a sickness which the 
 doctor could not manage, and then Mr. Watts gave up his office and 
 everything else that he had in this world. 
 
 But Mrs. Watts, his widow, had as good a resolution as any other 
 woman in her circumstances ever had. She had no notion of giving 
 up in that way. She gave up her husband, it is true ; but that could 
 not be helped _: and without making much ado about even that, she 
 kept going at all sorts of work, and somehow she got along at least as 
 well after as before the death of Mr. Simon. 
 
 A person not well acquainted with the brood of little Wattses often 
 found difficulty in discriminating among them. I used to observe 
 them with considerable interest as I went into Dukesborough occa- 
 sionally with one, or the other, or both of my parents. They all had 
 white hair, and red chubby faces. It was long a matter of doubt what 
 was their sex. Such was the rapidity of their succession, and so 
 graduated the declivity from Susan downwards, that the mother used 
 to cut all their garments after a fashion that was very general, in order 
 that they might descend during the process of decay to as many of 
 them as possible. Now, although I saw them right often, I had 
 believed for several months, for instance, that little Jack was a girl, 
 from a yellow frock that had belonged to his sister Mary Jane, but which 
 little Jack wore until his legs became subjected to such exposure that 
 it had to descend to Polly Ann, his next younger sister. Then I 
 made a similar mistake about Polly Ann ; who, during this time, had 
 worn little Jack's breeches, out of which he had gone into Mary Jane's 
 frock ; and I thought on my soul that Polly Ann was a boy. 
 
 In regard to little Tommy, not only I, but the whole public had 
 been in a state of uncertainty in this behalf for a great length of time. 
 Having no older brother, and Susan's outgrown dresses being alone 
 available, his male wardrobe was inevitably only half as exten- 
 sive and various as by good rights, generally speaking, it ought to 
 have been. Therefore little Tommy had to make his appearance 
 alternately in frock and breeches, according to the varying conditions 
 of these garments, for a period that annoyed him the more the longer 
 it extended, and finally began to disgust. Tom eagerly wished that 
 he could outgrow Susan, and thus get into breeches out and out. But 
 Susan, in this respect, as indeed in almost ail others, kept her distance 
 in the lead. 
 
 There was a difference, easily noticeable, in Tom's deportment in 
 
THE EARLY MAyORITY OF MR. THOMAS WATTS. 135 
 
 these seasons. While in frocks it was subdued, retiring, and, if not 
 melancholy, at least fretful. Curiosit}^, perhaps, or some other moti\"e 
 equally powerful, might, and indeed sometimes did, lead him outside of 
 the gate ; but never to linger there for any great length of time. If 
 he had to go upon an errand during that season (a necessity which 
 that resolute woman, his mother, enforced without the slightest hesita- 
 tion), he went and returned with speed. Yet, before starting out on 
 such occasions, he was wont to be careful to give his hair such a turn 
 that his manly head might refute the lie which Susan's frock had told. 
 For it is probable that there have been few, if indeed any boys who 
 were more unwilling either to be, or to be considered of the opposite 
 sex than that same Tom Watts. I do not remember ever to have seen 
 a boy whose hair had so high and peculiar a roach as his exhibited, 
 especially when he wore his sister Susan's frocks. Instead of being 
 parted in the middle, it was divided into three parts. It was combed 
 perfectly straight down on the sides of his head, and perfectly straight 
 up from the top. An immense distance was thus established between 
 the extremities of any two hairs which receded contiguously to each 
 other on the border lines. 
 
 All this was an artful attempt to divert public attention from the 
 frock which intimated the female, to tlie head which asserted and 
 which was supposed to establish the male. He once said to Susan : 
 
 "When they sees your old frock, they makes out like that they 
 'spicions me a gal ; but when they looks at my har all roached up, 
 then they knows who I air." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," answered Susan, "and a sight you air. Goodness 
 knows, I'd rather be a girl, and rather look like one if I vv'eren't, than 
 to look like you do in that fix." 
 
 But it was during the other season, that which he called his breeches 
 week, that Tommy Watts was most himself In this period he was 
 cheerful, bold, and notorious. He was as often upon the street as he 
 could find opportunities to steal away from home ; and while there, he 
 was as evidently a boy as was to be found in Dukesborough or any 
 other place of its size. In this happy season he seemed to be disposed 
 to make up as far as possible for the confinements and the gloomi- 
 nesses of the other. So much so, indeed, that he had to be whipped 
 time and time again for his unlicensed wanderings, and for many other 
 pranks which are indeed peculiar to persons of his age and sex, but 
 which he seemed to have the greater temptation to do, and which he 
 
136 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 did with more zest and temerity than other boys, because he had only 
 half their time in which to do them. Tom Watts maintained that if a 
 boy was a boy, then he ought to be a boy ; and as for himself, if he 
 had to be a girl a part of the time, he meant to double on them for 
 the balance. By them he meant his Mammy, as he was wont to call 
 his surviving parent. But she understood the method of doubling as 
 well as he ; for while she whipped him with that amount of good-will 
 which in her judgment was proper, she not unfrequently cut short his 
 gay career by reducing him to Susan's frock, or (if it was not ready 
 for the occasion) to his own single shirt. On such occasions he would 
 relapse at once into the old melancholy ways. If Thomas Watts had 
 been fomiliar with classical history, I have not a doubt that, in these 
 periods of his humiliation, he would have compared his case with that 
 of the great Achilles whose mother had him kept in inglorious seclu- 
 sion amid the daughters of Lycomedes. Yet, like that hero further in 
 being extremely imprudent, no sooner would he recover his male attire 
 than he would seem to think that no laws had ever been made for 
 him, and would rush headlong into difficulties and meet their con- 
 sequences. Tom, as his mother used to say, was a boy of a " tremen- 
 juous sperrit." But it had come from her, and enough had been left 
 in her for all domestic purposes. In every hand-to-hand engagement 
 between the two, Thomas was forced to yield and make terms ; but he 
 resolved over and over, and communicated that resolution to many 
 persons, that if he ever did obtain his libert)^, the world should hear 
 from him. His late father having been to a degree connected, as we 
 remember, with the legal profession, Tom had learned one item (and 
 that was probably the only one that he did learn sufficiently well to 
 remember) of the law : that was, that young men of fourteen who had 
 lost their fathers might go into court and choose their own guardians, 
 and do other things besides. How he did long for that fourteenth 
 birthday ! The more he longed for it the longer it seemed in coming. 
 He had gotten to believe that if it ever should come, he would have 
 lived long enough and had experience enough for all, even the most 
 difficult and responsible purposes of human life. 
 
 But events that must come will come, if we will only wait for them. 
 In process of time, which to the hasty nature of Tom seemed un- 
 reasonably and cruelly long in passing, he seemed to emerge from 
 the frock for good and all. The latest inducement to a preparation 
 for this liberty was a promise that it should come the sooner provided 
 
THE EARLY MAJORITY OF MR. THOMAS WATTS. 137 
 
 he would improve in the care that he was wont to take of his clothes, 
 for he had been a sad fellow in that item of personal economy. When 
 this inducement was placed before him, he entered upon a new career. 
 He abjured wrestlings with other boys, and all other sports and 
 exercises, however manly, which involved either the tearing of his 
 attire or contact with the ground. He even began to be spruce and 
 dandyish, and the public was astonished to find that in the matter of 
 personal neatness Tom Watts was likely to become a pattern to all 
 the youth of Dukesborough and its environs. His roach grew both 
 in height and in sleekness ; and when his hat was off his head, Tom 
 Watts was the tallest-looking boy of his inches that I ever saw. 
 
 Resolute as was the Widow Watts, she had respect for her word, and 
 was not deficient in love for her offspring. Besides, it was getting to 
 be high time for Tom to go to school, if he ever was to go. Now, in 
 a school, I maintain, if nowhere else, it is undeniably to be desired 
 that everybody's sex should be put beyond doubt. Even a real girl in 
 a school of boys, or a real boy in a school of girls, it is probable 
 would both feel and impart considerable embarrassment. This would 
 doubtless be much increased in case where such a matter was in doubt. 
 There is no telling what a difference an uncertainty in this behalf 
 would make, not only in the hours of study, but even to a perhaps 
 greater extent in those of play. I have lived in the world long enough 
 to feel justified in sajdng that suspicions and doubts are more effica- 
 cious than facts in producing embarrassments and alienations. Oh ! 
 it is no use to say anything more upon the subject. Mrs. Watts had 
 sense enough to have respect for public sentiment ; and when Tom 
 was ready for school, Susan's frock had to be laid aside. However, 
 Mary Jane, who was a fast grower, went into it, with the taking of only 
 a little tuck, and nothing was wasted. 
 
 Tom Watts, therefore, avowedly and notoriously, for good and for 
 all and forever, became a boy. When he stepped out of Susan's 
 frock for the last time, and stepped into a new pair of trowsers which 
 had been made for the purpose of honoring the occasion, he felt himself 
 to be older by many years ; and if not as sleek, was at least as proud 
 as any snake when, with the incoming Spring, he has left his old skin 
 behind him and glided into the sunlight with a new one. 
 
 The neat habits which he had adopted from policy, he continued to 
 practise, to his mother's great delight. It was really a fine thing to 
 observe the care he took Vith his clothes ; and the manly gait he as- 
 18 
 
138 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 sumed would have led unthinking persons almost to conclude that the 
 having been confounded so long with the other sex had begotten a 
 repugnance for the latter which might never be removed. Such was 
 the rapidity of his strides towards manhood, that some females of his 
 acquaintance not unfrequently spoke of him as Mr. Thomas Watts ; 
 while others went further, left off the Thomas altogether and. called 
 him Mr. Watts. 
 
 But time, which is ever making revelations that surprise mankind, 
 was not slow to reveal that Mr. Watts had not yet been fully under- 
 stood. He had been going to school to Mr. Cordy for several weeks 
 in the winter, and was believed to be making reasonable progress. He 
 had now passed his thirteenth year, and had gone some distance upon 
 his fourteenth. He had long looked to that day as the commence- 
 ment of his majority. A guardian (or as he was wont to say, a 
 gardzeen) was an incumbrance which he had long determined to dis- 
 pense with. This was not so much, however, because there would be 
 not a thing for such an official to manage except the person of Mr. 
 Thomas himself, as that he had no doubt, not a shadow of a doubt in 
 fact, that such management would be more agreeable, more safe, and 
 in every way better in his own hands than in those of any other person 
 of his acquaintance. 
 
 Mr. Cordy's school was in a grove of hickory and oak at the end of 
 the village opposite to the one at which Mrs. Watts's cabin stood. At 
 the hither end of this grove was another small school of girls, kept by 
 Miss Julia Louisa Wilkins. She was from Vermont, and was a young 
 lady of about twenty-eight years, very fair, somewhat tall, and upon 
 the whole a rather good, certainly a cheerful-looking face. For I 
 should remark that Dukesborough, which ever held Augusta in view, 
 had in the pride of its ambition abolished the system of mixed schools, 
 and though the number of children was rather limited to allow of 
 great division, still Dukesborough would have, and did have, two 
 institutions of learning. Miss Wilkins had under her charge about 
 fifteen girls, ranging from eight years old to fourteen. Prominent 
 among them were Miss Adeline Jones, Miss family Sharp, Miss 
 Lorinda Holland, Miss Jane Hutchins, and Mr. Watts's elder sister, 
 Susan. 
 
 Mr. Watts's relations to this Institution (for it was thus that the 
 mistress insisted that her establishment sheuld be styled) seemed to 
 have been started by accident. One mor/ing, as with lingering but 
 
THE EARLY MAJORITY OF MR. THOMAS WATTS. 139 
 
 not unmanly steps he was passing by on his way to his own school, 
 he spied Miss Wilkins through the window in the act of kindling a 
 fire. As her face was turned from him he had the opportunity, and he 
 used it, to observe her motions for several moments. Whether because 
 the kindling wood was damp, or Miss Wilkins was not expert, I would 
 not undertake at this late day to say. But the fire would not make a 
 start ; and the lady, apparently bent upon getting warm in some way, 
 threw down the tongs, gave the logs a kick, and abruptly turned her 
 back upon the fire-place. Observing Mr. Watts at that instant, and 
 possibly suspecting that he was a person of an accommodating disposi- 
 tion, she requested his assistance. He yielded promptly, and it did 
 Miss Wilkins good to see how quickly the blaze arose and the genial 
 warmth radiated through the room. The artificial heat at once 
 subsided, and she smiled and thanked him in a way that could not 
 soon be forgotten. Then she inquired his name, and was surprised 
 and gratified to know that so manly a person as he was should be the 
 brother of one of the best and most biddable girls in her school. 
 
 This accident, trifling in appearance, led to consequences. Mr. 
 Watts had frequent opportunities of rendering this same service, and 
 others of an equally obliging nature. These gave him access to the 
 Institution in its hours of ease ; and the care that he took of his clothes, 
 and the general manners that he adopted, were reaching to a height 
 that approached perfection. If the roach on the summit of his head 
 was not quite as high as formerly (a depression caused by his having 
 now a hat to wear), it was not any less decided and defiant. 
 
 Yet, he never seemed disposed to abuse his privileges at the Institu- 
 tion of Miss Wilkins. Although he was there very often, he usually 
 had little to say to any of the young ladies, and seemed to try to have 
 the utmost respect for all the mistress's rules and regulations in regard 
 to the intercourse of her pupils with the opposite sex. It must be 
 admitted that Mr. Watts had not advanced lately in his studies to the 
 degree that was promised by his opening career. But Mr. Cordy was 
 a reasonable man, and, upon principle, was opposed to pushing boys 
 along too fast. Mrs. Watts, although not a person of education herself, 
 yet suspected from several circumstances that her son was not well 
 improving the little time which she could afford to send him to school. 
 But his deportment was such an example to the younger children that 
 she had not the heart to complain, except in a very general way. 
 
 Of all persons of Mr. Watts's acquaintance, his sister Susan^was the 
 
140 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 only one who seemed to fail to appreciate his manly habits. She used 
 to frown dreadfully upon him, even when he seemed to be at his very 
 best. Sometimes she even broke into immoderate laughter. While 
 the former conduct had no influence, the latter used to affect him 
 deeply. He would grow very angry, and abuse her, and then become 
 even more manlike. But when Susan would think that he was carrying 
 matters into extremes, she would check him somewhat in this wise : 
 
 " Now lookee here, Tom ; if you talk to me that way, I shall tell 
 Ma what's the matter with you ; and if you don't quit being such a 
 man, and stop some of your foolishness, I'll tell her anyhow." 
 
 Threats of this sort for a time would recall Mr. Watts at least to a 
 more respectful treatment of his sister. Indeed, he condescended to 
 beg her not to mention her suspicions, although he assured her that 
 in these she was wholly mistaken. But Susan did know very well 
 what he was about, and it is probable that it is high time I should ex- 
 plain all this uncommon conduct. The truth is, Susan had ascertained 
 that so far from ha\'ing the repugnance to ladies that had been feared 
 at first might grow out of his remembrance of the long confusion of 
 the public mind touching his own sex, Mr. Thomas Watts had already 
 conceived a passion that was ardent, and pointed, and ambitious to a 
 degree which Susan characterised as "perfectly redickerlous." 
 
 But who was the young lady who had thus concentrated upon herself 
 all the first fresh worship of that young but manly heart ? Was it Miss 
 Jones, or Miss Sharp ? Was it Miss Holland, or Miss Hutchins ? 
 Not one of these. Mr. Thomas Watts had with one tremendous 
 bound leaped clear over the heads of these secondary characters, and 
 cast himself at the very foot of the throne. To be plain, Mr. Watts 
 fondly, entirely, madly loved Miss Julia Louisa Wilkins, the mistress 
 and head of the Dukesborough Female Institution. 
 
 Probably, this surprising reach might be attributed to the ambitious 
 nature of his father, from whom he had inherited this and some other 
 qualities. Doubtless, however, the recollection of having been kept 
 long in frocks had engendered a desire to convince the world that 
 they had sadly mistaken their man. Whatever was the motive power, 
 such was the fact. Now, notwithstanding this state of his own feelings, 
 he had never made a declaration in so many words to Miss Wilkins. 
 But he did not doubt for a moment that she thoroughly understood his 
 looks, and sighs, and devoted services. For the habit which all of us 
 have of enveloping beloved objects in our hearts, and making them, so 
 
THE EARLY MAJORITY OF MR. THOMAS WATTS. 141 
 
 to speak, understand and reciprocate our feelings, had come to Mr. 
 Watts even to a greater degree perhaps than if he had been older. 
 He was as little inclined and as little able to doubt Miss Wilkins as to 
 doubt himself Facts seemed to bear him out. She had not only 
 smiled upon him time and time again, and patted him sweetly on the 
 back of his head, and praised his roach to the very skies ; but once, 
 when he had carried her a great armful of good, fat pine-knots, she 
 was so overcome as to place her hand under his chin, look him fully 
 in the face, and declare if he wasn't a man, there wasn't one in this 
 wide, wide world. 
 
 Such was the course of his true love when its smoothness suffered 
 that interruption which so strangely obtrudes itself among the fondest 
 affairs of the heart. Miss Susan had threatened so often without fulfil- 
 ment to give information to their mother, that he had begun to presume 
 there was little or no danger from that quarter. Besides, Mr. Watts 
 had now grown so old and manlike that he was getting to be without 
 apprehension from any quarter. He reflected that within a few weeks 
 more he would be fourteen years old, when legal rights would accrue. 
 Determining not to choose any " gardzeen," it would follow that he 
 must become his own. Yet he did not intend to act with unnecessary 
 notoriety. His plans were, to consummate his union on the very day 
 he should be fourteen ; but to do so clandestinely, and then run away, 
 not stopping until he should get with his bride plump into Vermont. 
 For even the bravest find it necessary sometimes to retreat. 
 
 Of the practicability of this plan he had no doubt, because he knew 
 that Miss Wilkins had five hundred dollars in hard cash — a whole 
 stocking full. This sum seemed to him immensely adequate for their 
 support in becoming style for an indefinitely long period of time. 
 
 As the day of his majority approached, he grew more and more 
 reserved in his intercourse with his family. This was scarcely to be 
 avoided now when he was already beginning to consider himself as 
 not one of them. If his conscience ever upbraided him as he looked 
 upon his toiling mother and his helpless brothers and sisters, and 
 knew that he alone was to rise into luxury while they were to be left 
 in their lowly estate, he reflected that it was a selfish world at best, 
 and that every man must take care of himself But one day, after a 
 season of unusual reserve, and when he had behaved to Miss Susan in 
 a way which she considered outrageously supercilious, the latter availed 
 herself of his going into the village, fulfilled her threat, and gave her 
 mother full information of the state of his feelings. 
 
142 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 That resolute woman was in the act of ironing a new homespun 
 frock she had just made for Susan. She laid down her iron, sat down 
 in a chair, and looked up at Susan. 
 
 " Susan, don't be foolin "long o' me." 
 
 "Ma, I tell you it's the truth." 
 
 " Susan, do you want me to believe that Tom's a fool ? I know'd the 
 child didn't have no great deal of sense ; but I didn't think he was a 
 clean-gone fool." 
 
 But Susan told many things which established the fact beyond 
 dispute. In Mr. Thomas's box were found several evidences of guilt. 
 There was a great red picture of a young woman, on the margin of 
 which w^as written the name of Miss Julia Louisa Wilkins. Then 
 there was wrapped carefully in a rag a small piece of sweet soap, which 
 was known by Susan to have been once the property of Miss Wilkins. 
 Then there were sundry scraps of poetry, which were quite variant in 
 sentiment, and for this and other reasons apparently not fully suited 
 for the purposes for which they were employed. Mr. Watts's acquain- 
 tance with amatory verses being limited, he had recourse to his mother's 
 hymn-book. Miss \\'ilkins was assured how tedious and tasteless 
 were the hours. Her attention was directed alternately to Greenland's 
 icy mountains and India's coral strand. She was informed that here he 
 was raising his Ebenezer, having hitherto thus safely come. But imme- 
 diately afterwards his mind seemed to have changed, and he remarked 
 that his home was over Jordan, and suggested that if she should get there 
 before he did, she might tell them he was a-coming. Then he urged 
 Miss Wilkins to turn, sinner, turn, and with great anxiety inquired why 
 would she die ? These might have passed for evidences of a religious 
 state of mind, but that they were all signed by Miss Wilkins' loving 
 admirer, Thomas Watts. Indeed, in the blindness of his temerity he 
 had actually written out his formal proposition to Miss Wilkins, which 
 he had intended to deliver to her on the very next clay. This had 
 been delayed only because he was not quite satisfied either with the 
 phraseology or the handwriting. As to the way in which it would be 
 received, his ardent soul had never entertained a doubt. 
 
 " Well, well ! " exclaimed his mother, after getting through with all 
 this irrefragable evidence. "Well, well. I never should a-blieved it. 
 But I suppose we live and larn. Stealing out of my hime-book too. 
 It's enough to make anybody sick at the stomach. I know'd the child 
 didn't have much sense ; but I didn't know he was a clean-gone fool. 
 
THE EARLY MAJORITY OF MR. THOMAS WATTS. 143 
 
 Yes, we lives and larns. But bless me, it won't do to tarry here. 
 Susan, have that frock ironed all right, stiff and starch, by the time I 
 git back. I shan't be gone long." 
 
 The lady arose, and without putting on her bonnet, walked rapidly 
 down the street. 
 
 " What are you lookin for, Mrs. Watts ? " inquired an acquaintance 
 whom she met on her way. 
 
 " I'm a-looking for a person of the name of Mr. Watts," she an- 
 swered, and rushed madly on. The acquaintance hurried home, but 
 told other acquaintances on the way that the Widow Watts have lost 
 her mind and gone ravin distracted. Soon afterwards, as Mr. Watts 
 was slowly returning, his mind full of great thoughts and his head 
 somewhat bowed, he suddenly became conscious that his hat was 
 removed and his roach rudely seized. Immediately afterwards he 
 found himself carried along the street, his head foremost and his legs 
 and feet performing the smallest possible part in the act of locomotion. 
 The villagers looked on with wonder. The conclusion was universal. 
 Yes, the Widow Watts have lost her mind. 
 
 When she had reached her cabin with her charge, a space was 
 cleared in the middle by removing the stools and the children. Then 
 Mr. Watts was ordered to remove such portions of his attire as might 
 oppose any hindrance whatever to the application of a leather strap to 
 those parts of his person which his mother might select. 
 
 " Oh, mother, mother ! " began Mr. Watts. 
 
 " No motherin o' me, Sir. Down with 'em," and down they came, 
 and down came the strap rapidly, violently. 
 
 " Oh, Mammy, Mammy ! " 
 
 " Ah, now ! that sounds a little like old times ; when you used to be 
 a boy," she exclaimed in glee as the sounds were repeated amid the 
 unslackened descent of the strap. Mrs. Watts seemed disposed to 
 carry on a lively conversation during this flagellation. She joked her 
 son pleasantly about Miss Wilkins, inquired when it was to be and 
 who was to be invited ? Oh, no ! she forgot ; it was not to be a big 
 wedding, but a private one. But how long were they going to be gone 
 before they would make a visit ? But Mr. Watts not only could not 
 see the joke, but was not able to join in the conversation at all, except 
 to continue to scream louder and louder, "Oh, Mammy, Mammy!" 
 Mrs. Watts, finding him not disposed to be talkative, except in mere 
 ejaculatory remarks, appealed to little Jack, and Mary Jane, and Polly 
 
144 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 Ann, and to all, down even to the baby. She asked them. Did they 
 know that Buddy Tommy were a man grown, and were going to git 
 married and have a wife, and then go away off yonder to the Ver- 
 montes ? Little Jack, and Polly Ann, and baby, and all, evidently did 
 not precisely understand ; for they all cried and laughed tumultuously. 
 
 How long this exercise, varied as it was by most animated conversa- 
 tion, might have continued if the mother had not become exhausted, 
 there is no calculating. Things were fast approaching that condition 
 when the son declared that his mother would kill him if she didn't 
 stop. 
 
 " That," she answered between breaths, " is — what — I — aims — 
 to do — if — I can't git it — all — all — every — spang — passel — outen 
 you." 
 
 Tom declared that it was all gone. 
 
 " Is you — a man — or — is you — a boy ? " 
 
 " Boy ! boy 1 Mammy," criecl Tom. " Let me up, Mammy — and — 
 I'll be a boy — as long — as I live." 
 
 She let him up. 
 
 " Susan, whar's that frock ? Ah, there it is. Lookee here. Here's 
 your clo'es, my man. Mary Jane, put away them pantaloonses." 
 
 Tom was making ready to resume the frock. But Susan remon- 
 strated. It wouldn't look right now, and she would go Tom's security 
 that he wouldn't be a man any more. 
 
 He was cured. From being an ardent lover, he grew to become a 
 hearty hater of the principal of the Dukesborough Female Institution, the 
 more implacable upon his hearing that she had laughed immoderately 
 at his whipping. Before many months she removed from the village, 
 and when two years afterwards a rumor (whether true or not we never 
 knew) came that she was dead, Tom was accused of being gratified by 
 the news. Nor did he deny it. 
 
 "Well, fellers," said he, "I know it weren't right; but I couldn't 
 keep from being glad ef it had a-kilt me." 
 
THE ORGAN-GRINDER. 
 
 • ."The poor man's dearest friend, 
 
 The kindest and the best." 
 
 WHEN I am thinking of those old times at Dukesborough, 
 my mind often recurs to a person whom, although not a 
 resident of that neighborhood, yet, as I never saw him elsewhere, I 
 have always associated with it. He made a very deep impression upon 
 me : so much so, indeed, that I have had, ever since I knew him, some- 
 thing like a fondness for his class. I am not likely, and I am sure 
 that I have no desire to lose the old feeling that this one led me to 
 feel. The music sounded so strange and mournful the first time I 
 heard it in the grove at our gate, and the man was so strange looking, 
 so pale and wan, that even now, in my old age, whenever I hear one 
 of his class, especially if he be a foreigner, I feel much of the impres- 
 sions of the old days. Many pence have I given to organ-grinders in 
 my time, and I expect to give more as long as I continue to live. 
 
 They are so poor and so taciturn, and seem so harmless. Since I 
 have read in the books and found to be true what my poor friend used 
 to tell me about the great old bards, and after them the minstrels, my 
 mind became fond of connecting these poor wandering musicians with 
 those famous characters of bygone ages, and thus I learned to pity 
 and to respect them as the last representatives of a class some of 
 whom were illustrious and all of whom were beloved. 
 
 There seems to me ever an unchanging sadness, not only in their 
 
 appearance and deportment, but in all their music. The plaintive 
 
 airs they bring from their homes across the sea, are not less sad than 
 
 those, whether they be meant to be lively or plaintive, which they find 
 
 19 
 
146 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 among us. Indeed, the very saddest of all to my ears are those which 
 strive to be gay. Upon their poor instruments and with their poor 
 renderings, not only do the latter lose their native gaiety, but the effort 
 to preserve it imparts a sadness which is sometimes piteous. When 
 a man has to make merry in order to get bread to eat, and when the 
 bread comes slowly and in insufficient quantities even after the merry- 
 making, the latter must lose most of its power to make us laugh. So 
 I seldom can pass one of these persons without dropping into his till 
 the mite which I cannot easily keep when I consider how mufch more 
 the gain will be to him than the loss will be to me. Then I have 
 found that such trifling losses in due time bring me gains in many 
 ways. And then again, these little contributions, perhaps, I make as 
 often as otherwise out of regard for the -memory of- an old friend. 
 
 The individual of whom I am speaking had an air and a gait 
 superior to most of those of his class whom I have seen since. His 
 features were well formed and handsome, and his eyes were of extra- 
 ordinary brightness. His clothes, though very thin and worn, were 
 well fitting and had once been fine. It was on a day late in October 
 that I first saw him. We resided about four miles from Dukesborough, 
 near the public road ; our house surrounded by a grove of oak and 
 chestnut trees. We were at dinner when for the first time I heard that 
 strange music. I was startled by what seemed to be no earthly 
 sounds, and with an exclamation, looked at my father. My mother, 
 too, was surprised ; for though she had heard such before, it had been 
 seldom, and never at any place nearer than Augusta. 
 
 " Oh," said my father, " I forgot to tell you that I saw an organ- 
 grinder in Dukesborough yesterday, and that I supposed he would be 
 along here to-day. Indeed, I asked him to stop as he should pass up 
 the road." 
 
 We went out, and there he stood. He made a respectful salutation 
 to us, and continued turning his instrument. I looked and listened 
 with an interest I never had felt before. Young as I was, I could see 
 in his pale face the signs of deep suffering. By his side was a sweet- 
 looking little girl six or seven j^ears old, who sang two or three little 
 songs in her native tongue. She, too, was pale and thin. Poverty 
 and wandering and suffering iif many ways had imparted a serious 
 and oldish expression, which, however, was not inconsistent with un- 
 common beauty. Her sadness was most tender, and contrasted much 
 with her father's sternness, which sometimes even appeared almost 
 
THE ORGAN-GRINDER. 147 
 
 ferocious. I say sometimes ; this was not always. While he turned 
 his organ his teeth occasionally would become set, and his eyes 
 wandered up and down the road. I noticed that he frequently lifted 
 and gazed with painful interest at his left hand, which had lost its last 
 two fingers ; and then I noticed that when the child, whose eyes at 
 such times were fully turned upon him with tender anxiety, would 
 address him, his features would at once relax their rigidity, and he 
 would answer her cheerfully and even gaily. 
 
 We gave them their dinner. Immediately afterwards the man rose 
 to depart ; but my father, noticing how much they needed rest, invited 
 them to remain for the afternoon and night. The man seemed sur- 
 prised and touched by the invitation. He looked concernedly at the 
 child, and they spoke a few words together in Italian. How sweetly 
 to my ears sounded those first words I had ever heard of this language ! 
 At first the invitation was declined, but upon my father's pressing it 
 upon them, and especially upon his urging that the child needed rest, 
 her father concluded to remain. 
 
 There was in the corner of the grounds a double frame-house, in 
 one room of which the overseer slept. In the other, besides a box of 
 tools which were kept for plantation uses, was a bed, which stood there 
 for the service of poor travellers who might happen to be overtaken by 
 night before they could reach the village. In this the two were 
 lodged. As long as it could be done without too great embarrass- 
 ment, my father kept them in our sitting-room. Finding that the 
 Italian spoke English very well, and suspecting that he had been a 
 great sufferer, he tried to obtain some knowledge of his history ; but 
 the man seemed so averse to allusions to himself that nothing could be 
 elicited from him. But I well remember how charmed I was in listening 
 as he spoke of Italy, its skies and vineyards, and then of the deep sea 
 over which he had crossed, and the large cities he had visited here. 
 On the next morning, when he was ready to depart, my father took his 
 hand with cordiality and 'thus spoke : 
 
 "You have not always been what you are. You have had great 
 sufferings of some sort. I hoped last night you would tell me 
 something about them, supposing it possible that I might relieve you 
 in some small degree. I will help you if I can at any time. What- 
 ever you may need, come to me for it hereafter." 
 
 The poor man looked into my father's face, and then he began to 
 weep. In a moment more he brushed his eyes, and hastily lifting his 
 
148 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 organ, without a word of thanks or farewell he led his child away. 
 My father looked long and compassionately towards him. 
 
 " He has indeed suffered much. So has the child. Neither of them 
 can bear such a life long. He is evidently a man of education, and 
 has seen better times. I wish he had stayed. But I suppose we must 
 all pursue our destiny." 
 
 It was about the middle of January following that my father and I 
 were returning late in the afternoon from a walk in one of the fields 
 where the hands were at work. We were crossing the public road, 
 near which several wagons laden with cotton were encamped for the 
 night. The day was very, very cold. Just as we were passing we 
 heard the sounds of an organ, and looking to the camp, which was in 
 the corner of a grove opposite our dwelling, we observed the Italian. 
 The child was not with him. A very marked change had occurred in 
 both his manner and appearance. His health had evidently much de- 
 clined, but his restlessness and sternness were gone, and his counte- 
 nance wore an expression of contentment and even of happiness. 
 When he saw my father he suddenly stopped, placed his wounded 
 hand upon his closed eyes for a moment, then removed it and looked 
 dreamily at us. The next moment his face put on a sad smile. 
 
 " Oh, yes," he said, " it is the good Signor. I hope it has been well 
 with him." 
 
 He then came up to me. took my hand, and seemed to be trying to 
 call up something of which I reminded him. Then he let me go, and 
 a shiver passed throughout his frame. I attributed this to the extreme 
 cold, and started to ask him about the child ; but my father looked at 
 me to be silent, and then in a tone which had almost as much of com- 
 mand as of invitation proposed to go to the house. The Italian, with- 
 out hesitation, lifted his organ upon his back. He did this with much 
 difficulty, for he was very weak and cold, and my father assisted him. 
 Little was said as we approached the house. • My father, suspecting 
 what were his thoughts, made only such general remarks as required 
 little or no participation on his part. When we entered our sitting- 
 room, I observed that he was more careful in the disposal of his organ 
 than he was before. He placed it as gently as he could in a corner of 
 the room, carefully covered it with a coarse green cloth, and then sat 
 where he could see it all the while. He frequently looked at it, and 
 with evident tenderness. When he took his seat by the fire he shivered 
 most ^•iolently, as one usually does when coming out of extreme cold. 
 
THE ORGAN-GRINDER. 1 49 
 
 Orders were given for supper to be hurried. When it was ready we 
 ate it J and my heart has been seldom so touched as by the sight of 
 the struggle which he made between the anxiety to gratify a hunger 
 that was excessive and the fear of being thought ignorant of good 
 manners. After supper he seemed to need rest so sorely that we sent 
 him to his old room, after first having it well warmed. When he 
 entered this room he looked abstractedly around him for a moment, 
 and seemed to be considering where he should place his organ, which he 
 had taken with him from the mansion. At last he seemed to be satis- 
 fied with a position which could be seen as well from the place where 
 he was to sit and from the bed when he should be resting upon it. 
 
 The next morning the cold had increased. The sleet had fallen 
 during the night, and the trees and the earth were covered with ice. 
 The Italian rose betimes ; and we were awakened by the sound of his 
 organ, which he was turning as he sat in the door of his chamber. 
 
 " I thought I should give you a matin-song the morning before I 
 should leave, in return for food and rest," he said cheerfully to my 
 father as he went to summon him to breakfast. 
 
 "Thank you: it was very sweet. But we cannot let you go this 
 morning." 
 
 The man looked a little alarmed. 
 
 " Oh, no," continued my father, " not yet. After a while you can 
 go. But now you need more rest, and it is cold." 
 
 He said nothing, but after breakfast he rose again and was making 
 ready to start. My father laid his hand gently upon his organ as he 
 essayed to raise it, and then said : 
 
 " Listen to me, my friend. I am neither a proud man nor a very 
 rich one. I have been poor, too ; and now that I am so no longer, I like 
 to assist when I can those who need some things which they have not. 
 Where are you going ? Are you going home 1 " 
 
 He looked at my father and answered with what would have been a 
 sarcasm if it had not been so sad : 
 
 " Men like you must know that men like me have no homes." 
 
 " But you have had a home, and you are not one to endure what 
 you are suffering now. You are sick ; indeed you are ill. You do 
 not need much, and it will not cost me much to bestow what you do 
 need. You do not, I repeat, need much ; but you need it sorely, and 
 you need it now: I do with you as I would have you do with me if I 
 were sick and in need, and you had a shelter to offer me from this 
 
150 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 cold. In the name of Heaven I beg you not to hinder me in a pur- 
 pose which I owe even more to Heaven than to you." 
 
 Noticing that he wavered, my father continued his urging, and said 
 that besides he would like for me to hear him speak more about his 
 native country and of the Italian music and poetry ; that if he would 
 stay for a few days only, besides getting the rest that he so much 
 needed, he could benefit me to such a degree that the obligation, if 
 any, would really be on our part. He looked fondly upon me, and I 
 asked him to stay. Several times I asked him. 
 
 " And thou ? Dost thou so desire indeed t " 
 
 " Yes," I answered. 
 
 "Then I remain — but for a little while — a few days." 
 
 Although he had consented to remain, yet for a day or t\vo he 
 seemed restless and abstracted, with only a few intervals of serenity. 
 During this time he preserved much of the constraint and reticence 
 which he had heretofore practised. My father was very delicate in his 
 conversation and deportment, and after a day or two more our guest 
 began to seem as if he was among those who really felt a kindly inter- 
 est for him. He became especially fond of me. At all hours, when 
 about the house, except at meals, he sat in his own room. I spent 
 much of the time with him there, and he would play for me, and talk 
 with me with increased freedom. Although he was more and more 
 cheerful, yet his physical condition did not improve. He ate little, and 
 we began to notice that as night came it brought with it a fever. It would 
 pass away by the morning, and his cheeks grew more and more sunken. 
 By degrees he became more communicative, and at last my father suc- 
 ceeded in leading him to speak of himself 
 
 It was on the night of the fifth day of his sojourn. At supper he 
 seemed less disposed to be silent than ever before, and even showed 
 a desire to be chatty. One or two playful remarks he made to my 
 mother, of whom hitherto he had been shy. He readily accepted her 
 invitation to linger in our company, and after we had been sitting 
 together for some time around the bright log-fire, and had talked of 
 general matters, in answer to the desire delicately expressed by my 
 father he began to speak without reserve. 
 
 His name was Antonio. He had been an advocate of Brindisi, his 
 native place, enjoyed a reasonable success, and married a young lady 
 of good family who had lost their fortune. They were both much 
 devoted to music, she to the piano and he to the violin and violoncello. 
 
THE ORGAN-GRINDER. 151 
 
 This devotion had been too much for their income, and it was not long 
 before the means which he had accumulated before marriage were 
 nearly exhausted. After seven years the lady died, leaving a young 
 daughter six years old. Grief for her death, and the small hope of 
 being then able to return in that place to the old habits of business, 
 determined him to remove to America with his child, and pursue the 
 profession of a musician. Of his success in this scheme he had not 
 entertained a doubt, because, as he modestly assured us, he was 
 considered, especially as a violinist, inferior only to the most distin- 
 guished performers of his native country. 
 
 In pursuance of this purpose he had arrived in New York the last 
 winter. But for the humane intentions with which my father had led 
 him to speak of himself, he would have repented when he noticed the 
 pain and even the anguish with which for a while he spoke of his 
 subsequent adventures. He had stopped, on account of his slender 
 means, at an obscure tavern in the lower portion of the city. On the 
 first night after his arrival an adjoining house caught fire while its 
 occupants were asleep. He was aroused by the screams of his hostess, 
 who had been the first to discover it, and had called to him for assist- 
 ance in rescuing the family who were domiciled in the burning building. 
 The flames raged with such rapidity that the rescue depended solely 
 upon himself. He succeeded in saving them (a widow and three 
 young children), but at the imminent risk of his own life. The poor 
 woman, after emerging with her children, so bemoaned the loss of her 
 household goods, and especially of a small bag of silver, that he 
 re-entered in order to recover it. He reached with difficulty the 
 chamber in which it was kept, seized it, opened the window, threw it 
 down, and other means of escape being now cut off, he essayed to let 
 himself down from the same window. While hanging upon the sill, 
 and as he was waiting for the women to place underneath some bedding 
 upon which he could alight, the sash suddenly dropped upon his left 
 hand, and before he could be released its two lower fingers had been 
 lost. 
 
 I can never forget his looks or his words while he spoke of his 
 feelings upon that night. 
 
 " The loss of those fingers," he said, as he lifted his disabled hand, 
 "was the loss of the only thing in this world belonging to me that was 
 of value to me or to any other person. I knew that, and felt it all as 
 I was hanging to the window. I do not — will the Signor — and the 
 
152 
 
 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 Signora pardon me? — sometimes I forget all this — I tried to forget 
 it — and — yes, I think I shall forget it soon." 
 
 He rose abruptly and walked several times across the room. My 
 father begged him to be seated, and let us speak of something else. 
 
 " No, no, no ! " he resumed, becoming calmed, and retaking his 
 seat. " No ; the Signor has been kind — oh so kind ! — and he must 
 hear. As I was hanging by those fingers, and tried in vain to release 
 them with my right hand, I remember how I calculated how much 
 they were to me, and what ruin their loss would bring upon me, 
 and—" 
 
 He paused a moment, and in the lowest and most solemn tone 
 asked : 
 
 " I had a little child with me here ? Yes, yes, she was with me 
 here. Does the Signora remember the child ? " 
 
 My mother bowed her head. 
 
 " Yes. Teresa. Her name was Teresa. A pretty child she was : 
 but we will not speak of that now. I believe I was saying that I 
 calculated as I was hanging at the window what the loss of those 
 fingers would bring. I did not feel any other pain. There was no 
 pain except in my heart. I remember thinking while I was hanging 
 there how much I would give if that were my right hand instead of my 
 left ; and I remember that I thought, although I knew that I was even 
 in much danger of losing my life, yet if I could make my two hands 
 exchange places, I would be happier, up there hanging by the window, 
 than any other man ever had been or ever could be. Oh ! I felt that I 
 could better afford to lose both my eyes and both my feet than those 
 two little fingers. My agony when I felt them giving way was greater 
 than it had been when I saw my wife breathing her last. I remember 
 that I then compared this feeling with that, and how strange it all was. 
 At last my own weight and the struggles I made tore me from them, 
 and I fell into the arms of those who had arrived in time to assist in 
 breaking my fall. I rose immediately, and attempted to climb the 
 wall in order to recover what I had lost. But I could not, and in a 
 few moments the flames had enveloped all. While I was hanging 
 there I heard Teresa's screams, and I wondered if she were thinking 
 that the only thing belonging to her father that was of value to her 
 was about to be lost. When I had thus descended, the child then 
 screamed with delight, and I pitied her out of the depths of my soul." 
 
 After an interval of several moments, in which he labored with his 
 
THEmpRGAN-GRINDER. 153 
 
 memories, he resumed his narrative. There was much of detail which 
 I omit. When the poor man had gotten tlius far, he seemed to be 
 fond of dwelling upon the incidents of his history. After trying in 
 vain to find employment in New York, he removed to Philadelphia, 
 and thence to Baltimore. The most of his countrymen, though dis- 
 posed to assist, had other claims upon their charity, and besides were 
 of small means. He was forced to sell his musical instruments in 
 order to pay his board-bills, and then as a last resort he purchased the 
 hand-organ which he then carried. Laboring under the sense of 
 degradation in being reduced to the poor place of an organ-grinder, 
 he was without the art even to make that available except for the 
 procurement of the barest necessaries. His greatest anxieties were of 
 course for his child. 
 
 " I had hoped," he said, " to bring her up to be a distinguished 
 singer ; and she would have been, had means been afforded for her 
 education. When I found that the dear child, instead of this, must 
 labor with me at what I then thought was so poor an occupation, and 
 labor for subsistence not only for herself but for me, my heart was 
 crushed. To think that she must wander up and down with me, and 
 sing for bread to listless and often to vulgar ears the little songs that 
 her mother had taught her ! — How variously and capriciously the rich 
 conduct themselves to the poor such as me ! Sometimes my heart has 
 been filled to overflowing with gratitude by the reception of kindness 
 which seemed almost like the Mother of Christ. At other times I 
 have gone mad ; yes, entirely mad — no, not quite, but almost mad — 
 from the insults which our poverty has received. I have seen two 
 ladies, both of whom were beautiful, and when Teresa looked to them 
 for compensation for her little song, and the one began to open her 
 purse, the other laughed at her for her weakness, and with insulting 
 w^ords to us, dragged her companion away ; and then my little one 
 would look into my eyes, and I would look into hers, and I would see 
 that she was fast growing as old as her father in the knowledge of the 
 world, and in misery. Oh ! the thoughts that used to pass through my 
 mind as I have been standing out in the cold : and how cold, cold my 
 darling used to be ! She would never tremble, or she would strive not 
 to tremble ; but she was so cold ! At first I was near going mad. 
 But for her sake, I think I should have gone mad. To think, only to 
 think, if I had gone mad ! Would that not have been piteous.'' — Will 
 the good Signer and the Signora listen while I tell them some of my 
 20 
 
154 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 thoughts in this first estate, and before I could understand — could 
 understand — ? Yes, I can tell of those thoughts now since my mind 
 is so much better. At first I came near going mad. That would 
 have been so piteous that I was saved from it. Praised be the Holy 
 Virgin, Mother of God ! " 
 
 He lifted his eyes towards heaven with an expression of profound 
 gratitude and fervent devotion. Then, with a strange sad smile, he 
 continued : 
 
 " I knew nothing of the hand-organ, and had always regarded it as 
 a very poor instrument of music. It was so poor, and its tones were 
 so different from what I had been accustomed to hear and to make, 
 that I almost abhorred myself for having to carry it within the sound 
 of human ears. But having lost my fingers, and with them the faculty 
 to play upon the violin, I must carry it. My own ears became so 
 wounded by its jarring sounds, that for a long time they became to be 
 deaf to all others excepting the voice of Teresa. For hours and 
 hours in the cold days in the streets of those Northern cities, I have 
 turned, and turned, and the discordant notes have grown louder and 
 louder, until the sounds of human voices, the feet of horses, the wheels 
 of wagons, were drowned, and I could not have heard the roar of the 
 cannon, or the thunder, or the hurricane. And yet I heard at such 
 times, sounds which other ears heard not. Mine ears heard the cries of 
 the poor of all lands, crying in their several tongues for bread. They 
 have heard the wailings of exiles, of the desolate and bereaved of all 
 conditions. They have heard the screams of the condemned of all 
 prisons, and even the shrieks of every sinner in hell ! "' 
 
 While he thus spoke, although his eyes were lustrous and his pale 
 cheek grew red, yet his voice was low and calm. 
 
 In the succeeding autumn he had wandered with his child to the 
 South, dreading to encounter again the rigors of a Northern winter. 
 As the alms which he had been receiving in the Southern cities were 
 becoming too small for his wants, he went up occasionally into the 
 country, and it was on one of these visits that we first saw him. For 
 some time after telling us of these things, he remained silent and 
 looked constantly and solemnly into the fire which was now subsiding. 
 Afterwards, he suddenly turned his eyes and said : 
 
 "But have I told about the child, Teresa.^ — the beloved and the 
 beautiful ? No. Then I must tell it. Indeed, yes, I was near going 
 mad. But I know I was saved from that, because it would have been 
 
THE ORGAN-GRINDER. 155 
 
 so piteous.— But the Signor now sees me alone. I have been alone, 
 except with my organ, for nearly a month. I had grown to be afraid 
 after the danger of madness passed, that I should die and leave the 
 child alone ; for, although I have been constantly going, yet I think 
 I have been sick somewhat. Yet I was afraid I might die. But that 
 would have been too piteous, and I did not. In the cold days of 
 December, when the snow was on the ground and when the damp was 
 on the straw where we slept, the thin clothing of Teresa could not 
 resist the cold by day and by night. And then she took a pneumonia. 
 I sat by her side for six days, and then she was better. But one day 
 as the sun was setting, the child who had been gay for some hours 
 was talking to me of our home across the sea, and then she said that 
 she had seen in her sleep her mother, and that she was more beautiful 
 than before, and was clothed all in white, and a star was upon her 
 forehead, and she carried a palm in her hand, and her face was 
 shining, oh so gladly, so gladly ! And then the child kept repeating 
 these words, ' Oh, so gladly, so gladly,' and her voice grew lower and 
 lower ; and then she whispered one time, ' Oh, so gladly, so gladly ; ' 
 and then she ceased, and then I took her hand and looked into her 
 face." 
 
 He lowered his own voice now, and I never saw so solemn and sad 
 a countenance as when he whispered : 
 
 "She was gone from me — gone beyond the seas and beyond the 
 clouds." He paused a moment and looked curiously from one to 
 another of us. 
 
 " I believe I told that she died ? Yes, yes. Poor little child ! It 
 had been so cold. But I was so lonely afterwards." 
 
 Then his face became bright and he resumed. 
 
 " But now, will the Signor believe that since I have been alone, I 
 have learned to love my organ 1 One must love something. Now what 
 is the strangest of all things to me is this, that as soon as I came to 
 love and appreciate it, it brought to me no more those horrid sounds. 
 Its tones have become indescribably sweet to me. I cannot tell how 
 it is \ but for the poor airs which it made formerly, it has substituted 
 others, some old and some new. When I play upon it now I hear the 
 sweet sounds of my native country, and they have taken a more perfect 
 melody than of old. There come to me the songs of the reapers on 
 breezes scented with the new-mown hay. There come the carols of 
 the birds from amid the orange trees: I hear the sons: and the oar of 
 
156 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 the boatmen. Then I hear the low lullaby with which the mother of 
 Teresa sang her to sleep upon her lap when the evening was come. 
 Is not that strange .' And my organ, sometimes it becomes, oh so gay, 
 and it sings me songs of cavaliers, and recites me the lays of the 
 minstrels of olden days. One afternoon I was playing in the street of 
 the pretty city on the river. I was standing before a costly mansion, 
 and there came from my organ one of the old ballads of the Trouveres, 
 and it sounded so gaily that a fair maiden came to the window, and 
 she listened and smiled ; and then she sent her page to me, and I was 
 led into the dining-hall, where the fire was burning so bright and 
 warm. And then she gave me wine, and made a nosegay of flowers 
 and gave them to me, and while I praised poesy she listened, and was 
 exceeding beautiful. — But now will all hearken to me .'' Within these 
 last days, this organ, it has been giving forth airs that are unlike those 
 I have heard before. They are so solemn. They are of low tone ; 
 so low, indeed, that one can scarcely hear them. They come as 
 when standing on the shore of the Adriatic I have heard the solemn 
 murmurs come from afar over the waves. Then, sometimes, I hear 
 sounds sweeter yet and more solemn, as it were a harp companied by 
 soft feminine voices ; and they seem to come from the air above me. — 
 So I must have loved my organ. Holy A^irgin ! what must I have 
 done if I had not grown to love something after Teresa left me." 
 
 My parents seeing that through grief and want he had become 
 partially bereft of reason, became more and more assiduous and tender 
 in their care of him. He became quite reconciled to remain with us, 
 and although he seemed not to be conscious of it, he would have been 
 unable to travel with his organ. He grew quite fond of me, and told 
 me many things of the old bards and heroes, of knights and ladies of 
 the chivalrous ages. He would carry his organ to the door of his 
 chamber and play for a while in the early morning, and again at the 
 twilight. After a few days the weather became much more mild, and 
 he and I would walk together in the grove and up and down the road. 
 He was so gentle that I could lead him anywhere I chose. 
 
 Early one bright morning, just as the sun arose, I was awakened by 
 the sound of his organ. I arose, dressed myself, and went out to 
 him. 
 
 " Good day ! good day ! " he answered gaily to my salutation ; " Beauti- 
 ful is this day ! See the sun how he shines ! I awakened early and 
 came out to meet him. Wilt thou not listen for one song of my 
 
THE ORGAN-GRINDER. i57 
 
 organ? It is gay in the jocund morning: in the evening it will be 
 sad." 
 
 He turned the handle, and was playing an air that I had often heard. 
 As he played, he looked at me inquiringly. 
 
 "Dost thou not recognise it? Ah, the boy is too young to have 
 studied the music and the legends of the brave old days^! That is the 
 great Richard, and Blondel the minstrel. Shall I repeat the words 
 along with the air? I do not sing, thou knowest ; but I will rehearse. 
 Dost remember the scene ? Yes, I have told it to thee. It is before 
 a castle of the Duke of Austria. The King, upon his return from 
 Holy Land, has been taken captive, and is imprisoned in this casde. 
 Blondel has been seeking him in all lands, for thou knowest that the 
 minstrels had access to all places. This song the King and Blondel 
 had composed together, and they would sing, as the muses of old times 
 loved most the song, in alternate verses. When the minstrel played 
 the former part, then he heard the other part from within the castle 
 walls. Now listen to the minstrel : 
 
 ' Your beauty, lady fair, 
 * None view without delight ; 
 
 But still so cold an air 
 
 No passion can excite : 
 Yet this I patient see 
 While all are shunned like me.' 
 
 And now thus comes the reply : 
 
 ' No nymph my heart can wound, 
 
 If favor she divide. 
 And smile on all around, 
 
 Unwilling to decide : 
 I'd rather hatred bear 
 Than love with others share.' 
 
 It was thus that Blondel found the beloved master whom he had sought 
 so long." 
 
 Two days after this, when I arose and went to his chamber, although he 
 was up and sitting at the door and the morning was even sweeter 
 than before, the gaiety which he usually seemed to feel at this hour 
 was away, and his face was full of solemnit}'. I led him into the 
 grove. We went slowly, for he had now grown very weak. The 
 wagons were going along in unusual numbers this morning. He 
 looked at them attentively, and as we neared the road he lifted his 
 
158 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 cap reverently from his head, held it in his hand, and turning to me, 
 said in subdued tones : 
 
 " It is a funeral procession." 
 
 " No," I answered. 
 
 " It must be a procession. See how solemnly they are marching ! 
 Lo ! there are two processions ! Yes, yes ! there are two processions ! 
 One is going up and one is going down. The dead, even like the 
 living, travel in differing ways. Yes, yes ! there are two ; and one is 
 going up, and one is going down." 
 
 I led him back again, and, by my father's directions that I should 
 not leave him, I stayed with or near him throughout the day. In the 
 afternoon he lay upon his bed. He had said nothing to me since the 
 morning, but had lain through the afternoon looking alternately at his 
 organ and out upon the sky. My father frequently passed near the 
 door, but none of us spoke. 
 
 The sun was setting. Through the window the invalid could see it. 
 He watched it until it was down. He then turned to me and said : 
 
 " And now the good Signor thy father may come. All may come." 
 
 We all sat in the chamber. 
 
 " It is good that ye be here. I had no music the morn. 
 
 " I was weak and awear}'. 
 
 " But now before the sunset I have been listening to my organ. Is 
 it not strange t 
 
 " The music was low, but mine ears did hear. 
 
 " Not the gay sounds. 
 
 " But the tranquil. 
 
 " The songs of the reapers. 
 
 " Oh ! I could scent the new hay. 
 
 " The carols of the birds. 
 
 " In the orange trees. 
 
 *' The songs that come from the air above me. 
 
 " The voice of Teresa. 
 
 " And Teresa's mother. 
 
 " Along with heavenly harpings." 
 
 He lay awhile silent. 
 
 " Wilt thou take my hand, Signor ? " My father was about to take 
 his right hand. 
 
 "Not that: the other." 
 
 Then my father took his left. He smiled and said : 
 
THE ORG A N- GRINDER. 
 
 159 
 
 " Thanks ! thanks and blessings for all — and forever. 
 
 " Hist ! " said he, suddenly, " Hearest thou not ? Hearest thou ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered my father. 
 
 " And seest thou ? and seest thou ? Behold ! they are at the door ! 
 They have returned to me." 
 
 An ineffable gladness was upon his face. 
 
 My father laid his lacerated hand upon his breast, and as he took 
 the other to place by its side, the wanderer joined those silent mes- 
 sengers, and departed to the abodes beyond the seas and beyond the 
 clouds. 
 
 We buried him behind the garden among our own dead ; and my 
 father, as long as he lived, tended his grave like the rest. 
 
MR. WILLIAMSON SLIPPEY AND HIS 
 
 SALT. 
 
 "Sale omnes siiperare." 
 
 Cicero. 
 
 THE Slippeys had never been any great things. The Dukes- 
 borough people as a general thing used to look down upon 
 the Slippeys. Somehow all of them did poorly. Poorly in their 
 raising ; and when they grew up, they all, boys and girls, married 
 poorly. Anything like improvement seemed to be impracticable to 
 any of the name. This was the way with the first set. Old Jimmy 
 Slippey, the father of the family, all of whom were extremely like 
 him, persuaded himself in his old age that he had been a model of a 
 parent ; and he became disgusted with his children for having fallen 
 so far short of his great example. Quite late in life, however, Mrs. 
 Slippey, the last Mrs. Slippey (for she was the second who had enjoyed 
 the honor of that name), who was much younger than her husband, 
 gave birth unexpectedly to another son. He was named Williamson. 
 Even while yet a baby, Williamson seemed to give such uncommon 
 promise that his father, although he said that he should never live to 
 see it, used to foretell that this son of his old age would make such a 
 career as would lift up the Slippeys in good time out of their obscurity, 
 and be an honor to his family when he himself should be in his grave. 
 Among other evidences of precocity was that afforded by the sur- 
 prising speed and facility with which he cut his teeth. On one occa- 
 sion in particular, when he was only a few months old, while his father 
 was fondly caressing the three which had appeared in front, he slyly, 
 as it w-ere, sucked his finger off, and with another quite away to one 
 
MR. WILLIAMSON SLIPPEY AND HIS SALT. i6i 
 
 side bit it with such violence that Mr. Slippey cried out with mingled 
 pain and delight. And not only so, but as the latter ever afterwards 
 declared, he smiled and even winked when he did it. Now, the 
 question was if he did these things in infancy and with his own folks, 
 what would he do at manhood and with the world at large ? The old 
 gentleman pondered on these things, and in the fulness of assurp,nce 
 he was often heard to say that people need not be surprised if William- 
 son should some day become a public man. 
 
 The fond parent was right in saying that he should not live to see 
 these things. Indeed, Dukesborough itself was destined to fall before 
 the time of Williamson Slippey's highest greatness. Yet the old 
 gentleman, even in dying, adhered to his hopes and opinions ; and be- 
 queathed to his favorite child, who was yet in his shirt, the bulk of his 
 estate. This consisted mainly of a small, brown, aged, short-tailed 
 pony named Bull. 
 
 Interesting as his boyhood and youth and young manhood may 
 have been, yet I cannot linger among them. If it would not have 
 done to begin with the history of Diomede from the death of Meleager, 
 nor with the Troj an war from the double ^^^ of Leda (vide Epistola 
 ad Fisones), neither will it now do to narrate all the events in the life 
 of Mr. Williamson Slippey that were preliminary to that high career 
 which, at a later period and in an unusually excited state of society, 
 he was destined at least for a short time to lead. The facts are, 
 however, that he had had some few ups and many downs in the 
 interim between childhood and the period which I propose to select 
 for the purpose of holding him and his business up to the public 
 view. 
 
 This was in the winter of 1863-4. At this time Mr. Slippey was in 
 the city of Atlanta. Indeed, it seemed to me that there were very 
 few persons (at least among those who were old enough and not too 
 old to travel) who were not in the city of Atlanta at some time or 
 other during the late war. In those days, if you wanted to see 
 specially and soon any particular person whose whereabouts you did 
 not certainly know, your best plan was to go to Atlanta and walk 
 about the railroad depot. If you did not see him at once, the chances 
 were that he would arrive by the next train. We had never expected, 
 it is true, to see Sherman. And, indeed, many persons did not see 
 him, for they had to leave before he reached there, and did not return 
 until after he was gone. 
 
1 62 DUKESBOROUGII TALES. 
 
 As for Mr. Williamson Slippey, he had been residing there for five 
 or six years before the war, and had kept a little store, of which he 
 was very proud. If old Jimmy Slippey, when he was prophesying 
 such great things of this son, foresaw thus far into the future, he must 
 have been right in feeling that this last paternity had already made 
 amends for the disappointments of all the preceding ones. 
 
 In politics, Mr. Slippey had been an original secessionist. The fact 
 was, Yankees were settling in Atlanta too fast. Then Mr. Slippey 
 had no idea that there would be any war ; and even if there should be 
 one, he reflected that, according to the best of his recollection (although 
 he looked younger), he was over or very nearly over forty-five years of age. 
 Besides, furthermore, there was no doubt that in times of war people 
 came to town oftener than in times of peace, they bought and consumed 
 more merchandise, and, upon the whole, such times were better for the 
 mercantile business. So Mr. Slippey became a secessionist out and 
 out, saying boldly, often and often, that consequences might be conse- 
 quences. 
 
 Although his business was avowedly and mainly grocery, yet he 
 watched the general market, and was in the habit of keeping a few 
 other things besides : a small lot of cutlery, mostly pocket-knives ; a 
 few saddles and grindstones ; some tubs and wagon whips ; and even 
 a trifling supply of assorted candy and nails. For having caught a 
 customer in the general line, Mr. Slippey seemed to feel it to be his 
 duty to accommodate him in these special articles instead of sending 
 him all over town for them. By such and like means he was making 
 a little more and more every year ; and when the war broke out, Mr. 
 Slippey might have been said to be a growing man. 
 
 "Williamson Slippey is a 'growin' man, certing shore," used, in point 
 of fact, to say Elias Humphrey, a small farmer in the neighborhood. 
 He had backed up Mr. Slippey as well as he could ever since he had 
 been at Atlanta, and carried him many a customer in a small way. 
 Mr. Humphrey had predicted that Mr. Slippey would grow after a 
 while, and sure enough here he was growing. 
 
 "Jest as I said he would," Mr. Humphrey often remarked trium- 
 phantly. 
 
 At a very early period in our late struggle, which I am sure every 
 Southern man and woman, bo} and girl, of this generation is likely to 
 remember as long as they live, the attention of the Southern public 
 began to be directed to the subject of salt. And I must remark in 
 
MR. WILLIAMSON SLIPPEY AND HIS SALT. 163 
 
 passing, that probably at no time in the history of commerce has that 
 one subject received greater attention than during our late struggle. 
 Old as I was at the time, and having been a considerable reader of 
 books for one of my age, yet I found that I had had no idea of how much 
 general attention would or could be bestowed upon the single article 
 of salt as was the case in our late struggle. Of course that is all 
 over now. I know that very well ; and it is not my intention now to 
 bring up the heart-rending scenes which I often witnessed, and which 
 were caused mainly by the want of salt ; and I will end what I had to 
 say upon the general principles appertaining to that subject, by expres- 
 sing the sincere hope that never again in what time is left for me to 
 live, may I, and my friends and neighbors and countrymen of the 
 South generally, be so pinched for salt for ourselves and our cattle, our 
 sheep and hogs, and even our goats (what few we had), as was the case 
 in our late unfortunate struggle. We may have war again. I am well 
 aware of that. The universal Yankee nation have grown lately to be 
 a mighty nation for fighting; and therefore I think it is highly 
 probable that we shall have other wars. But I do think that an old 
 man like me, who has seen more than one war (although all former 
 ones were as nothing when compared with the last), and who may be 
 said to be disgusted with wars in general, may be allowed, even in this 
 connection, to express the hope that if other wars are to come, some 
 arrangements will somehow be made by somebody by which the 
 people everywhere can be supplied with salt at living prices, and man 
 and beast will not be so put to it in order to obtain it as was the case 
 in our late unfortunate struggle. There was probably not a single old 
 smoke-house in the whole Confederate States whose floor was not dug 
 up for at least three feet, thereby rendering it yet more accessible to 
 thieves and rats. I remember well in the case of my own — however, 
 I forgot that I was to stop. I will stop, and merely remark in conclu- 
 sion that the disposition to talk overmuch, which I sometimes suspect 
 to be coming upon me, as I have often noticed in men of my age and 
 even younger, and which I have thus far been careful to avoid — this 
 disposition, I say, I never feel more sensibly than when I am thinking 
 of how we of the South were cramped about salt during the time of 
 our late most unfortunate struggle. 
 
 Mr. Slippey had always managed, even before the war, to make a 
 little something upon salt. He had usually cleared from eighteen 
 and three-quarters to thirty-seven and a half cents a sack. Bagging, 
 
l64 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 Mr. Slippey had grown to be a little afraid of. He had been " burnt " 
 once, as he expressed it, by bagging. But salt, he used to boast that 
 he understood through and through. Now it so happened that when 
 we were into the war for good, he had about a hundred sacks on hand. 
 Salt went up with such rapidity that it soon reached ten dollars a sack. 
 It would seem that now was a good time for Mr. Slippey to sell out. 
 But did he do it ? Not he. Not the first sack. Instead of this Mr. 
 Slippey went about buying more salt. Indeed, he sold out everything 
 he had but salt. He seemed determined to stake everything, even to 
 his reputation as a merchant, upon salt. For he had predicted that if 
 this war should continue, salt would go a great deal higher yet. 
 Indeed there was no telling where salt would go. Thus things went 
 on until the summer of 1863, when Mr. Slippey, yet holding on to his 
 stock, prophesied publicly and above board that salt would go up to 
 one hundred and fifty dollars. True, he was laughed at, and by some 
 persons abused. But having said it, Williamson Slippey stuck to it. 
 
 Like all other prophets (mere uninspired prophets, I mean) he 
 wished his predictions verified. When the summer had passed, and 
 while the fall was passing, Mr. Slippey was excited to a degree 
 probably beyond anything that had ever been noticed in the town in 
 similar circumstances. It seemed as if we were going to have a 
 late fall. Mr. Slippey had rather hoped that winter, his business 
 season, was going to set in sooner than usual. Instead of this, he 
 thought there had never been such a late fall ! 
 
 Meanwhile, our public troubles seemed rather to promise an early 
 adjustment, and most persons were highly gratified by the prospect. 
 As it interfered with his predictions and his business, Mr. Slippey was 
 not. He was not the man to be willing to be made a fool of. Con- 
 scription had taken all the men below thirty-five. Like other men 
 over that age, he thought that was a very fine thing, and though this 
 business might be carried yet further, still, according to the best of his 
 recollection as to his own age, it was not likely to reach him. Yet the 
 fall lingered, and while it lingered he came near selling off his stock. 
 But the idea of eating his own words in that way was so revolting to his 
 feelings, and he thought he knew the universal Yankee nation so well, 
 that he concluded to hold on. 
 
 Didn't he say so ? A winter campaign is decided on. Didn't he 
 say so ? The salt-works will not be competent to supply the necessary 
 demand. Didn't he say so? The railroads will not be able to afford 
 
MR. WILLIAMSON SLIPPEY AND HIS SALT. 165 
 
 transportation for what the salt-works can furnish. Now, watch the 
 figures if you Uke. Salt, sixty dollars a sack ! Seventy ! Eighty-five ! 
 One hundred ! That will do. Everybody gets hopeless, and nobody 
 cares a red where it goes now. So, without anybody's remonstrance, 
 it went on up to one hundred and fifty dollars, and Williamson Slippey 
 was numbered among the prophets. 
 
 Now Mr. Slippey thought he might afford to sell. During the year 
 he had done but a small business in that way, and that mostly by way 
 of barter for his family expenses. These were extremely moderate in 
 spite of the high price of everything. He had economised while 
 accumulating his stock to a degree that showed genius. He carried 
 matters to such extremes that his wife, who was by no means an 
 extravagant woman, and some grown-up davighters tried to hold him 
 back by representing that unless they could do so, he and they must 
 all perish together. These ladies did not suppose, nor did the public, 
 that he ever treated himself to any luxury. They did not dream that 
 every night of his life he was in the habit of making, at his store 
 where he slept, a whiskey-stew, and then drinking it up alone. 
 
 It was about the middle of December. A cold spell had set in. 
 Salt was in high demand. Mr, Slippey had been selling briskly 
 for some days. Late one afternoon, Mr. Elias Humphrey, his old 
 friend, came into the store. Lately, Mr. Humphrey had not been much 
 about there. The fact is, Mr. Slippey had grown so far above him 
 that his society was not as welcome as formerly. Mr. Humphrey had 
 noticed this, and governed himself accordingly. But he wanted a sack 
 of salt, and, like the rest of his neighbors, had put off buying until his 
 little pen of hogs was ready to be killed. He had not made any 
 cotton, and the summer drought had cut short his crop of corn. He 
 had therefore but little money. You think that man did not have the 
 effrontery, trusting to old friendship, to try to borrow a sack from Mr. 
 Slippey ? He stated his case. He spoke with the earnestness of a 
 man who felt that it was needed to ensure success. He looked around 
 at the great heaps of salt-bags (and he knew that there were many 
 others in the cellar or elsewhere), and wound up with an effort to 
 convince Mr. Slippey that one single sack would hardly be missed 
 from such a vast pile. 
 
 "Jest one leetle bit of a sack, Slippey." 
 
 Mr. Slippey at first believed that Mr. Humphrey was joking. But 
 he looked closely at him and saw that he was in earnest. 
 
i66 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 " Have you any peach brandy, 'Lias ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " But you know who has some ? " 
 
 "Yes; some of the neighbors has some, but they ask a mighty big 
 price for it." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Twelve dollars a gallon." 
 
 " Gracious ! that is high. But you can get it cheaper. You can get 
 it for ten." 
 
 Mr. Humphrey did not think he could ; but supposing he could ? 
 
 "Well then, if you can, you can make thirty dollars." 
 
 " How ? " inquired Mr. Humphrey doubtingly. 
 
 " If you will bring me twelve gallons of good peach brandy (I want 
 it in case of sickness, yow know) I will let you have a sack of salt. 
 That is thirty dollars less than the price of salt to-day, and the price 
 will be twenty dollars higher next week." 
 
 "But I can't raise the money. You won't lend me a sack then.!"' 
 
 Mr. Slippey could not quite do that. It would not — ah — be 
 treating his brother merchants right. If it wasn't for treating his 
 brother merchants wrong, he would do it. Positively he would, but 
 for that. 
 
 Mr. Humphrey looked hard at his old friend, and it was on his 
 mind to say some bitter things. His lip trembled in the effort to 
 repress his feelings. But he did repress them, and walked quietly 
 away. Mr. Slippey was troubled somewhat. To turn off in that way a 
 man that had befriended him looked hard. He watched him as he 
 went in and came out of several stores. Once or twice he thought of 
 calling him back and putting a sack down to him at half price. He 
 did try to do it. But he could not ; and when he found that he could 
 not, he quit trying. 
 
 Oh what a glorious stew Mr. Slippey had that night ! It was about 
 nine o'clock when he began it. He was not in the habit of beginning 
 until about half-past nine ; mostly because he would not have liked 
 to be interrupted in a matter that was not one of business, and in 
 which he needed and desired no companion. But all the time during 
 the afternoon and in the evening he had been troubled by thoughts of 
 Elias Humphrey, and he wanted to think of a more agreeable subject. 
 Salt was such a subject ; but somehow Mr. Humphrey had become 
 mixed up with that. So he turned away from it and set his mind upon 
 whiskey-stew. 
 
MR. WILLIAMSON SLIFPEY AND HIS SALT. 167 
 
 The night was cold and he had a splendid fire. Still he mended it 
 a little, and after carefully closing, as he believed, the door of his 
 store, he presently brought out from a corner where they stayed, and 
 where nobody suspected that such things were, a demijohn, a pewter 
 mug and spoon, a tea-kettle, and a little round sugar box. Mr. Slip- 
 pey had taken to stew only since the war began. Yet no man of the 
 largest experience knew better how to mix things than he did. He 
 took pains, I tell you. He stirred and tasted even the sugar and 
 water before he poured in the whiskey. P'or he had ever been a dear 
 lover of sugar, owing partly, as he used to confess, to the fact of how 
 little of that article he was accustomed to get when he was a boy. 
 
 " Nobody," he would often say blandly, after he had become great, 
 " nobody loved it better than I did, and got it sildomer." 
 
 When he had gotten the sugar and water right, then he poured in 
 the whiskey. He stirred and tasted, and stirred and tasted, until it 
 was exactly right. By the time it was finished it was capital ! He 
 would stir and taste even while it was simmering over the coals. Just 
 at the instant when it would have boiled, he took it off the fire. Hot 
 as it was he took a little sip immediately, gave a slight cough, smiled, 
 and ejaculated " Hah ! " He then filled the mug, put it on the table, 
 drew up his arm-chair, and stroking gently the leg which was next the 
 fire, and throwing the other across the table, he began to sip with the 
 deliberation of a man who feels that he has something good which he 
 wishes to last a long time. 
 
 Mr. Slippey sipped and thought how good it was. He sipped and 
 surveyed the vast piles before him, as they lay in the rear part of his 
 store. He sipped and wondered why he had not taken to stew before. 
 He had once been a great temperance man, even a Knight of Jericho. 
 Nay, that man used to make speeches in a small but violent way, 
 especially against moderate drinkers, whom he used to style, every 
 single one of them, first-lieutenants of the devil. But he now believed 
 that of all the things that he had ever done this was the most foolish. 
 The fact was, Mr. Slippey had had no idea how good whiskey-stew was 
 until he had tried it. 
 
 " My opinion is," said Mr. Slippey then and there to himself, yet in 
 audible tones, " my opinion is that there ain't nary man, nor nary 
 woman in the world that wouldn't love a sweetened dram." 
 
 Whereupon he took a whole mouthful, and his very eyes seemed to 
 cry with delight. 
 
i68 DUKESBOROUGH TALES, 
 
 Again Mr. Slippey surveyed the heaps of salt, and by this time all 
 unpleasant thoughts of Mr. Humphrey having departed, he began to 
 make all sorts of inward speculations upon the salt question and upon 
 the war. For he had studied both these subjects closely ; the former 
 for its own sake, and the latter for the sake of the bearing it might 
 have upon the former. He had read everything he could find upon 
 the subject, even to allusions to it in the Bible, and had come to the 
 conclusion that salt was a much more important article than he had 
 once supposed. He began away back at the salt-mines of Lymington. 
 Wasn't that a slim business? And wasn't the same thing here a slim 
 business ? He laughed scornfully at the pitiful turn-out the salt com- 
 panies were making. Pshaw ! they never can do anything. Fossil- 
 beds and brine-springs are the things for salt. Cheshire and Worces- 
 tershire are the places for salt. If you want salt, go to Cheshire 
 and Worcestershire. But the question is, how will you get there t 
 And then the question will be, how will you ever get back again with 
 your salt ? Only to think now of how much Mr. Slippey would be 
 worth if he had a monopoly of those fossil-beds and brine-springs for 
 one year, and then could run the blockade ! Five hundred thousand 
 tons of salt ! Not sacks ! Tons ! How many sacks make a ton .' 
 What would it all amount to at present prices ? Why, it went far up 
 into the billions ! He wouldn't take time to work it up just now ; but 
 he shouldn't be surprised if it went up somewhere among the trillions. 
 Goodness alive ! Mr. Slippey could buy out the Rothschilds and own 
 them every one. Blame them old Jews ! They shouldn't hold up 
 their heads in the presence of Mr. Slippey. 
 
 But then if that amount of salt were here, the price might fall. No, 
 upon reflection it should not. He would keep it in different places 
 and make it look scarce, and by Gracious ! he wouldn't sell a sack 
 without getting his price. Everj^thing and ever}^body, people and 
 cattle, might die of the murrain before he would fall in his price after 
 going to the expense and risk of working the fossil-beds and brine- 
 springs of Cheshire and Worcestershire for one whole blessed year, and 
 then running the blockade. Mr. Slippey was indignant at the bare 
 idea of lowering the price. Fool with him much about it and he 
 would raise it higher yet ! 
 
 But the Governor might seize it. 
 
 "There now!" exclaimed Mr. Slippey aloud. "Old Brown is a 
 mighty seizer, that's a fact ; and he is sot on gettin' salt wharsomever 
 he can for them miserable old poor people up in Cherokee." 
 
MR. WILLIAMSON SLIPPEY AND HIS SALT. 169 
 
 He took another sijD and reflected. 
 
 Let him see now. How would it do to take the Governor into — 
 ah — a sort of partnership? Oh the mischief ! That won't do. Old 
 Brown was born with a prejudice against merchants. By Gracious ! he 
 would seize the salt and Mr. Slippey too, and lock them both up in 
 the Penitentiary. 
 
 But let him see again. How would it do to put salt to the Georgia 
 people at half price, and compel the rest of the Confederacy to make 
 up the loss .'' 
 
 But wouldn't the Confederate Government seize > The Confederate 
 Government ! Thunder.! No. It had more money now than six yoke 
 of oxen could pull down a mountain, and was still grinding out more 
 every day and every night. Pshaw ! if he could keep old Brown down 
 he could manage the Confederate Government easy enough. 
 
 But a speedy peace would cut these profits down 1 A speedy peace, 
 indeed ! Mr. Slippey had no fears on that subject. He would take all 
 them chances. 
 
 Mr. Slippey was a happy man as he rubbed his leg and sipped his 
 stew. While going again over his calculations as to the value of one 
 year's product of the fossil-beds and brine-springs, his mind became 
 a little fatigued, and he thought he would rest a moment and take 
 another sip. It was near the bottom, and the undissolved sugar had 
 made a sort of mush that seemed the very perfection of earthly sweets. 
 As he sat there leaning back in his chair, resting, and sipping and 
 sucking, he was fast getting to the conclusion that he was the happiest 
 of mankind. 
 
 But how fickle is fortune, especially in the times of great revolutions ! 
 How suddenly she sometimes changes her garments ! Just as Mr. 
 Slippey was about to extend his hand and take hold upon this felicity, 
 there suddenly but noiselessly appeared before him, leaning against 
 a pile of salt, the tall form of Mr. Elias Humphrey. This unexpected 
 occurrence so surprised Mr. Slippey that he could not find words with 
 which to make a single remark by way either of remonstrance or of in- 
 terrogation. Mr. Humphrey seemed for a moment to expect some 
 such remark. But Mr. Slippey was so slow in beginning that he 
 began himself. In the same sad tone in which he had spoken in the 
 afternoon, possibly even more sad, he reminded Mr. Slippey of some 
 of the favors which he had conferred upon him, and mildly reproached 
 him with ingratitude in refusing the loan of a single sack of salt at a 
 
lyo . DUKESBOROUCH TALES. 
 
 time when of all others in his life he, Mr. Humphrey, most urgently 
 needed it. 
 
 Mr. Slipper began to feel a little, a very little better, for at first it 
 occurred to him that this must surely be Mr. Humphrey's ghost. 
 As soon as he heard his well-known voice, although his language was 
 certainly much improved, he became partially reassured. He was on 
 the point of asking him to take a seat, and of telling him that he had 
 been thinking about the matter in order to see if some arrangement 
 could not be made. But while he was getting ready to say all this, 
 his visitor with even an increased sadness of tone and exaltation of 
 manner and expression, informed him that he. knew what he was going 
 to say, but that it was now too late. 
 
 " Williamson Slippe}', don't you see where you are and where you 
 are going ? " 
 
 Mr. Slippey looked around and concluded that he was in his own 
 siore-room, before a warm fire, in his own arm-chair, by the side of his 
 own table, on which was a mug with the remains of what was a most 
 excellent whiskey-stew, and that he was not going anywhere just then. 
 He would probably have denied about the stew, but there was the 
 demijohn, which he had forgotten to hide ; and then somehow Mr. 
 Humphrey looked as if he would be hard to fool. So Mr. Slippey 
 was making up his mind to answer this double question by putting 
 another to Mr. Humphrey ; and that was, how he came where he was ? 
 It was right here that Mr. Slippey thought he clearly had Mr. Hum- 
 phrey. But he was so slow in making up this answer that Mr. 
 Humphrey began upon him again. 
 
 "Williamson Slippey, you are the most altered man I ever saw. 
 Five years ago you came to this place, a poor, little, insignificant 
 fellow, and put up a little store. It was such a little thing that none 
 but poor men like me traded with you. I helped you along in various 
 ways. You have forgotten them now, and I have not come here 
 especially to remind you of them. What I did for you I did because, 
 poor as I was, I wanted to see you do well. I knew that there was 
 not much in you any way ; yet I knew you were poor, and I did think 
 you were honest, and even somewhat kind-hearted."' 
 
 In spite of Mr. Slippey's growing discomfort, he was touched by 
 these remarks ; for he had never before heard Mr. Humphrey (whom 
 he considered an unlearned man) employ such expressive language. 
 Mr. Slippey, at the allusion to his former virtues, felt his eyes to be 
 growing a little moist. Mr. Humphrey continued : 
 
MR. WILLIAMSON SLIPPEY AND HIS SALT. 171 
 
 " You used to seem to be satisfied with reasonable profits upon your 
 merchandise, and to be willing to allow to other people fair prices for 
 what they might have to exchange. Indeed, I have sometimes kno\\ n 
 you to give little things in the way of charity. And then, Slippey, you 
 certainly were a sober man. You can't deny that, for you know that 
 I have often heard you when you would be trying to make little bits 
 of temperance-speeches." 
 
 Mr. Slippey looked at the demijohn and then at the mug. As he 
 could not deny, he thought, as the lawyers do sometimes in hard cases, 
 that he would confess and avoid. 
 
 " Ca — case — case o' sickness, 'Lias. Ca — case — " 
 
 But Mr. Humphrey paid no attention to his plea. 
 
 " But now, since this unhappy war has come, you have gradually 
 grown to be an entirely different man. You have speculated, and 
 speculated, and speculated. The more money you have made the 
 stingier you have become, even to your own family, and the more hard- 
 hearted to the world. You have prophesied about the blockade not 
 being raised, and about the continuance of the war, and the prospec- 
 tive rise in the price of salt, until you have not only become bereft of 
 every sentiment of charit}' for a poor man, even one who has befriended 
 you as I have, but this night, yes this very night, you are a traitor 
 and an enemy to your country." 
 
 Mr. Slippey seemed not to have the remotest idea of what to say in 
 answer to such talk as this. He felt that somehow he had lost his 
 opportunity in the beginning, and that Mr. Humphrey had gotten the 
 advantage of him so completely that now it seemed useless to try to 
 recover it. He could only throw back his head, and with eyes and 
 mouth gaze at, and, as it were, take in Mr. Humphrey. The latter, 
 conscious of his advantage, pushed on. 
 
 " Yes, sir, I repeat it, you are a traitor to your country. You ha\ e 
 been afraid, actually afraid, that the blockade would be raised, and that 
 poor men like me would be able to get those things which if they do 
 not get they must die. The cries of the sick and the dying, not only 
 of those who are dying from pestilence and wounds, but from that 
 more unhappy malady the longing for home; the anguish of old men 
 and women and children for the absence and death of sons and 
 husbands and fathers, and the miseries of all the poor for the want of 
 corn and meat and clothes and shoes, — all these are nothing to you. 
 You have speculated in many ways. But lately you have been confin- 
 
172 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 ing your operations to salt : to salt, of all things the most needed and 
 the hardest for poor people to get. You have bought up salt until 
 you actually lie to your own wife both as to the quantity which you 
 have and the places where you keep it. Not satisfied with what you 
 have and the ruinous prices at which you sell it, you sometimes try to 
 imagine that you are the sole proprietor of all the fossil-beds and 
 brine-springs of Cheshire and Worcestershire." 
 
 Now Mr. Slippey thought that if there was anything that he would 
 have been willing to swear to, it was that Elias Humphrey had 
 never heard of Cheshire and Worcestershire, or of fossil-beds and 
 brine-springs ; and he was getting confirmed in a suspicion which he 
 had that the latter had been in the store long before he had exhibited 
 himself. Mr. Slippev therefore had some vague notion of saying to 
 Mr. Humphrey that he did not consider such conduct exactly fair. 
 But still he could not but feel that the advantage was yet on the side 
 of Mr. Humphrey, and that the latter was using it with a skilfulness 
 that was becoming very oppressive. 
 
 " Ah, yes," resumed Mr. Humphrey, now lifting his right arm, " you 
 have dealt in salt until every thought of your mind and every impulse 
 of your whole nature are of nothing but salt. Everything you look 
 at and everything you think about are connected in your mind with 
 salt. If you could you would turn j-our own wife and children into 
 salt, believing that thus they would be of more value to you than as 
 they are now. You are in a worse condition than the poor wife of the 
 exiled Lot. She was changed into salt only for disobedience in turn- 
 ing to look back once more upon the graves of her fiithers and the 
 home of her youth. You have become a living, moving pillar of salt, 
 because a disastrous war has made this necessary article of life pre- 
 cious as gold ; and aside from the riches you make out of it, you love 
 to be pointed at by the lean hands of the poor, and hear of them 
 saying, ' Thor goes a man of Salt.' " 
 
 Mr. Slippey began to perspire. 
 
 " Quotin' Scripter on me to boot ! " he feebly muttered. Mr. Hum- 
 phrey had now gotten so far above him, and he saw he had heretofore 
 so far underrated him both as to the amount of his information and 
 his powers of speech, that he became completely hacked. Mr. Hum- 
 phrey continued his pursuit. 
 
 " Hard-hearted man, and proud ! Hard-hearted as Abimelech, son 
 of Jerubbaal, who murdered his seventy brethren, and having taken 
 
MR. WILLIAMSON SLIPPEY AND HIS SALT. 173 
 
 Shechem and slain its people, beat down the city and sowed its deso- 
 lated streets with salt ! And proud ! Yea, this poor little salt mer- 
 chant expects to be famous, even as David gat him a name when he 
 returned from smiting of the Syrians in the Valley of Salt, being 
 eighteen thousand men." 
 
 Mr. Slippey began to feel as if the roots of his hair would not be 
 sufficient to keep it from rising from his head and leaving it perfectly 
 bald. 
 
 " And then to think," Mr. Humphrey went on — " only to think how 
 utterly mean and contemptible you have become ! What an arrant 
 coward ! What an egregious liar ! Before the war and before con- 
 scription you used to like to be considered a smart young fellow. But 
 you have lately been growing older and older with a rapidity unprece- 
 dented in human life. You have gotten into the habit lately of speaking 
 of yourself as an aged man, weary with cares and the weight of years. 
 Ahead of conscription in the beginning, you intend to keep ahead of 
 it to the end. As soon as it was hinted that if the war should continue 
 another year the Governor would call out the militia up to fifty-five 
 years of age, you went right to work talking about things that happened 
 before you were born, and saying that younger men than you must 
 fight the battles of the country. You mean to keep ahead of conscrip- 
 tion and yet keep up the activity of a man of business. If it were 
 necessary for your purposes, you would be as old as the Wandering 
 Jew. And you have this advantage of the enrolling officers : you 
 come of such a low family, and your father was so mean and poor 
 and ignorant that there was no family Bible in which to record the 
 date of your birth, and there is not a respectable man living, at least 
 in this neighborhood, who has ever concerned himself enough about 
 you to know anything of your age. All this you know, and you glory 
 in it. And yet you don't see where you are and where you are going." 
 
 Here Mr. Humphrey paused, and looked as if he intended to move 
 himself in some direction. Mr. Slippey, hacked as he was, now 
 thought surely he must say something. 
 
 "Ta — take — take a — take a seat, 'Lias, which — I should say — 
 Mister, Mister Humphrey. Ta — take a — seat — and let me — ex — ex- 
 plain." 
 
 Mr. Humphrey, instead of complying with this request,' moved off a 
 little to one side and stopped. Mr. Slippey, without moving his 
 body, merely turned his head and looked at his visitor with a sort of 
 
174 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 cock-eyed expression. It was extremely inconvenient, and made him 
 perspire more and more. 
 
 "Tha — thake a — theat — pleathe — won't you thake a — " 
 
 Mr. Humphrey, without heeding these words, came at him again in 
 this wise : 
 
 " But you could not do all this without some compunctions. To 
 repress these you have taken to intemperance — to whiskey-stew, 
 forsooth ! Day after day have you been tossed to and fro in the mad- 
 dening vortex of speculation, never resting, never seeking rest. Only 
 when the night has come, forsaking the couch of the wife of your 
 bosom, forsaking the society of the children who have been born to 
 you, and who, if properly nurtured and admonished, might have 
 become swift and unerring arrows in the full quiver of a stout and vir- 
 tuous old age, you have been coming to this miserable hole in order 
 to steep your reason and your conscience in the fumes of a fiery fluid 
 that is consuming the last substance of your vitality. The amount 
 and the quality of the whiskey that you have consumed within the last 
 six months are perfectly shocking to humanity. When the old-time 
 whiskey gave out or got too high for your mean, stingy soul, you began 
 on blackberry. That got too high, and you went to potato. Mean as 
 that was, you went lower yet : to tomatoes and persimmon. Oh, how 
 you have cheated the poor people in this neighborhood out of persim- 
 mon whiskey ! A little pocketful of salt for a big bottleful of per- 
 simmon whiskey ! And then, lower yet, China-berry ! China-berry ! 
 Who but the men of this generation would ever have thought of making 
 whiskey from China-berries ? — China-berries which only cows and robins 
 eat ; thus taking away the principal article of food from the innocent 
 Robin-Redbreast, the sweet songster of the grove." 
 
 These words about the robin affected Mr. Slippey to tears. He saw 
 himself to be so much worse than he had believed that he began to 
 despise himself Yet he could but feel that some little injustice was 
 done him in this last charge, having acted from, as he thought, no 
 wanton disregard of the wants of that favorite bird. 
 
 "Tha — thake a — theat — Mith — Mith — Humph — and let me 
 exth — exthpl — " 
 
 But Mr. Humphrey was deaf to his entreaties. 
 
 "And now, within the last week, you have descended to the very 
 bottom of this last infamy, and taken to So?-ghmn : to Sorghum ! 1 
 repeat it," almost roared Mr. Humphrey, " of all vile potations, the 
 
MR. WILLIAMSON SLIPPEY AND HIS SALT. 175 
 
 vilest, Sorghum ; the very most fatal device which war and the evil 
 spirit have concocted together for the ruin of this unhappy country. 
 There you sit even now with an exhausted mug of stew made of sor- 
 ghum four days old ; and to say nothing of your looks, which are 
 wretched in the extreme, the very odors you and your mug and demi- 
 john dispense are such that were the very vulture here, the vulture 
 that loves to riot in corruption, and had he the opportunity of preying 
 upon your dying carcass, he would consult the dignity of his bill, turn 
 his head, plume his dusky wings, and fly away to distant shores." 
 
 Great drops of sweat now formed upon Mr. Slippey's face, and were 
 coursing one another down his nose. 
 
 " And now," asked Mr. Humphrey with earnest compassion, " don't 
 you see where you are and where you are going ? No he don't. The 
 miserable creature don't ! Oh Williamson Slippey, don't you see that 
 you are dying and going to perditum ? " 
 
 The poor man had had no idea of being so near his earthly end. 
 Notwithstanding his advance of all conscriptions, both past and pros- 
 pective, he yet had felt within himself the supplies of a life of many 
 years to come, and in his blindness had believed that sorghum-stews 
 were furnishing strength far behind his age. But now these words fell 
 upon his ears with the import of doom. His heart ceased to beat. 
 His tongue could no longer articulate. Earthly objects were fading 
 from his vision, and with unutterable horror he beheld the approach 
 of the eternal burnings. Oh for a little more of life ! Oh for the 
 opportunity of repenting and of distributing his salt among the poor ! 
 Too late ! On the fires came rolling and roaring. Feet foremost Mr. 
 Slippey glided to meet them. 
 
 "Oh! Oh!! Oh!! Oh!!! Oh!!!!" screamed the unhappy man, 
 and gave it up. 
 
 At least so he believed. 
 
 But Mr. Slippey fortunately was mistaken. He was not quite dead, 
 although the fire and the sorghum-stew had come near finishing him. 
 He had fallen to sleep and to dreaming, and had subsided in his 
 chair until his head was hanging ov^er the arm next the fire. Its 
 weight and that of his other upper parts had pushed one leg so far in 
 that direction that his trowsers caught the blaze and his calf began to 
 burn. The fire and the shriek awoke the sleeper, and it was half a 
 minute before he could convince himself that he was not where Mr. 
 Humphrey had said he was going. With many a slap and some kicks, 
 
176 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 having found out the state of things and extinguished the flames, he 
 went with speed to the door, opened it, and thought that the cool 
 night-air never had felt so fresh and so nice. 
 
 The next morning Mr. Slippey was observed to have on a new pair 
 of trowsers and to limp slightly. On that day he sold out his whole 
 stock except two sacks, which before night were in Elias Humphrey's 
 smoke-house. In a very short time Mr. Slippey with his family 
 started off in a southwesterly direction from Atlanta, and it was sup- 
 posed succeeded in getting to Texas, whither he seemed to be bound. 
 
INVESTIGATIONS CONCERNING MR. 
 JONAS LIVELY. 
 
 " I well believe 
 
 Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know, 
 
 And so far will I trust thee." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 "Man is but half without woman." 
 
 Bailey. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ALTHOUGH Mr. Bill Williams had moved into Dukesborough, 
 this exaltation did not seem to interfere with the cordial relations 
 established between him and myself at the Lorriby school. He used to 
 come out occasionally on visits to his mother, and seldom returned 
 without calling at our house. This occurred most usually upon the 
 Sundays when the monthly meetings were held in the church at 
 Dukesborough. On such days he and I usually rode home together, 
 I upon my pony and he upon a large brown mare which his mother 
 had sent to him in the forenoon. 
 
 Ever since those remote times I have associated in my memory Mr. 
 Bill with that mare, and one or another of her many colts. According 
 to the best of my recollection, she was for years and years never 
 without a colt. Her normal condition seemed to be always to be 
 followed by a colt. Sometimes it was a horse-colt and sometimes 
 a mule ; for the planters in those times raised at home all their 
 domestic animals. And what a lively little fellow this colt 
 always was ; and what an anxious parent was old Molly Sparks, as 
 Mr. Bill called the dam ! How that colt would run about and get 
 23 
 
178 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 mixed up with the horses in the grove around the church ; and how 
 the old mare would whicker all during the service ! I knew that 
 whicker among a hundred. Mr. Bill used always to tie her to a 
 swinging limb ; for her anxiety would sometimes cause her to break 
 the frail bridle which usually confined her, and run all about the 
 grounds in pursuit of her truant offspring. Mr. Bill had also to sit 
 where he could see her in order to be ready for all difficulties. I 
 used to be amused to notice how he would be annoyed by her cries 
 and prancings, and how he would pretend to be listening intently to 
 the sermon when his whole attention I knew to be on old Mary and 
 the colt. Seldom was there a Sunday that he did not have to leave 
 the church in order to catch old Mary and tie her up again. This 
 was a catastrophe he was ever dreading, because he really disliked to 
 disturb the service ; and he had the consideration when he rose to go 
 to place his handkerchief to his face, that the congregation might 
 suppose that his nose was bleeding. 
 
 While we would be riding home, the conduct of that colt, if anything, 
 would be worse than at the church. His fond parent would exert 
 every effort to keep him by her side, but he would get mixed up with 
 the horses more than before. Twenty times would he be lost. Some- 
 times he would be at an immense distance behind ; then he would 
 pretend, as it seemed, to be anxiously looking for his mother, and 
 would run violently against every horse, whether under the saddle or 
 in harness. Old Mary would wheel around and try to get back, her 
 whickers ever resounding far and wide. When the colt would have 
 enough of this frolic, or some one of the home-returning horsemen 
 would give him a cut with his riding-switch, he would get out upon the 
 side of the road, run at full speed past his dam and get similarly mixed 
 up with the horses in front. If he ever got where she was he would 
 appear to be extravagantly gratified, and would make an immediate 
 and violent effort to have himself suckled. Failing in this, he would 
 let fly his hind legs at her, and dash off again at full speed in whatever 
 direction his head happened to be turned. Mr. Bill would often say 
 that of all the fools he ever saw, old Molly and her colt were the 
 biggest. As for my part, the anxiety of the parent seemed to me 
 natural in the circumstances ; but I must confess that in the matter of 
 the quality usually called discretion, while the young of most animals 
 have little of it usually, I have frequently thought that of -all others 
 the one who had the least amount was the colt. 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 179 
 
 Yet I did not intend to speak of such a trifling matter, but ^vas led 
 to it unwarily by the association of ideas. Mr. Bill often accepted our 
 invitations to dinner upon these Sundays, or he would walk over in 
 the afternoon. Although he liked much the society of my parents, 
 yet he was fondest of being with me singly. I was certainly more 
 appreciative of his conversation than they were. With all his fondness 
 for talking, there was some constraint upon him, especially in the 
 presence of my father, for whom he had the profoundest respect. So, 
 somehow or other Mr. Bill and I would get away to ourselves, when 
 he could display his full powers in that line. This was easily prac- 
 ticable, as never or seldom did such a day pass without our having 
 other guests to dinner from among those neighbors who resided at a 
 greater distance from the village than we did. Our table on these 
 Sundays was always extended to two or three times its usual length. 
 My parents, though they were religious, thought there was no harm in 
 detaining some of these neighbors to dinner and during the remainder 
 of the day. 
 
 Mr. Bill had evidently realised his expectations of the pleasures and 
 advantages of town-life. It seemed to me that he was greatly im- 
 proved by it. He had evidently laid aside some of his ancient awk- 
 wardness and hesitation of manner. He talked more at his ease. 
 Then he gave a more careful and fashionable turn to his hair, and, I 
 thought, combed and brushed it oftener than he had been wont. His 
 trousers too were better pulled up, and his shirt-collar was now never or 
 seldom without the necessary button. I was therefore somewhat sur- 
 prised to hear my father remark more than once that he did not think 
 that town-life was exactly the best thing for Mr. Bill, and that he 
 would not be surprised if he would not have done better to keep at 
 home with his mother. But Mr. Bill grew more and more fond of 
 Dukesborough, and he used to relate to me some of the remarkable 
 things that occurred there. About every one of the hundred inhabi- 
 tants of the place and those who visited it, he knew everything that 
 by any possibility could be ascertained. He used to contend that it 
 was a merchant's business to know everybody, and especially those 
 who tried to conceal their affairs from universal observation. He had 
 not been very long in Dukesborough before he could answer almost 
 any question you could put to him about any of his fellow-citizens. 
 
 With one exception. 
 
 This was Mr. Jonas Lively. 
 
i8o DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 He was too hard a case for Mr. Bill. Neither he nor any other 
 person, not even Mrs. Hodge, seemed to know much about him. The 
 late Mr. Hodge probably knew more than anybody else ; but if he 
 did, he did not tell anybody, and now he was dead and gone, and Mr. 
 Lively was left comparatively unknown to the world. 
 
 Where Mr. Liv^ely had come from originally people did not know 
 for certain, although he had been heard occasionally to use expres- 
 sions which induced the belief that he might have been a native of the 
 State of North Carolina. It Vas ascertained that he had done busi- 
 ness for some years in Augusta, and some said that he yet owned a 
 little property there. This much was certain that he went there or 
 somewhere else once every winter, and after remaining about a month, 
 returned, as was supposed, with two new vests and pairs of trousers. 
 At the time I began to take an interest in him, in sympathy with Mr. 
 Bill, he had been residing at Dukesborough for about two years ; not 
 exactly at Dukesborough either, but something less than a mile 
 outside, where he boarded with the Hodges, occupying a small 
 building in one corner of the yard, which they called " The Office," 
 and in which before he came the family used to take their meals. He 
 might have had his chamber in the main house where the others stayed 
 but for one thing ; for besides the two main rooms there were a 
 couple of low-roofed shed-rooms in front, only one of which was 
 occupied by Susan Temple, a very poor relation of Mr. Hodge. 
 There were no children, and Mr. Lively might have had the other 
 shed-room across the piazza but for the fact that it was devoted to 
 another purpose. Mr. Hodge — 
 
 But one at a time. Let me stick to Mr. Lively for the present, and 
 tell what little was known about him. 
 
 Mr. Lively was about fifty-one or two years of age. Mr. Bill used 
 to insist that he would never see fifty-five again, and that he would not 
 be surprised if he was sixty. I have no idea but that this was an 
 over-estimate. The truth is that, as I have often remarked, young 
 men like Mr. Bill are prone to assign too great age to elderly men, 
 especially when, like Mr. Lively, they are unmarried. But let that go. 
 
 Mr. Lively was about five feet five, quite stout in body, but of 
 moderate-sized legs. He had a brown complexion, brown hair and 
 black eyebrows. His eyes were a mild green, with some tinge of red 
 in the whites. His nose was Roman, or would have been if it had been 
 longer 3 for just as it began to hook and to become Roman it stopped 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. i8i 
 
 short, as if upon reflection it thought it wrong to ape ancient and 
 especially foreign manners. He always wore a long black frock-coat, 
 either gray or black trousers and vest, and a very stout low-crowned 
 furred hat. He carried a hickory walking-stick with a hooked 
 handle. 
 
 IMr. Lively had come to the neighborhood about two years before 
 and taken board at the Hodges'. He had never seemed to have any 
 regular business. True, he would be known sometimes to buy a 
 bale of cotton, or it might be two or three, and aftei'wards have 
 them hauled to Augusta by some neighbor's wagon when the 
 latter would be carrying his own to market. Then he occasionally 
 bought a poor horse out of a wagon and kept it at the Hodges' for a 
 couple of months, and got him fat and sold him again at a smart 
 profit. He was a capital doctor of horses, and was suspected of 
 being somewhat proud of his skill in that line, as he would cheerfully 
 render his services when called upon, and always refused any com- 
 pensation. But when he traded, he traded. If he bought, he put 
 down squarely into the seller's hands ; if he sold, the money had to 
 be put squarely into his. Such transactions were rare, however ; he 
 certainly made but little in that way. But then he spent less. 
 Besides five dollars a month for board and lodging, he furnishing his 
 own room, if he was out any more nobody knew what it was for. 
 
 He was a remarkably silent man. Although he came into Dukes- 
 borough almost every day, he had but little to say to anybody and 
 stayed but a short time. The greater part of the remainder of the 
 day he spent at home, partly in walking about the place and partly in 
 reading w-hile sitting in his chamber, or in the piazza between the 
 two little shed-rooms in the front part of the house. He never went 
 to church ; yet upon Sundays he read the Bible and other religious 
 books almost the livelong da3^ 
 
 In the life-time of Mr. Hodge he was supposed to know considerable 
 about Mr. Lively. The latter certainly used to talk with him with 
 more freedom than with any other person. Mrs. Hodge never was 
 able to get much out of Mr. Lively, notwithstanding that she was a 
 woman who was remarkably fond of obtaining as much information 
 as possible about other persons. She used to give it as her opinion 
 that there was nothing in Mr. Lively, and in his absence would talk 
 and laugh freely at his odd ways and looks. But Mr. Hodge at such 
 times (when he felt that it was safe to do so) would mildly rebuke Ws 
 
i82 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 wife. After Mr. Hodge had died, the opinion became general that 
 no person was likely to succeed him in Mr. Liv^ely's confidence, and 
 there was a good deal of dissatisfaction upon the subject. 
 
 Mr. Bill Williams felt this dissatisfaction to an uncommon degree. 
 Being now a citizen of Dukesborough, he felt himself strongly bound 
 to be thoroughly identified with all its interests. Any man that 
 thus kept himself apart from society and refused to allow everybody 
 to know all about himself and his business, was in his opinion a 
 suspicious character, and ought to be watched. What seemed to 
 concern him more than anything else was a question frequently 
 mooted as to whether Mr. Lively's hair was his own or was a wig. 
 Such a thing as the latter had never been seen in the town, and there- 
 fore the citizens were not familiar with it ; but doubts were raised 
 from the peculiar way in which Mr. Lively's hung from his head, and 
 there were others besides Mr. Bill who would have liked to see them 
 settled — not that this would have fully satisfied him, but he would 
 have felt something better. Mr. Bill desired to know all about Mr. 
 Lively, it is true ; yet if he had been allowed to investigate him fully, 
 he certainly would have begun with his head. " The fact of it ar," he 
 maintained, " that it aint right. It aint right to the Dukesborough 
 people, and it aint right to the transhent people. Transhent people 
 comes here goin through, and stops all night at Spouter's tavern. 
 They ax about the place and the people \ and who knows but what 
 some of 'em mout wish to buy propty and come and settle here ? In 
 cose I in ginerly does most o' the talkin to sich people, and tells 'em 
 about the place and the people. I don't like to be obleeged to tell 
 'em that we has one suspicious character in the neighborhood, and 
 which he ar so suspicious that he don't never pull off his hat, and that 
 people don't know whether the very har on his head ar his'n or not. 
 I tell you it aint right. I made up my mind the first good chance I 
 git to ax Mr. Lively a few civil questions about hisself '•' 
 
 It was not very long after this before an opportunity was presented 
 to Mr. Bill of chatting a little with Mr. Lively. The latter had 
 walked into the store one morning when there was no other person 
 there except Mr. Bill, and inquired for some drugs to give to a sick 
 horse. Mr. Bill carefully but slowly made up the bundle, when the 
 following dialogue took place : 
 
 " I'm monstous glad to see you, Mr. Lively ; you don't come into 
 the* store so monstous powerful ofting. I wish I could see you here 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 183 
 
 more ofting. Not as I'm so mighty powerful anxious to sell goods, 
 though that's my business, and in course I feels better when trade's 
 brisk ; but I jest nately would like to see you. You may not know 
 it, Mr. Lively, but I don't expect you've got a better friend in this 
 here town than what I am." 
 
 Mr. Bill somehow couldn't find exactly where the twine was ; he 
 looked about for it in several places, especially where it was quite 
 unlikely that it should be. Mr. Lively was silent. 
 
 " I has thought," continued Mr. Bill, after finding his twine, " that I 
 would like to talk with you sometimes. The people is always a 
 inquirin of me about where you come from and all sich, and what 
 business j'ou used to follow, jest like they thought you and me was' 
 intimate friends, — which I am as good 'a friend as you've got in the 
 v.'hole town, and which I spose you're a friend of mine. I tells 'em 
 )'-ou're a monstous fine man in my opinion, and I spose I does know 
 you about as well as anybody else about here. But yit we haint had 
 no long continyed convisation like I thought we mout have some time, 
 when it mout be convenant, and we mout talk all about old North 
 Calliner whar you come from, and which my father he come from thar 
 too, which he ar now dead and gone. Law ! how he did love to 
 talk about that old country ! and how he did love the people that 
 come from thar. If my father was here, which now he ar dead and 
 gone, he wouldn't let you rest wheresomever he mout see you for 
 talkin about old North Calliner and them old people thar." 
 
 Mr. Bill handed the parcel over to Mr. Lively with as winning a look 
 as it was possible for him to bestow. Mr. Lively seemed slightly 
 interested.. 
 
 " And your father was from North Carolina ? " 
 
 " Certinly," answered Mr. Bill with glee ; " right from Tar River. 
 I've heern him and mammy say so nigh and in and about a thousand 
 times, I do believe." And Mr. Bill advanced from behind the counter, 
 came up to Mr. Lively, and looked kindly and neighborly upon him. 
 
 " Do you ever think about going there yourself? " inquired the 
 latter. 
 
 Mr. Bill did that very thing over and ofting. From a leetle bit of a 
 boy he had thought how he would like to go thar and see them old 
 people. If he lived, he would go thar some day to that old place and 
 see them old people. 
 
 From the way Mr, Bill talked, it seemed that his ideas were that 
 
i84 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 the North Carolinians all resided at one particular place, and that 
 they were all quite aged persons. But this was possibly intended as 
 a snare to catch Mr. Lively, by paying in this indirect manner respect 
 for his advanced age. 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Mr. Lively, while he stored away the parcel in 
 his capacious pocket, "you ought to go there by all means. If you 
 should ever go there, you will find as good people as you ever saw in 
 3'our life. They are a peaceable people, those North Carolinians, and 
 industrious. You hardly ever see a man there that has not got some 
 sort of business ; and then, as a general thing, people there attend to 
 their own business and don't bother themselves about other people's." 
 
 Mr. Lively then turned and walked slowly to 'the door. As he 
 reached it, he turned again a:nd said : 
 
 " Oh yes, Mr. Williams, you ought to go there and see that people 
 once before you die ; it would do you good. Good-daj'-, Mr. Wil- 
 liams." 
 
 After Mr. Lively had gotten out of the store and taken a few steps, 
 Mr. Bill went to the door, looked at him in silence for a moment or 
 two, and then made the following soliloquy : 
 
 " Got no more manners than a hound. I axed him a civil question, 
 and see what I got ! But never mind, I'll find out somethin about you 
 yit. Now, aint thar a picter of a man ! Well you cars a walkin-stick : 
 them legs needs all the help they can git in totin the balance of you 
 about. And jest look at that har : I jest know it aint all his'n. 'But 
 never do you mind." 
 
 After this, Mr. Bill seemed to regard it as a point of honor to find 
 Mr. Lively out. Hitherto he had owed it to the public mainly ; now, 
 there was a debt due to himself He had propounded to Mr. Lively 
 a civil question, and instead of getting a civil answer had been as 
 good as laughed at. Mr. Lively might go for the present, but he 
 should be up with him in time. 
 
 It was perhaps fortunate for Mr. Bill's designs, as well for the 
 purposes of this narrative, that he was slightly akin to Mrs. Hodge, 
 whom he occasionally visited. However, we have seen that this lady 
 had known heretofore about as little of her guest as other people, and 
 that, at least in the life-time of Mr. Hodge, her opinion was that there 
 was nothing in him. True, since Mr. Hodge's death she had been 
 more guarded in her expressions. Mrs. Hodge probably reflected 
 that now she was a lone woman in the world, except Susan Temple, 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 185 
 
 who was next to nothing, she ought to be particular. Mr. Bill had 
 sounded his cousin Malviny (as he called her) heretofore, and of 
 course could get nothing more than she had to impart. He might 
 give up some things, but they were not of the kind we are considering. 
 He informed me one day that on one subject he had made up his 
 mind to take the responsibihty. This expression reminded me of our 
 last day with the Lorribies, and I hesitated whether the fullest reliance 
 could be placed upon such a threat. But I said nothing. 
 
 " That thing," he continued, " are the circumsance of his har : which 
 it ar my opinion that it ar not all liis'n : which I has never seed a wig, 
 but has heern of 'em ; and which it ar my opinion that that har ar a 
 imposition on the public, and also on Cousin Malviny Hodge, and he 
 a livin in her very house — leastways in the office. I mout be mis- 
 taken ; ef so, I begs his pardon : though he have not got the manners 
 of a hound, no, not even to answer a civil question. Still I wouldn't 
 wish to hurt a har of his head ; no, not even ef it war not all his'n. 
 Yit the public have a right to know, and — I wants to know myself 
 And I'm gittin tired of sich foolin and bamboozlin, so to speak ; and 
 the fact ar, that Mr. Lively ar got to 'splain hisself on the circumsance 
 o' that har." 
 
 The next time I met Mr. Bill he was delighted with some recent 
 and important information. I shall let him speak for himself 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Mr. Bill had come over to our house one Sunday to dinner. I 
 knew from his looks upon entering that he had something to com- 
 municate. As soon as dinner was over, and he could decently do so, 
 he proposed a walk to me. My father was much amused at the 
 intimacy between us, and I could sometimes observe a quiet smile 
 upon his face when we would start out together upon one of our 
 afternoon strolls. As I was rather small for nine, and Mr. Bill rather 
 large for nineteen years old, I suppose it was somewhat ludicrous to 
 observe such a couple sustaining to each other the relation of equality. 
 Mr. Bill seemed to regard me as fully his equal except in the matter 
 of size, and I had come to feel as much ease in his society as if he 
 had been of my own age. By his residence in town he had acquired 
 24 
 
i86 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 some sprightliness of manner and conversation which made him more 
 interesting to me than formerly. This sprightliness was manifested 
 by his forbearing to call me Squire persistently, and varying my name 
 with that ease and freedom which town-people learn so soon to 
 employ. This was interesting to me. 
 
 When we had gotten out of the yard and into the grove, Mr. Bill 
 began : 
 
 " Oh, my friend, friend of my boyhood's sunny hour, I've been nigh 
 and in about a dyin to see you, especially sence night afore last — 
 sence I caught old Jonah." 
 
 '•' Have you caught him, ISIr. Bill ? " 
 
 " Caught him ! Treed him. Not ezactly treed him neither ; but 
 runned him to his holler. I told you I was goin to do it." 
 
 Seeing that I did not clearly understand, Mr. Bill smiled with 
 delight at the felicitous manner in which he had begun his narrative. 
 We proceeded a little farther to a place where a huge oak-tree had 
 protruded its roots from the ground. There we sat, and he resumed : 
 
 "Yes, Sir, I runned him right into his holler. And now. Squire, 
 I'm goin to tell you a big secret ; and you are the onliest man, 
 Phillmon Pearch, that I've told it, becase, you see, the circumsances 
 is sich that it won't do to tell too many people nohow ; becase you see 
 Mr. Lively he ar a curis sort o' man, I'm afeard. And then you 
 know, Philip, you and me has been thick and jest like brothers, and 
 I'll tell to you what I wouldn't tell to no monstous powerful chunce o' 
 people nohow. And ef it was to git out, people, and specially other 
 people, mout say that — ah — I didn't — ah — do ezactly right. And 
 then thar's Cousin Malviny Hodge. Somehow Cousin Malviny she 
 aint — somehow she aint ezactly like she used to be in Daniel Hodge's 
 life-time. Wimming is right curis things, Squire, specially arfter thar 
 husbands dies. I never should a blieved it of her arfter what I've 
 heern her say and go on about that old feller. But wimming's wim- 
 ming ; and they ar going to be so always. But that's neither here 
 nor thar : j'ou mustn't let on that I said a word about him." 
 
 I felt flattered by this the first confidential communication I had 
 ever received, and promised secrecy. 
 
 "Well, you see. Squire Phil, I axed Mr. Lively as far and civil 
 question as one gentleman could ax another gentleman, becase I 
 thought that people had a right and was liable to know sojncthiii about 
 a man who live in the neighborhood, and been a livin thar for the last 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 187 
 
 • 
 two year and never yit told a human anything about hisself, exceptin 
 it mout be to Daniel Hodge, which he are now dead and gone, and 
 not even Cousin Malviny don't know. Leastways didn't. I don't 
 know what she mought know now. Oh wimming, wimming ! They 
 won't do, Philip. But let 'em go. I axed Mr. Lively a civil question. 
 One day when he come in the sto' I axed him as polite and civil as 
 I knowed how about gittin a little bit acquainted along with him, and 
 which I told him I was friendly, and also all about my father comin 
 from North Calliner, thinkin may be, as he come from thar too, he 
 mout have a sorter friendly to me in a likewise way, ef he didn't 
 keer about bein so monstous powerful friendly to the people in ginerl, 
 which the most of 'em, you know, like your folks, they mostly come 
 from old Firginny. You see I sorter slyly baited my hook with old 
 North Calliner. But nary bite did I git — no, nary nibble. The old 
 fellow look at me mighty interestin while I war a goin on about the 
 old country, and arfter I got through he smiled calm as a summer 
 evenin like — so to speak — and then I thought we was goin to have 
 a good time. Instid o' that, he axed me ef I war ever expectin to 
 ever go thar, and then said that I ought to go thar by all means and 
 see them old people ; and then he sorter hinted agin me for axin about 
 him bein from thar, becase he was mighty particler to say that them 
 old people in ginerly was mighty fond o' tending to their own business 
 and lettin t'other people's alone. Which I don't have to be kicked 
 down stairs befo' I can take a hint. And so I draps the subject; 
 which in fact I was obleeged to *drap it, becase no sooner he said it 
 he went right straight immejantly outen the sto'. But, thinks I to 
 myself, says I, I'll head you yit, Mr. Lively. I'll find out sumthin 
 about you, ef it be only whether that head o' har ar yourn or not." 
 
 " Is it a wig ? " I asked. 
 
 " Phillimon," said Mr. Bill, in a tone intended to be considered as 
 remonstrative against all improper haste — "Phillemon Pearch, when 
 a man ar goin to tell you a interestin circumsance about a highly 
 interestin character, so to speak, you mustn't ax him about the last 
 part befo' he git thoo the first part. If you does, the first part mout 
 not have a far chance to be interestive, and both parts mout, so to 
 speak, git mixed up and confused together. Did you ever read 
 Alonzo and Melissy, Phil ? " 
 
 I had not. 
 
 " Thar it is, you see. Ef you had a read Alonzo and Melissy you 
 
i88 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 would not a ax the question you did. ( In that novyul they holds back 
 the best for the last, and ef you knowed what it was all goin to be 
 you wouldn't read the balance o' the book ; and which the man, he 
 knowed you wouldn't, and that made him hold it back. And which I 
 war readin that same book one day, and Angeline Spouter she told 
 me that nary one of 'em wan't goin to git killed, and that they got 
 married at the last, and which then I wouldn't read the book no longer, 
 and which I war gittin sorter tired anyhow, becase I got very little 
 time from my business to be readin novyuls anyhow."*' 
 
 I was very sorry that I had asked the question. 
 
 " No, Philmon, give every part a far chance to be interestin. I 
 give Jonas Lively a far chance ; but the diffic-ulty war he wouldn't 
 give me one, and I tuck it. I'm goin to take up Mr. Lively all over. 
 He ar a book, Sir — a far book. I'll come to his har in time." 
 
 Mr. Bill readjusted himself between the roots of the old oak so as 
 to lie in comfort in a position where he could look me fully in the face. 
 
 "You see, Squire," he continued, " Cousin Malviny Hodge, she ar 
 sort o' kin to me, and we alwaj's calls one another cousin. The 
 families has always been friendly and claimed kin, but I don't blieve 
 they ever could tell whar it started, but it war on Cousin Malviny's 
 side, leastways John Simmonses, her first husband, who his father he 
 also come from North Calliner. I used to go out thar sometimes and 
 stay all night ; but I haint done sich a thing sence Mr. Lively have 
 been thar. One thing, you know, becase he sleeps in the office, and 
 the onliest other place for a man to sleep at thar is the t'other shed- 
 room on the t'other side o' the pe-azer from Susan Temple's room, 
 and which about three year ago they made a kind of a sto' outen 
 that. The very idee of callin that a sto' ! It makes Mr. Bland laugh 
 every time I talk about Cousin Malviny's sto'. I jest brings up the 
 subject sometimes jest to see Mr. Bland laugh and go on. Mr. 
 Bland, you know, Philip, ar the leadin head pardner, and one of the 
 funniest men you ever see. Mr. Jones ar a monstous clever man, but 
 he ar not a funny man like Mr. Bland, not nigh." 
 
 This compliment of Mr. Bill to his employer I considered proper 
 enough, although I could have wished that he had made fewer remarks 
 which appeared to me to be so far outside of the subject. But I knew 
 that h2 lived in town, and I think I had a sort of notion that such 
 persons had superior rights as well as superior privileges to mere 
 country people. Still I was extremely anxious on the wig question. 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 189 
 
 Mr. Bill had told me strange things about wigs. He assured me that 
 they were scalped from dead men's heads, and I did not like to think 
 about them at night. 
 
 " But," continued he, " as I was a sayin, they aint been no conve- 
 nant place for a man to sleep thar sence they had the sto', as they 
 calls it, exceptin a feller was to sleep with Mr. Lively ; and I should 
 say that would be about as oncomfortable and ontimely sleepin as 
 anybody ever want anywhar and stayed all night. And which I've no 
 idee that Mr. Lively hisself would think it war reasonable that anybody 
 mout be expected to sleep with him, nor him to sleep with any other 
 man person. When a old bachelor, Philmon, git in the habit o' 
 sleepin by hisself for about fifty year, I spose he sorter git out o' the 
 way of sleepin with varus people, so to speak, and — ah — he ruther 
 not sleep with other people, and which — ah — well, the fact ar, by 
 that time he aint fitten too sleep with nobody. I tell you, Phlimmon 
 Pearch, befo' I would sleep with Jonas Lively, specially arfter knowin 
 him like I does, I would — ah — I'd set up all night and nod in a 
 cheer — dinged ef I wouldn't! " 
 
 Mr. Bill could not have looked more serious and resolute if he had 
 been confidently expecting on the night of that day an invitation from 
 Mr. Lively to share his couch. 
 
 " Hadn't been for that," he went on, " I should a been thar sooner 
 than I did. But arfter he seem so willin and anxious for me to go to 
 North Calliner, I thinks I to myself I'll go out to Cousin Malviny's, 
 and maybe she'll ax me to stay all night, and then she can fix a place 
 for me jest for one night : I sposen she would make a pallet down on 
 the flo' in the hall-room. So Friday evenin I got leaf from Mr. Jones 
 to go away from the sto' one night. He sleep thar too, you know, 
 and they warn't no danger in my goin away for jest one night. So 
 Friday evenin I went out, I did, to supper, and I sorter hinted around 
 that if they was to invite me I mout stay all night, ef providin that 
 it war entirely convenant ; specially as I wanted a little country ar 
 arfter bein cooped up so long in town ■■ — much as I loved town I had 
 not got out o' all consate for country livin and country ar, and so 
 forth." 
 
 Mr. Bill showed plainly that he knew all about how to bamboozle 
 Cousin Malviny, and country folks generally. 
 
 " Cousin Malviny were monstous glad to see me, she say ; and I tell 
 you, Squire, Cousin Malviny are right jolly lately. She look better 
 
igo DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 and younger'n any time I seen her sence she married Hodge ten year 
 ago. Oh, wimming, wimming ! But that's neither here nor thar ; 
 you can't alter 'em, and let 'em go. Cousin Malviny said her house 
 war small but it war stretchy. I laughed, I did, and said I would let 
 it stretch itself one time for my accommidation. Then Cousin 
 Malviny she laughed, she did, and looked at Mr. Lively, and Mr. 
 Lively he come mighty nigh laughin hisself As it war, he look like 
 I war monstous welcome to stay ef I felt like it As for Susan 
 Temple, she look serious. But that gurl always do look serious 
 somehow. I think they sorter puts on that poor gurl. She do all the 
 work about the house, and always look to me like she thought she 
 have no friends, 
 
 "Well, be it so. I sta3's ; and we has a little talk, all of us together 
 arfter supper; that is, me and Cousin Malviny and Mr. Lively. 
 Which I told you he had no manners, becase he don't pull off that hat 
 even at the table. Oh well, he moutn't. But never mind that now ; 
 give every part a far chance to be interestin. We has a talk together, 
 and which Mr. Lively are in ginerly a better man to talk to than I 
 thought, leastways at his own home. That is, it ar Cousin Malviny's 
 home in cose ; but I tell you, Phlimmon Pearch, she look up monstous 
 to the old man these days. Oh, wimming, wimming ! But sich it ar, 
 and you can't alter it. Mr. Lively and me talk freely. He ax me 
 freely any question he mout please. Our convisation war mostly in 
 his axin o' me questions, and me a answerin 'em. He seem to look 
 like he thought I did not keer about axin him any more: which h2 
 did see me once lookin mighty keen at his head o' har. And what 
 do you sposen he done then ? He look at me with a kind of a 
 interestin smile, and said I ought by all means to go some time and see 
 old North Calliner. And somehow. Squire, to save my life I couldn't 
 think o' nothin to answer back to him. I knowed he had caught me, 
 and I tried to quit lookin at his old head. The fact of it is, ef Mr. 
 Lively say old North Calliner to me many more times, I shall git out 
 o' all consate of the place and all them old people over thar. Cousin 
 Malviny she sorter smile. She look up to the old man more'n she 
 used to. But you can't alter 'em, and t'aint worth while to try. But I, 
 thinks I to myself, old fellow, when I come here I owed you one ; 
 now I owe you two. You may go 'long. 
 
 " Well, arfter a while, bed-time, hit come, and Mr. Lively he went 
 on out to the office ; which, lo and behold ! I found that Susan had 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 191 
 
 made down a pallet in Cousin Malviny's room, and I war to take 
 Susan's room. I sorter hated that, and didn't have no sich expecta- 
 tion that the poor gurl she have to sleep on the flo' on my account ; 
 and I told Cousin Malviny so, and which I could sleep on a pallet 
 myself in the hall-room. But Cousin Malviny wouldn't hear to it. 
 Susan didn't say yea nor nay. They puts on that gurl, shore's you 
 ar born. But that aint none o' my business, and so I goes in to the 
 little shed-room. And arfter all I war right glad o' that arrangement, 
 becase it give me a better chance for what I wanted to do, and was 
 detumined too do ef I could. I war bent on findin out, ef I could find 
 out, ef that head o' har which Mr. Lively had on his head war his'n. 
 That's what I went out thar for. I had axed him a civil question and 
 he had give me a oncivil answer, and I war bent on it now more'n ever, 
 becase I couldn't even look at his head without gittin the same oncivil 
 answer and bein told that I ought to go and see North Calliner and all 
 them old people thar, which I'm beginnin not to keer whether I ever 
 sees 'em or not, and wish daddy he never come from thar. But I 
 runned him to his holler." 
 
 Mr. Bill then rose from the ground. What he had to say now- 
 seemed to require to be told in a standing attitude. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "And now, Philip, I'm comin to the interestin part; I'm a gainin on 
 it fast. That man ar a book — a far book. If I war goin to write a 
 book I should write a book on Jonas Lively and the awful skenes, 
 so to speak, o' that blessed and ontimely night. But in cose you 
 know, Philipmon, I don't expect to write no book, becase I haint the 
 edyecation nor the time. But now, lo and behold ! it war a foggy 
 evenin, and specially at Cousin Malviny's, whar you knows they lives 
 close onto Rocky Creek. Well, no sooner I got to my room than I 
 slyly slips out onto the pe-azer, and out into the yard, and walks quiet 
 and easy as I kin to the backside o' the office, whar thar war a 
 winder. I war detumined to get thar befo' the old feller blowed out 
 his candle and got to bed. I had seed befo' night that a little piece 
 war broke out o' the winder. I didn't like ezactly to be a peepin' 
 in on the old man, and I should a felt sorter bad ef he had a caught 
 
192 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 me. But 5'ou see, Squire, he didn't leave me no chance. I had ax 
 him a civil question ; it war his fault and not mine. j\Iy skeerts is 
 cler." 
 
 It was jDleasant to see my friend thus able to rid himself of respon- 
 sibilit}^ in a matter in which it was rather plain that blame must attach 
 somewhere. 
 
 " So I crope up thar, I did, and found that he had let down the 
 curtin. But I tuck a pin and draw the curtin up to the hole in the 
 glass, and then tuck my pen-knife and slit a little hole in the curtin, so 
 I could go one eye on him. I couldn't go but one eye ; but I see a 
 plenty with that — a plenty for one time. In the first place, Phlim, 
 thar aint a man in the whole town of Dukesborough exceptin me that 
 know Mr. Lively ar a smoker. I don't blieve that Cousin Malviny 
 know it. As soon as I got my eye in the room I see him onlock his 
 trunk, which it war by the head o' his bed, and take out a little tin- 
 box, which it have the littlest pad-lock that ever I see : and then he 
 onlock it with a key accordin, and he tuck out the onliest lookin 
 pipe ! I do blieve it war made out o' crocker)-. It war long, and 
 shape like a pitcher ; and it had a kiver, and the kiver it war yaller 
 and have little holes, it 'pear like, like a pepper-box ; and which it 
 have also a crooked stem made out o' somethin black ; and ef it 
 warn't chained to his pipe by a little chain I'm the biggest liar in and 
 about Dukesborough ! Well, Sir, he take out this pipe, and then he 
 take outen the trunk another little box, and which it have tobarker in 
 it, all cut up and ready for smokin. Well, Sir, he fill up that pipe, and 
 which I think it hilt nigh and in and about my hand-full of tobarker ; 
 and then of all the smokes which I ever see a mortal man smoke, or 
 mortal woming either, that war the most tremenjus and ontimeliest \ 
 It ar perfecly certin that that man never smoke but that one time in 
 the twent}^-four hours. I tell you he war Jiongry for his smoke ; and 
 when he smoke, he smoke. And the way he do blow ! I could farly 
 hear him whistle as he shoot out the smoke. He don't seem to take 
 no consolation in his smokin, as fur as I could see ; becase sich ever- 
 lastin blowin made him look like he war monstous tired at the last. 
 Sich vilence can't last, and he got through mighty soon. But he have 
 to git through quick for another reason ; and which I ar now goin to 
 tell you what that other reason ar — that is providin. Squire, you keers 
 about hearin it." 
 
 Notwithstanding some capital doubts upon the legality of the 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 193 
 
 means by which Mr. Bill had obtained his information, yet I was 
 sufficiently interested to hear further, and I so intimated. 
 
 "Yes, I thought," Mr. Bill continued with a smile, "that may be 
 you mout wish to hear some more about his carrins on. That man 
 ar a book, Philyermon Pearch — a far book. Well then, to perceed 
 on with the perceedences of that awful and ontimely night, Mr. Lively 
 he have no candle more'n a inch long. Outen that same trunk he tuck 
 out another box. I never see sich a man for boxes ; he have more 
 boxes than clothes, certin. I see two or three more boxes in that 
 trunk. What war in 'em Mr. Lively know — I don't ; but in that other 
 box what I'm a speakin about now I see at least fifteen little pieces o' 
 candle about a inch long. Mr. Lively have tuck out one o' them 
 candles and lit it for to see better how to go to bed by. He have 
 a fire ; but he want more light, it appear like. That candle it can't 
 last so mighty powerful long ; but it have got to last jest so long 
 for him. I never see jest sich a man befo'. Interestin as he war a 
 smokin, it war nothin to his goin to bed. Arfter he put up his pipe, 
 and fix his boxes back and lock up his trunk, he begin to fix hisself 
 for goin to bed. And which it, in cose, ar a single bed, as by good 
 rights, accordin to all human, reasonable understandin, it ought to be." 
 
 Mr. Bill regarded me in silence for a moment with an expression 
 which I understood to be perfectly serious. 
 
 " I should say, Philerimon Pearch, that bed of Jonas Lively by 
 good rights it ought to be a single bed. Ef Mr. Lively was to ever 
 have to sleep with anybody, and — well — I don't know. It's a on- 
 timely world, and they aint no tellin what people will do ; and you 
 can't alter 'em, and it aint worth while to try. But that's neither here 
 nor thar. At the present Mr. Lively certinly do occupy a single bed, 
 and which I say by good rights he ought to." 
 
 These parenthetical remarks sounded very mysteriously to my ear, 
 and seemed to convey, I suspected, an admonition to some person in 
 particular, or perhaps to the world in general. 
 
 " It war a monstous plain bedstead, and which I have heerd Cousin 
 Malviny say, when she used to laugh at him, and didn't seem to look 
 up to him like she do here lately, which she used to say he made it 
 hisself It have a shuck mattress, with one blanket and one quilt ; 
 but nary piller, nor nary sheet. That ar a bed which it ar monstous 
 easy to make it up, and which Mr. Lively, he say. Cousin Malviny 
 used to say, he didn't wish nobody to pester it and rather make up 
 25 
 
194 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 his own bed hisself. So now I^Ir. Lively he perceed to git read}- to 
 go to bed, ef a body mout call sich a thing a bed. The first thing he 
 do, it ar to pull his little table up agin to the foot of his bed. Then 
 he pull off his boots. That ar perfecly natral, of cose : yit I sposen 
 he war goin to pull off his hat first ; which it war the onliest thing I 
 mostly wanted to see, and was a waitin too see. But no hat off yit. 
 And what do you think he do with them boots ? " 
 
 I ventured to guess that he put them under the bed or against 
 the wall. 
 
 " Not a bit of nary one. No, Sir. Make a piller of 'em. Yes, 
 Sir, he twist 'em up and wrap 'em up in a old newspaper, and put 
 'em under his mattress for a piller. Some people mout be called 
 extravigant ; but it wouldn't be Jonas Lively. Then what you sposen 
 that man pull off next.-"' 
 
 " His coat. No, his hat ! " 
 
 "Never!" answered Mr. Bill emphatically, "nary one. It war his 
 brkhes ! And now about them briches. • I always thought, Cousin 
 Malviny thought, everybody in Dukesborough, includin the sur- 
 roundin country and the whole neighborhood, we all thought that Mr. 
 Lively have two par of briches, one black and one gray. Well, 
 Philipmon Pearch, I ar now prepard to say, ef I mout so speak, that 
 jNIr. Lively have not got but one par of briches : leastways exceptin 
 you mout call it two par when one par is linded with t'other par, and 
 t'other par is linded with them par. For that's jest the fact o' the 
 case : they ar linded with one another. He have 'em made so. 
 People that lives in town, my honest friend, they sees a heap o' things. 
 That man ar a book — a far book. ■■ And now thar stand Mr. Lively in 
 his prisent and ontimely sitovation ; and he do look lively, I tell you." 
 
 Mr. Bill chuckled, and winked and rubbed his hands at this remark, 
 and evidently felt that none other than an inhabitant of Dukesbor- 
 ough, or some other equally extensive and densely populated place, 
 could have perpetrated so brilliant a pun. It was the first I had 
 ever heard, and I could but remark how much INIr. Bill had improved. 
 
 "And now I'm goin to tell you another thing. I tell you, Philip, I 
 aint near done with Jonas Livel3^ He ar a book — a far book. You 
 mout think now, and specially in cold weather, that ]\Ir. Lively mout 
 war draws. It look reasonable. But no draw ! But I tell you what 
 he do war. He war the longest shirt that I ever see to a man person 
 of his highth. It come plum down below the bone of his knees. I 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 195 
 
 could but notice, after Mr. Lively pulled off his briches, how small 
 was his legs, speakin comparative. Yit don't you blieve I ezactly 
 sees Mr. Lively's legs. And becase why ? Does you give it up ? " 
 
 Of course I did. 
 
 Mr. Bill looked at me with an expression partly humorous and 
 partly compassionate, and then ejaculated : 
 
 " Stockens ! ! Yes, Sir, stockens ! The onliest tiem I ever 
 knowed a man person to war stockens, exceptin in a show, where 
 them that wars 'em wars 'em for you to laugh at him fur warin 'era. 
 And them stockens comes up ezactly perpendicler to the very pint 
 whar his long shirt retches down to, and they fits him tight. As for 
 ]\Ir. Lively's legs, I wouldn't wish to do injestice to no man's legs, but 
 they're the littlest and spindlest legs that ever I see to car what they 
 have to car. Them legs mout a had calves to 'em, but I never see 
 "em. I don't say he never had calves ; I merily say I never see 'em. 
 
 " When Mr. Lively take off his briches he turned 'em wrong side 
 outerds and thar is another par, and then he lay 'em keerful on the 
 table with the top part todes the bed ; and then arfter he take out of 
 his pocket his big red pocket-hankercher, he take his coat off and lay 
 it keerful on top o' his briches, collar fomost. And now he ar ready 
 to take off his hat, and I perceed to the interestin part o' the 
 subjick." 
 
 Mr. Bill rubbed his hands afresh and his dull eyes almost w^atered 
 while he was describing this operation. 
 
 " When he ar ready to take off his hat he sit down on the bed, 
 poke his hands under his har like he war goin to scratch, and it appear 
 like he war onfastenin somethin on top o' his ears ; and then he bob 
 down his head, give a sudding jerk, and lo and behold ! here come 
 Mr. Lively's hat carrin with it every har upon the top o' Mr. Lively's 
 head ! Oh, Philip, I war satisfied. I always spicioned he war a wig, 
 and now I knowed it, becase thar I seed his har in his hat, and his 
 round, slick, ontimely old head a shinin befo' me. And oh, ef it 
 don't shine, and ef it don't do him good to rub it ! " 
 
 And Mr. Bill laughed, and shed tears and laughed, making the 
 grove ring. He wiped his eyes and resumed. 
 
 "But, jest like his smokin, he ar mighty soon through that opera- 
 tion also. And then he tie his head in that pocket-hankercher, and 
 slip his hat and its con-tents under the bed. So thar stand Mr. 
 Lively ready for bed ; and ef you didn't know it war him, but some 
 
196 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 body was to tell you it war a person of the name of Lively, you 
 couldn't say, ef it was to save your life, whether it war Mr. Lively, or 
 Miss Lively, or the old lady Lively. If it warn't for his westcoat you 
 would say it war a woman person, becase thar's his long shirt, which 
 it looks like a gowen ; and notwithstandin his legs is oncommon 
 small, thar's his stockens. And ef it v;arn't for his long shirt and his 
 stockens you would say it war a man person, becase thar's his west- 
 coat. As it ar, your mind ar in a confusion and a state o' hesitatin 
 doubt which ar highly amusin. I don't speak o' myself, becase I 
 knowed him, and seed him as he shucked hisself, and I follered him 
 thoo and thoo the varous — ah — tranmogifications — so to speak — o' 
 that blessed and ontimely evenin." 
 
 " But didn't be take off his waistcoat ? " I inquired. 
 
 *' Yes, indeed : but whot for ? Jest to turn her over and put her on 
 agin, which dinged ef she aint jest like his briches in bein linded with 
 itself. I tell you, Phlinimon, a little more and that man would a 
 been linded with hisself" 
 
 Mr. Bill again laughed and shed tears. 
 
 " But what makes him sleep in it ? " 
 
 " Thar now ! becase westcoats is cheaper'n blankets. Leastways 
 westcoats by theirselves is cheaper than westcoats and blankets put 
 together." 
 
 Mr. Bill announced this with as much emphasis and gravity as if it 
 had been a newly discovered principle of political economy. 
 
 " And now Mr. Lively ar ready for bed, as I war a sayin ; and he 
 know he got to go quick, becase his little piece o' candle are most 
 gone. So he take up his walkin-stick, and liftin up the kiver creep in 
 slow and gradyul." 
 
 " His walking-stick ? " 
 
 " Yes, Sir," answered Mr. Bill with immense firmness, " his walkin- 
 stick, and which he have a use for it. Didn't I tell you he war a 
 book ? With that stick he smoove down his shirt in the first place, 
 and then he tuck that blanket and that quilt under hisself good, 
 turnin hisself about, and he poke here and pull thar on top o' hisself, 
 under hisself, on both sides o' hisself, till he look snug and tight as a 
 sassenge. When he ar done with that business, lo and behold ! he 
 retch down that stick and hook it on to his coat under the collar, 
 which thar it ar a waitin for him, and he pull it up slow and gradyul, 
 lettin the tails hang jest immegeantly over his toes. You say prehaps, 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 197 
 
 leastways you mout say, that his arms and hands is yit unkivered. 
 And sich it ar. But I now ax the question whar's his briches ? Don't 
 you forgit, ray honest friend, whar I told you he put them briches, 
 which I mout call 'em the double briches — don't you forgit whar I told 
 you he put 'em when he pulled 'em off o' them interestin and ontimely 
 legs o' his'n. With that same hooked stick he retch down, he lift up 
 them briches, he fetch them briches up, he turn and wrap them briches 
 in more ways than you could tie a rope, all about his arms and his 
 neck and his jaws. And then finnally he ar the snuggest man person, 
 take him up and down, by and large, over and under — he ar the snug- 
 gest person, man person I say, that ever I went anywar and see, be 
 it — I takes the responsibility to say it — be it wheresomever or 
 whomsoever or whatsomever it mout. Mr. Lively are a good calker- 
 later. It warn't more'n fifteen seconds arfter he had fixed hisself when 
 his little piece o' candle gin out and he war a snorin, and I tell you 
 he knocked it off perpendickler. By this time I war tolerble cool, <f 
 and I crope back to the house and went to bed. And I thinks I to 
 myself, Mr. Livel}', you are one of e'm. You ar a book, Mr. Lively — 
 a far book. We ar even now, Mr. Lively ; and which I laid thar a long 
 time a meditatin on this interestin and ontimely case. I ax myself, ar 
 this the lot o' them which has no wife and gits old in them conditions, 
 and has no har on the top o' thar head ? Is it sich in all the circum- 
 sances of sich a awful and ontimely sitovation? Ef so, fair be it 
 from William Williams ! " 
 
 ]\Ir. Bill delivered this reflection with becoming seriousness. Indeed 
 he looked a little sad, but whether in contemplation of possible 
 bachelorhood or possible baldness I could not say. 
 
 " The next mornin we was all up good and soon. When we went 
 to breakfast I felt sorter mean when I look at the old man, and a 
 little sort o' skeerd to boot. But he look like he have got a good 
 night's rest, and I have owed him somethin, becase I have ax him a 
 civil question ; and so I thinks I, Mr. Livel}^, you and me's about 
 even — only I mout have a leetle the advantage. When I told 'em all 
 good-bye, I told the old man that I'm a thinkin I'll go to old North 
 Calliner some o' these days and see them old people ; and which I 
 tell you he look at me mighty hard. But what struck me war to see 
 how Cousin Malviny look up to him. But wimming's wimming, 
 Philiminon. You can't alter 'em, and it aint worth while to try." 
 
198 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Mrs. Melvina Hodge being destined for a more distinguished 
 part in the Lively Investigations than might have been supposed 
 at first, I feel as if I ought to mention a few of her antecedents. 
 She resided near Rocky Creek, about a mile from Dukesborough. 
 Some years before the occurrence I am now narrating she was 
 Miss Melvina Perkins, or rather Miss Malviny Perkins, as she pre- 
 ferred to be called. Judging from what she was now, she must 
 have been good-looking in those early years. She had been married 
 first to a Mr. Simmons, who, as we have heard Mr. Bill Williams 
 say, was related to his family. Some five or six summers had passed 
 since this first marriage when Mr. Simmons died. However ardently 
 this gentleman may have been beloved in his life-time, the grief which 
 his departure produced did not seem to be incurable. It j'ielded to 
 Time the comforter, and in about another year her name was again 
 changed, and she became Mrs. Malviny Plodge. 
 
 Persons familiar with her history used to remark upon the different 
 appearances which this lady exhibited according as she was or was 
 not in the married estate. As Miss Perkins and as the widow 
 Simmons, she was neat in her person and cheerful in her spirits to a 
 degree that might be called quite gay ; whereas in the marriage relation 
 she was often spoken of as negligent both in her dress and her house- 
 keeping, and was generally regarded as being hard to please, espe- 
 cially by him whose business it was and whose pleasure it ought to 
 have been to please her the most. Mr. Daniel Hodge had frequently 
 noticed her with her first husband, and apparently had not seen very 
 much to admire. The truth was he had rather pitied poor Simmons, 
 or thought he had. But when about three or four months after the 
 latter's death he happened to meet his widow, Mr. Hodge saw such 
 remarkable changes that he concluded he must have grossly misjudged 
 her. A more extended acquaintance, in which she grew more and 
 more affable and sprightly and generally taking in her ways, tended 
 to raise a suspicion in his mind that so far as his previous judgment 
 of her was concerned it was about as good as if during all that time 
 he had been a fool. Mrs. Malviny Simmons had a way of arranging 
 a white cape around her neck and shoulders, which with her black 
 frock had a fine effect upon Mr. Hodge. This is a great art. I have 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 199 
 
 noticed it all my life ; and old man as I am, even now I sometimes 
 feel that I am not insensible to the charm of such a contrast in 
 dressing among women, who having been in great affliction for losses, 
 have grown to indulge some desire to repair them in ways that are 
 innocent. 
 
 This new appreciation of Mrs. Simmons increased with a rapidity 
 that actually astonished Mr. Hodge ; the more because he had fre- 
 quently said that if he ever should marry it certainly would not be to 
 a widow. But we all know what such talk as that amounts to. In 
 the case of Mr. Hodge it was not long before he began to consider 
 with himself \vhether the best thing he could do for himself might not 
 be to hint his admiration of that white cape and black frock in such 
 a way as might lead to other conversation after a while ; for he had a 
 house of his own, a hundred acres of land, and three or four negroes ; 
 and he was about thirty years old. I say he began to consider ; he 
 had not fully made up his mind. True, he needed a housekeeper. 
 But he remembered that the housekeeping at Simmons's in his life-time 
 was not as it ought to have been. His memory on this point, how- 
 ever, became less and less distinct ; and when he thought upon it at 
 all he was getting into the habit of late of laying all the blame upon 
 Simmons. To be sure, poor Simmons was in his grave, and it 
 wouldn't look right to talk much about his defects, either of character 
 or general domestic management. Mr. Hodge was a prudent man 
 about such matters generally, and always wished to do as he would 
 be done by. But he could but reflect that Simmons, though a good 
 enough fellow in his way, was not only rather a poor manager, but 
 not the sort of a man to inspire a woman, especially such a one as 
 Mrs. Malviny Simmons now evidently appeared to be, to exert her 
 full powers whether in housekeeping or anything else. In thinking 
 upon the case Mr. Hodge believed that justice should be done to the 
 living as well as the dead, and that in the married life much depended 
 upon the man. This view of the case gradually grew to be very 
 satisfactory, and even right sweet to take. Not that he would think 
 of doing injustice to Simmons, even in his grave ; but facts were 
 facts, and justice was justice ; and it was now certainly too late to 
 think about altering the former in the case of Simmons. So poor 
 Simmons had to lie v/here he was, and be held to responsibilities that 
 probably he had not anticipated. 
 
 So Mr. Hodge began to consider. He knew there was no harm in 
 
200 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 merely speculating upon such things. He knew himself to be pru- 
 dent, and generally accurate in his judgments. But it was his boast, 
 and always had been, that whenever he was convinced that he was 
 wrong he would give it up like a man. This had actually occurred ; 
 not very often, it is true, but sometimes ; and he had given it up in 
 such a way as to confirm him more and more in the assurance that 
 he was a person who, though little liable to delusion, was remarkably 
 free from prejudice and obstinacy. Probably the most notable 
 instance of such freedom that his life had hitherto afforded was the 
 readiness with which he gave up the erroneous opinions he had 
 previously formed of Mrs. Malviny Simmons, and put the blame of 
 what seemed her shortcomings where it belono:ed. 
 
 Mr. Hodge was thus considering the possibility of what he might 
 propose to do some of these days, say a year hence, when Mrs. Sim- 
 mons might reasonably be expected, young as she was, to be taking 
 other views of life besides those which contemplated merely the past. 
 Mr. Hodge knew that there was plenty of time for the exercise of the 
 most matured deliberation. But somehov; it happened that he began 
 to meet the lady much more frequently than heretofore. Mr. Sim- 
 mons having left his wife in very limited circumstances, she resided 
 alternately with one and another of her own and his relations. These 
 people, though kind, yet seemed all to be more than willing that Mr. 
 Hodge should have the benefit of any amount of her society. The 
 consequence was that Mr. Hodge, having such opportunities, was 
 enabled the sooner to bring all his thoughts to a head ; not that he 
 contemplated immediate action, but was becoming more and more 
 fond of musing upon future possibilities. But one day he had looked 
 upon the white cape and the black frock until he was led to express 
 himself in terms that implied admiration. It was intended merely as 
 a hint of what might come some of these days. One word brought 
 on another. It would be impossible to describe how Mrs. Malviny 
 Simmons looked and how she talked. Mr. Hodge was not a man of 
 many words, and it gratified him when she assisted and accelerated 
 his thoughts, and even almost put into his mouth the very words 
 which, though not intending such a thing just then, he had been con- 
 sidering that he might employ some of these days. Things went on 
 with such rapidity that before Mr. Hodge knew what he was about he 
 had the cape in his arms, and was assured that it and the person it 
 belonged to were his now and forever, " yea, if it might be for a 
 thousand year." 
 
CONCERNmC .)fR. JOXAS LIVELY. 201 
 
 Surely, thought Mr. Hodge, no man since the days of Adam in the 
 garden had ever made so tremendous an impression upon a woman. 
 He did not know that it was in him to make such an impression. 
 However, we don't know ourselves, h€ reflected ; and there is a differ- 
 ence in men just as in everything else. 
 
 One week from that day Mr. Hodge succeeded to INIr. Simmons, 
 and Mrs. Malviny went to keep house for Mr. Hodge on Rocky Creek. 
 There was little in the married life of Mr. and Mrs. Hodge that 
 would be very interesting to relate. I before intimated that Mrs. 
 Malviny was most interesting in those seasons when she was 
 unmarried. The beginning Was splendid, but the splendor was 
 evanescent. Mr. Hodge was surprised to notice how soon his wife 
 relapsed into the old ways and the old looks. He never should have 
 expected to see that woman down at the heels. But the laying aside 
 the black frock and putting on colors seemed to have had a depress- 
 ing influence upon her tastes. As for the housekeeping, Mr. Hodge 
 had to admit to himself that plain as things were when old Aunt 
 Dilcy, his negro woman, attended to them, they were not as 
 well ordered now. Then Mr. Hodge found that, in spite of his 
 conscious superiority to her former husband, he had apparently no 
 greater success in his efforts to please. At this Mr. Hodge gradually 
 began to feel somewhat disgusted. He never had thought much 
 about Simmons in his life-time ; now his mind would frequently revert 
 to him, and he began to suspect that Simmons was a cleverer man 
 than he had credit for. It seemed strange and somewhat pitiful 
 generally that he should have died so young. 
 
 But Mr. Hodge knew as well as anybody that matters could 
 not be altered now, and he determined to do the best he could. 
 He worked away at his farm, and in spite of diflScuities made and 
 laid up a little something every year. No children were born of the 
 marriage ; but he did not complain. They had been married several 
 years when the parents of Susan Temple having died and left her with 
 nothing, the relatives generally thought that as Mr. Hodge, who was 
 as near akin to her as any, and who had no children of his own, 
 ought to give her a home. Susan was just grown up, and though 
 plain was a very industrious girl. Mr. Hodge suggested to his wife 
 that as the business of housekeeping seemed rather troublesome they 
 might take Susan for that business, giving her board and clothes as 
 compensation. At first Mrs. Hodge came out violently against it. 
 26 
 
202 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 Such, however, had long been her habit of treating all new propositions 
 of her husband. He was, therefore, not surprised ; and indeed was 
 not seriously disappointed, as he was acting mostly for the purpose 
 of satisfying his conscience regarding his orphaned relative. He 
 said nothing more upon the subject then ; indeed, he had been ever 
 a man of but few words, and since his marriage he had grown more 
 so. Mr. Hodge had seemed to find from experience that the more 
 talking he did the less influence he had. Words, he found, were not 
 the things to employ when he wanted her to do even necessary offices. 
 After all his previous disclaimers to that end, Mr. Hodge was suspected 
 by more persons than one of having some obstinacy ; and it grew with 
 the lapse of time. He kept his potket-book in his pocket, and his 
 own fingers opened and shut it. Mrs. Hodge maintained to his face 
 that he was hard-headed as a mule and too stingy to live. He 
 appeared to her most obstinate when she would labor in vain to lead 
 him into discussions upon the justice of her causes of complaint 
 against him generally. One day she did a thing which Mr. Hodge 
 had been once as far from foreseeing as any man who ever married 
 another's widow. Mr. Simmons, with all his imperfections, was a 
 man who would sometimes allow to his wife the satisfaction of leading 
 him into a little domestic quarrel, and to make it interesting would 
 try to give back as good as he got, so to speak. I am well aware 
 that such an expression is not warranted by good usage ; but I cannot 
 stop now to look for a better. Besides, I think that some liberty of 
 expression ought to be allowed to a man at my time of life. 
 
 However, to return to Mrs. Hodge. One day when Mr. Hodge 
 was about finishing his dinner, his wife, who had finished hers some 
 time ago, having but a poor appetite on that occasion, was complain- 
 ing in general terms of her own hard lot. Mr. Hodge ate away and 
 said nothing. Once he did look up towards her as he reached his 
 hand to break another piece of bread ; and as he contemplated his 
 wife's head for a moment, he thought to himself if she would give it a 
 good combing the probability was that she would feel better. But he 
 said nothing. The lady did expect from his looks that he was going 
 for one time to join in the striving which had hitherto been altogether 
 on one side. Finding herself disappointed, she brought forth a sigh 
 quite audible, and evidently hinted a more tender regret for the late 
 Mr. Simmons than she had exhibited even in the first period of her 
 affliction for his loss. She did not exactly name Mr. Simmons, but 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 203 
 
 she spoke of what a blessing it was for people to have people to love 
 'em and be good to 'em ; and that some people used to have 'em, but 
 they was dead and gone now ; and people didn't have 'em in these 
 days — no, not even to talk to 'em. And then Mrs. Hodge gently 
 declined her head, gave a melancholy sniff with her nose, and looked 
 into her plate as if it were a grave and she were hopelessly endeavor- 
 ing to hold conversation with its occupant. Mr. Hodge was on his 
 last mouthful. He stopped chewing for a moment and looked at his 
 wife, then he gave a swallow and thus answered : 
 
 " Oh ! you speakin about Simmons. Yes, Simmons war a right 
 good feller ; pity he died so young. Ef Simmons had not a died so 
 young, some people might a been better off." 
 
 And then Mr. Hodge rose, put on his hat, and walked to Dukes- 
 borough and back. When he returned, Mrs. Hodge was in better 
 humor than she had been for weeks and weeks? 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 On the night immediately succeeding this little misunderstanding, Mr. 
 and Mrs. Hodge happened to meet upon a subject on which they 
 agreed. It was perhaps a lucky thing that the subject was broached 
 that night. It would be difficult to say in whose mind the idea first 
 occurred of having a little bit of a store in one of the little shed-rooms. 
 It was so convenient, in the first place. Their house was within only 
 a few steps of the road, on the top of the first hill just this side of the 
 creek ; and the little shed-rooms were in front, with little windows 
 opening towards the road. On the night aforesaid Mr. Hodge and 
 his wife seemed disposed to be chatty. Mr. Hodge was gratified that 
 the allusions to his predecessor had so soothing an effect. They 
 talked a while about their having no children, and both agreed that 
 it seemed to be the lot of some families not to have them. And then 
 it occurred to them that it was a pity that the two little shed-rooms 
 could not be put to some use. True, they had been keeping a sign- 
 board which promised " Entertainment for man and horse ; " but the 
 stand was too near Dukesborough, where the great Mr. Spouter lived 
 and reigned. Besides, Mrs. Hodge had sometimes had her feelings 
 hurt by occasional side remarks of what few guests they did have 
 
204 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 about the height of the charge, which, though reasonable enough 
 generally speaking, seemed high when compared with the supper, the 
 bed, and the breakfast. This business, therefore, for some time had 
 seemed to be discouraging. 
 
 On the night aforesaid, however, it seemed a fortunate accident that 
 the conversation gradually drifted about Dukesborough, its rapid 
 growth, and the probability that in time it would grow to be an 
 important place. Already people were coming to the stores from six 
 or seven miles around ; and it was believed that the store-keepers, 
 especially Bland & Jones, were making great profits. Threats had 
 been made that unless they would fall in their charges they might 
 hear of opposition. While talking together upon these things, Mr. 
 and Mrs. Hodge seemed almost simultaneously to think that it might 
 be well, in all the circumstances, to convert one of the little shed- 
 rooms into a little store. The more they turned this idea over the 
 more it seemed good, especially to Mrs. Hodge. She was for going 
 into it immediately. Mr. Hodge thought he wanted a little more 
 time for reflection. He did have a few hundred dollars which he had 
 accumulated by honest work and good economy ; but he was without 
 mercantile experience, and people had told him that merchants some- 
 times break like other people. Besides, he should not think it 
 prudent to neglect the farm, and that required most of his attention. 
 But Mrs. Hodge suggested that she could attend to the store her own 
 self. She could do it, she knew she could. He could go on and attend 
 to the farm, and spend what time he could spare from that in the 
 store. Mrs. Hodge reasoned that her husband had sometimes com- 
 plained that she invested too heavily even in the purchase of neces- 
 sary articles ; and here was an opportunity of getting all such things 
 at home and not have to pay out one cent for them, except of course 
 what little was paid out for them in the beginning, and that would be 
 lost sight of in the general profits of the concern. 
 
 Mr. Hodge reflected. 
 
 What about the housekeeping ? 
 
 Mrs. Hodge in her turn reflected. 
 
 Where was Susan Temple ? 
 
 There now ! If ever one question was well answered by pro- 
 pounding another, it was in this case. Mr. Hodge admitted this to 
 himself. It was a matter he had himself proposed once to do, to 
 take Susan to keep house. The truth was, the house ought to be 
 
COXCERNING MR. yONAS LIVELY. 205 
 
 kept by somebody ; and Susan, though a plain girl, was known to be 
 neat and orderly and industrious, and understood even most of the 
 things about a kitchen. Mr. Hodge thought to himself that as his 
 wife's talent did not seem to be in housekeeping, it might not be 
 wrong to let it make a small effort in the mercantile line. And so 
 they agreed. 
 
 This was all right. Susan was so thankful for a home that she did 
 her best, and any sensible and honest person would have been 
 obliged to see and admit that the housekeeping improved. Every- 
 thing was kept clean and nice. Mrs. Hodge, however, thought that 
 if she gave Susan too much credit for this change it might spoil her. 
 It was the way with all such people, she thought. So she took all the 
 credit to herself, and would occasionally remind Susan of what would 
 have become of her if they had not taken her and put clothes upon 
 her back. Susan ought to be very thankful, more so than she seemed 
 to be in fact, that she had not been left to the cold charities of an 
 unfeeling world. To make things under this head perfectly safe, 
 Mrs. Hodge sometimes insisted that Susan ought to be ashamed of 
 herself for not doing more than she did, considering what was done 
 for her. Susan, doing everything as it was, would seem to look about 
 as if to find something else to do. Not being able to find it, she 
 would get very much confused, and seem to conclude that she must 
 be a very incompetent person. 
 
 But the store. Mr. Hodge went all the way to Augusta. Mrs. 
 Hodge would have liked to go too ; but it was thought not necessary 
 for both to go. So Mr. Hodge went alone, and laid in his stock. A 
 hundred dollars well laid out would buy something in those times. 
 Such a sum goes a precious little way these days. He brought home 
 with him some pieces of calico and skeins of silk, a few hats, a 
 smart box of shoes, nails, a barrel of molasses, and one of sugar ; 
 some coffee in a keg, two or three jars of candy, mostly peppermint ; 
 some papers of cinnamon, a reasonable number of red pocket-hand- 
 kerchiefs, any quantity of pins and needles, a good supply of tobacco 
 and snuff, and one side-saddle. Mrs. Hodge had urged and rather 
 insisted vipon the last article. Mr. Hodge hesitated, and seemed to 
 think it not a perfectly safe investment ; but he yielded. In addition 
 to this stock Susan made ginger-cakes and spruce-beer. These sat 
 on a shelf outside the window, except in rainy weather. Mr. Bill 
 Williams once brought me one of these cakes, and I thought it was as 
 sood as I ever ate. 
 
2o6 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 Mr. Hodge, being a man somewhat adroit in the use of tools, made 
 his own counter and desk and shelves. It was a great time the night 
 on which the goods arrived. It was after dark when they came, but 
 there was no going to bed until those goods were opened and set in 
 their places. And oh, how particular they were in handling ! Susan 
 must positively be more particlar, and quit bein so keerless, because 
 them things cost money. Susan got to be so particular that she even 
 handled the tobacco-box and the coffee-keg as if they were all cut 
 glass. When she took the pieces of calico one by one into her 
 hands and put them on the shelves, you would have thought every one 
 w'as a very young baby that she was lifting from the cradle and laying 
 upon its mother's breast. When the box of shoes was opened Susan 
 declared that they actilly svielt sweet, that they smelt the sweetest of 
 anything in that sto' exceptin the cinnamon. Mrs. Hodge's feelings 
 were too deep to allow very many words ; but she let Susan go on. 
 Much as Mrs. Hodge admired everything, she was most deeply affected 
 by the side-saddle. The seat had a heart quilted into it of red stuff. 
 This was so becoming that Mrs. Hodge declared, and made Susan 
 admit, that it was the loveliest picter that ever was seen. She said 
 that that picter wer the picter of her own heart, and which it had been 
 on a new side-saddle for she didn't know how long. But still — Mrs. 
 Hodge didn't say any more about it then. She merely kept caressing 
 the heart softly with her hand until Mr. Hodge placed it on a small 
 board-horse \vhich he had made for the purpose, and set it in a corner. 
 
 When all was finished they took a good look at everything, and it 
 was the unanimous opinion that nobody could have had any reason to 
 expect that that shed-room could have been made to look like it did 
 then. If that store wasn't carefully locked and bolted that night, 
 there never was one that was. Susan, who lodged in the other shed- 
 room, lay awake for hours — she declared she did — a thinking on it 
 all ; but as for her part, she owned it was mostly about the shoes 
 and the cinnamon. 
 
 There was some talk about the store in the neighborhood for a 
 while. Some were for it and some against it. The Dukesborough 
 merchants were all of the latter party. Mr. Bland asked, if Hodge 
 wanted to set up in opposition, why didn't he come into town like a 
 man ? It didn't look fair to be having a store away out there and be 
 a farming at the same time. But when he heard what the stock 
 consisted in he pretended to laugh, and i^eople said that it would 
 
CONCERXING MR. JOA'AS LIVELY. 207 
 
 never come to anything. Still some people said that ]\Ir. Bland fell 
 a little in tobftcco and shoes. 
 
 A person in going along the road and looking upon this store, 
 might have imagined that, apart from the cake and spruce-beer, it had 
 been established mainly for the purpose of supplying countr)?^ people 
 with such little things as they would be likely to forget whtle in town. 
 Indeed, after the novelty had passed away it gradually relapsed into 
 such a state of things. It was seldom that a customer stopped while 
 on his way into town. Mrs. Hodge's hopes and reliance were mainly 
 on the outward bound. When any of these would call, she was wont 
 to meet them with an expression of countenance which seemed to 
 ask, " Well, what is it that you have forgotten to-day ? " Like other 
 merchants, Mrs. Hodge, who gradually became the principal person 
 in the concern, studied the chances and possibilities of trade ; and 
 her husband at her suggestion laid in his stock in the fall, 
 principally of such articles as a person might be expected to overlook 
 while making purchases of other more important things. He added 
 largely to his stock of pins, and went very extensively upon combs 
 and buttons. 
 
 The side-siddle seemed hard to get off But Mrs. Hodge at the 
 very start, on learning the cost, had declared that it was entirely too 
 cheap ; and she asked for the pricing of that herself, and she thought 
 she was warranted in putting it at a high figure. She had offers for 
 it. The heart in the seat had attracted several ladies, and once it 
 was within a half-dollar of going. But Mrs. Hodge, so far from falling, 
 intimated an intention upon reflection of rising, and that drove the 
 customer away. 
 
 Upon the whole, things went on right well. Mrs. Hodge certainly 
 improved in spirits ; but of course she never could attain to that 
 state of contentment which ]\Ir. Hodge could have wished, and which 
 at first he did fondly anticipate. In the matter of dressing herself 
 she looked up a little, and there was about her person not un- 
 frequently the odor of mingled cinnamon and peppermint. And it 
 must be remarked that the displeasure that it seemed inevitable for 
 her to indulge at intervals was now divided between Mr. Hodge and 
 Susan Temple, with the greater share to the latter. Susan did not 
 reflect nigh as often as she ought what it was to her to have a home 
 and clothes upon her back. The girl knew she ought to do it, and 
 was everlastingly trying to do it, and filled herself with reproaches 
 
2o8 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 for her own ingratitude to her Aunt Malviny. Mr. ♦Hodge didn't 
 express an}^ opinion upon the subject, but seemed to be satisfied with 
 taking care of himself the best he could. His attention lately had 
 been restored mostly to his farm. 
 
 In one of his trips to Augusta he brought back with him Mr. 
 Lively. Ae had made his acquaintance some time before, and had 
 mentioned the fact that the gentleman had talked about coming to 
 take board with them, and even went so far as to propose, in such an 
 event, to pay as much as five dollars a month. This sounded well. 
 Mrs. Hodge had an idea that the having a boarder might make the 
 house come to be regarded more as a public place ; and so she said that, 
 as for herself, she was willing. So Mr. Lively came. When he did 
 come, she thought he was certainly the queerest person that she had 
 ever seen. She looked at his hair and then at his nose and legs,'and 
 then at his hair again, from which he never removed his hat, not even 
 at meals. But he was a boarder, she knew, and was entitled to 
 privileges. She tried to pick him ; but Mr. Lively was a man of 
 some experience and would not be picked. Mrs. Hodge being 
 satisfied that it was best for Mr. Lively to know at once that she was 
 a person of consideration, berated Susan the very first night of his 
 arrival for her carelessness and general worthlessness. 
 
 Messrs. Hodge and Lively seemed to get along together very well. 
 The latter, like the former, was a man of few words ; and as time 
 lapsed they seemed to have something of a friendship for each other. 
 On the contrary, Mrs. Hodge seemed to have less and less regard for 
 her boarder according as he and her husband seemed to like each other 
 the more, and was often heard^ to say that in her opinion there was 
 nothing in Mr. Lively. Whatever estimate Mr. Lively placed upon her 
 he never told to anybody ; but he went along and acted as if Mrs. 
 Hodge and whatever might be her thoughts alDout him were not at all 
 in his way. As time passed Mr. Hodge would often sit with Mr. 
 Lively, and talk with him with some freedom of his business and 
 other matters. Small as was Mr. Hodge's business comparatively, 
 he was careful of his papers and always kept them locked up in his 
 desk. 
 
 On one of his return trips from Augusta Mr. Hodge spent a little 
 more time than usual at his desk in looking over his papers and one 
 thing and another ; but when he came out he seemed to be very well 
 satisfied. The next day he was taken sick. Little was thought of it 
 
CONCERNLVG MR. JOXAS LIVELY. 209 
 
 at first ; but in a day or two he took on a fever, which looked as if 
 his time was coining. Mr. Hodge himself did not seem to be aware 
 of the state of the case until it was too late to leave any special 
 directions about anything. At the last he did rouse himself a little, 
 looked very hard at Mr. Lively, and muttered a few unintelligible 
 words about " my desk," and Mr. Lively's being " mighty particular," 
 and such things. But at last he had to give it up, and then Mr. 
 Hodge carried his succession of Mr. Simmons to extremes. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 So now here was Mrs. Malviny a widow for the second time. The 
 late Mr. Hodge was mourned becomingly by all the household. 
 Even Mr. Lively was seen to brush away a tear or two at the funeral ; 
 but Mrs. Hodge and Susan did the most of the actual crying, and 
 they cried heartily. Both felt that Mr. Hodge's continued absence 
 from that house was obliged to make a difference. 
 
 The question now was what must be done. Mr. Lively seemed to 
 think that Mr. Hodge must have left a will, so he and Mrs. Hodge 
 in a day or two went together and looked carefully over the papers ; 
 and although Mr. Lively followed Mr. Hodge's last confused directions, 
 nothing could be found. Mrs. Hodge had nothing to do but to heir 
 the property ; and as there were no debts, it was considered not 
 worth while to take out letters of* administration. Seeing that she 
 was obliged to take the responsibility of all this business, she submitted, 
 and was very meek, remarking that now she was nothing but a lone 
 woman in the world, property was no great things in her mind. But 
 she thought she could be kind to Susan Temple. Of course Susan 
 was nothing to her, and it was an expense to feed her and put clothes 
 on her back ; still she might stay there on the same terms as before. 
 People should never say that she had the heart to turn off a poor 
 orphan on the cold charities of the world. Susan was very thankful, 
 perfectly overcome with gratitude indeed, and continued to do every- 
 thing ; and, like Alexander the Great, would almost weep that there 
 was nothing more to do. As for Mr. Lively, he somehow had got 
 used to the place and didn't feel like going away at his time of life 
 to seek a new home. Mrs. Hodge also disliked the idea of turning 
 27 
 
210 ' DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 away one that had been so good a friend of the family ; and indeed, 
 with all the business upon her hands, it did look like that one who 
 was nobody but a poor lone woman in the world should have some 
 friend near enough to go to sometimes for advice, instead of being 
 everlastingly running to a lawyer and they a charging all that a poor 
 lone woman could make. Mr. Lively seemed gratified, and thus 
 matters settled down ; but all seemed to miss poor Mr. Hodge. 
 
 And now many years had elapsed since Mrs. Hodge had been a 
 widow before. She reflected upon it. Yet she was thankful that she 
 could bear up under this repeated infliction as well as she did, and 
 that she was as strong and active as any person who was a mere lone 
 woman in the world could be expected to be. The amount of business 
 now upon her hands would require as much strength and activity as 
 could be commanded. Her looking-glass had somehow got broken 
 some time since, all but one little piece in the corner of the frame. 
 Mrs. Hodge gave what was left to Susan, remarking that as for herself 
 she had very little use for such things. Some time afterwards, 
 however, she reflected that even the lonely and desolate should go 
 neatly, and that it always did require more pains to dress in black. 
 Even Susan admitted this to be true, and she fully justified her Aunt 
 Malviny in the purchase of a new dress. 
 
 Weeks passed, and then some months. Mrs. Hodge's strength 
 and activity grew so that she began to feel as if they might be as 
 good as ever. Mr. Bill Williams and others, including Mr. Lively, had 
 heard her say that, although she knew it must be so, yet she did not 
 feel any older than she did when she married Mr. Hodge. It was 
 perfectly plain to see that Mrs. Hodge was not willing to be con- 
 sidered one day older than she really was, notwithstanding what 
 she had been through ; and that if she had to grow old she intended 
 to do so by degrees. Mrs. Hodge's face certainly did look somewhat 
 thinner than it did in those former years ; but it began to participate 
 in the general recovery, and to have a peachiness which occasionally 
 extended over the whole jaw. Remarks had been made about that 
 peachiness, the various directions it took, and the varying amount of 
 surface it overspread at different times. She heard of some of these 
 remarks once ; they made her very mad, and she said that the color 
 of her cheeks was nobody else's business. 
 
 The rest of Mrs. Hodge was entirely satisfactory. She had always 
 been a very good figure of a woman, and evert now, from her neck 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 211 
 
 down, she was apparently round as a butter-ball. And how spry she 
 was in her walk ! In this respect she could not be beat. I do think 
 that when she was walking rapidly, her usual gait, and had to pass 
 any unpleasant obstruction, she would lift her skirts as adroitly as any 
 lady I ev'^er knew. And then she rode a horse remarkably well, for 
 now she had laid aside the old side-saddle and took the one with the 
 heart in the seat. The new one would not sell at the price demanded, 
 and the old one was not comfortable. 
 
 This restoration of her youth seemed to do away with the melancholy 
 in which her married life had been too prone to indulge. She even 
 became somewhat gay. I do not mean wild ; there was not a 
 particle of what might be called wildness about her. But apparently 
 she had made up her mind not to yield herself up to useless regrets 
 for what could not be helped, to do the best she could as long as she 
 was in the world, and to stay in it as long as she could. When 
 persons come to these conclusions they can afford to be cheerful, 
 and sometimes even a little gaj^ Mrs. Hodge had lost one husband. 
 Many a woman does the same and then gives up ; and although some 
 of them reconsider and take back, yet others give up for good. Mrs. 
 Hodge had put herself right on this point in the beginning. She 
 refused to give up at Mr. Simmons's departure ; and then, when 
 another man who was at least as good, and even better, presented 
 himself, she had nothing to take back, and we saw how it all ended. 
 People said, as they always do, that it was heartless ; but this gave 
 her no concern. And if it had, there was Mr. Hodge to help her 
 bear it. This experience seemed to be of value to her in this second 
 bereavement. The course she had pursued in that first extremity 
 was so judicious and turned out so well that the fact is, Mrs. Hodge 
 began to ask herself what she might do provided another person of 
 the opposite sex should make a remark similar to that which Mr. 
 Hodge had made, and which had so momentous consequences. 
 
 But now, here was the difference. Men are more slow to make 
 remarks of that sort to ladies of forty or thereabouts who have 
 already had two husbands, than to those of five-and-twenty who have 
 had but one. Mrs. Hodge noticed this, and it made the peachiness 
 of her cheeks increase at times to such a degree that it extended up 
 to her very eyes. Yet the more she thought upon the probability that 
 another person might succeed to the position which Mr. Simmons 
 first and Mr. Hodge afterwards had vacated, the more she believed 
 
212 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 that an extraordinary amount of happiness might result in such case 
 to all parties. She thought to herself that she had experience, and 
 with sensible persons that was worth at least as much as youth. 
 
 I have often heard it remarked, and indeed my own observation, 
 I rather think, affirms, that when a lady who has been married, 
 especially one who has been married more than once, is making up 
 her mind to do so again, she makes it up with some rapidity. We 
 remember of Queen Dido, who was a very respectable widow for her 
 day and generation. By-the-bye, she was one who gave up when her 
 first husband died. Yet, after listening to another man talk nearly 
 all night long, mainly about himself, she began to make up her mind 
 on the very next day ; and about nine o'clock, or at any rate soon 
 after breakfast on the day after, she was married — or what she called 
 married. He did not, it seemed ; and acted very badl}'^, I always 
 thought, for in no long time after he ran away and left her, and 
 then she did give up for good. 
 
 But to return to Mrs. Hodge. Knowing that she did not have as 
 much time as before she began to cast about, and her ears were 
 opened to pertinent remarks which any single gentleman might be 
 disposed to make. But both widowers and bachelors were scarce ; 
 and what few there were either were young or had their thoughts 
 upon younger ladies, or possibly did not understand the nature of 
 Mrs. Hodge's feelings. 
 
 At first she had not thought much about Mr. Jonas Lively. True, 
 he stayed there and looked somewhat after out-door business, and 
 even advised occasionally about the store. For Mrs. Hodge still 
 thought it best to keep up the store, though upon a scale somewhat 
 more limited than before ; and in the multitude of the business matters 
 now devolved upon her, she could not give her undivided attention as 
 before to this single one. Susan Temple, therefore, who had been 
 anxious, as we have seen, to find additional work, looked after the store, 
 and Mr. Lively gave a helping hand sometimes. Useful as Mr. 
 Lively was, he had not been thought of at first except as a mere 
 boarder and friend of the family. Besides his general want of 
 attractiveness, Mrs. Hodge knew too much about him. I am satisfied 
 that a too long and intimate acquaintance between two persons of 
 opposite sexes is not favorable to marriage connections. You seldom 
 know a girl to marry her next door neighbor's son. A notable 
 instance, 1 admit, was that of Pyramus and Thisbe. They did make 
 
CONCERNING AfR. yONAS LIVELY. 213 
 
 the effort to marry each other, and probably would have succeeded 
 but for a very hasty and fatally erroneous conclusion of the gentleman 
 touching a matter of fact. But even taking this to be a true history 
 and not a mere fable, I have been inclined frequently, while contem- 
 plating this peculiar case, to maintain that the strong attachment of 
 these young persons to each other, residing as they did in contiguous 
 houses, was owing mainly to the fact that their respective families so 
 assiduously kept them apart, and thus they were able to court each 
 other only through a comparatively small hole in the dividing wall. 
 But such cases are very uncommon, even in extraordinary circum- 
 stances. My opinion is that, as a general thing, persons who desire 
 to marry well, and have no great things to go upon (if I may be 
 allowed to use such an expression), do best by striking out at some 
 distance from home. 
 
 But I must positively try to stick closer to Mr. Lively and Mrs. 
 Hodge. I hope I shall be pardoned for these digressions. The fact 
 is, that a man of my time of life has seen so much of the world, to say 
 nothing of what he has read in books, if like myself he have been a 
 reading man, that he has picked up some useful experience and observa- 
 tion which it may be his duty to communicate even in such narrations as 
 I am now writing, although the occasions for such communication may 
 sometimes appear to be inopportune. We do not know always what 
 is best to do in such matters. That is a remark, I am aware, that 
 might be applied to very many other matters of various sorts. That 
 man does well who, whether in writing or speaking, succeeds in 
 avoiding both extremes, the one of having too many words and the 
 other of having too few. While I have never had any great appre- 
 hension of falling into the latter, I think that I may say that few men 
 of my age have coasted around the former more assiduously than I 
 have. And thus I can easily return from this digression to Pyramus 
 and Thisbe, and the reflections their case induced, to Mr. Jonas Lively 
 and Mi's. Malviny Hodge. 
 
 I repeat that, besides his general want of attractiveness, Mrs. Hodge 
 knew too much about Mr. Lively to be capable of entertaining a very 
 hasty and violent thought of raising him to the succession of the 
 couple of gentlemen who had gone before. For two long years and 
 more they had lived in the same house, and long before this period 
 Mrs. Hodge had contended that, with the exception of his hair, she 
 already knew all about Mr. Lively that was worth knowing. Except 
 
214 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 in this matter of the hair it would have been difficult to say in what 
 both she and Mr. Lively had failed to find each other out in all this 
 time. We never knew much of his opinion respecting her, but we 
 know that hers respecting him fell far short of extreme admiration. 
 
 But time was moving on, and in spite of Mrs. Hodge's own youth- 
 ful gaiety and activity, she had learned to give up some of that ardent 
 appreciation which, in her younger days, she had set upon mere 
 external appeai^ances. It had come to be generally understood that 
 Mr. Lively had property somewhere or other to the amount of several 
 thousand dollars. He was neither young nor handsome. Rut Mrs. 
 Hodge reasoned with herself. She remembered that she had had 
 already two young and rather good-looking husbands ; and even if she 
 had been younger herself, she could not be expected to go on at this 
 rate and marry an unlimited number of such men. So, to be plain 
 with herself, she thought she ought to be satisfied with what she had 
 already enjoyed of these blessings ; and to be yet plainer, she thought 
 she might go further and fare worse. It has always been a matter of 
 remark with me what an amount of prudence some women can exert 
 under the cover of unlimited frivolity. But I have no idea of pursuing 
 this thought any further now. 
 
 Such was the state of things at the period when I first introduced 
 Mr. Lively to the reader. Mr. Bill Williams had noticed, as he 
 thought, that his cousin Malviny was beginning to look up to Mr. 
 Lively. 
 
 Nobody knew Mr. Lively's views, either of Mrs. Hodge or of the 
 general subject of marriage. He had never been heard to say 
 whether he would or w^ould not marr}^ in certain or in any contingen- 
 cies. But if he intended ever to marry, it was high time he was 
 thinking about making arrangements. This was all that people 
 had to say about it. When Mrs. Hodge began to collect her scat- 
 tered thoughts, they converged upon him with the strength and 
 rapidity usual in such cases. She had no doubt that this would be an 
 easy conquest. Indeed her shrewd mind had guessed that this was 
 what Mr. Lively had been staying there for all this while. But she 
 charged him in her mind with being rather slow to take a hint, after 
 having several times pointedly driven Susan out of the room, and with 
 her looks invited Mr. Lively to tell what she knew must be on his 
 mind. Mr. Lively at first seemed slow to notice all this, and he was 
 equally slow to notice how much the character of the breakfasts had 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 215 
 
 improved of late. A little bit of a something nice would be sitting 
 by his plate every morning. This was for the most part some small 
 fish, a string of which Mrs. Hodge would frequently purchase from a 
 negro or poor white boy who had caught them the night before from 
 the creek. These would usually just be enough for Mr. Lively. Mrs. 
 Hodge and Susan would never accept of any, and the former thought 
 that Mr. Lively ought not to have misunderstood the glance and the 
 smile with which she would decline. Sometimes there would be also 
 beside his plate a little sprig of something or other, mostly cedar. 
 But he would forget to take it up and fix it in his button-hole. 
 Women do not like for such favors and attentions to pass unregarded. 
 Mrs. Hodge began to be vexed, and speak sharply to Mr. Lively and 
 Susan alternately about her opinions of both. She would say to Mr. 
 Lively that in her opinion Susan was the most good-for-nothing hussy 
 that anybody was ever troubled with ; and she told Susan more than 
 once that Jonas Lively was the blindest old fool that ever lived, and 
 that he didn't have sense enough to ask' for what he wanted, and what 
 he ought to know he could get for the asking. 
 
 Mr. Lively, never or seldom having been the object of any woman's 
 pursuit, was slow to understand Mrs. Hodge. The truth was he had 
 become warmly attached to the place, and he was very anxious to stay 
 there and make it his home. At first he did not clearly see Mrs. 
 Hodge's plans. But there are some things which even the dullest 
 understandings may be forced to take in after a while. By degrees he 
 began to open his eyes, to look around him, and to appear to be 
 pleased. The single attachment of such a woman as Mrs. Malviny 
 Hodge ought not to be a thing that could be rudely cast aside by such 
 a man as Jonas Lively. When, therefore, Mrs. Hodge began to press 
 matters a little, ]\Ir. Lively showed very plainly that he was not a fool. 
 And Mrs. Hodge had began to press matters. She had even gone to 
 expense. She sat down one night and counted up what she had spent 
 upon him in strings of fish and other luxuries, and found that it 
 amounted to eight dollars and something. Extravagant as this was, 
 she determined to go further, especially as her instincts had taught 
 her that there were some signs of intelligence ancj reciprocation. 
 Mr. Lively had lately gone upon his yearly trip to Augusta and had 
 returned earlier than usual with some improvement in his dress. 
 This was an excellent sign. Besides, he was growing more communi- 
 cative with his hostess, and occasionally had a kind word even for 
 
2i6 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 Susan. Things began to look well generally, and as if that was one 
 undivided family, or ought to be and would be. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The cordial relations in the household of Mrs. Malviny Hodge 
 became much more decided after a little incident that occurred 
 one morning before breakfast. Mrs. Hodge had not yet risen 
 from her couch ; she had always contended that too early rising 
 was not good for the complexion. Susan, who had other things to 
 think about besides complexion, always rose betimes and went to her 
 work. On this morning, at about sunrise, she was sweeping the store 
 and readjusting things there generally. Susan was an inveterate 
 sweeper ; she had made a little broom of turkey-quills, and was brushing 
 out the desk with it. One of the quills being a little sharpened at the 
 end by constant use, had intruded itself into a crack and forced out 
 the corner of a paper which had been lodged there. She drew the 
 whole out, and seeing that it was one of Mr. Lively's letters, as it was 
 addressed to him, at once handed it to that gentleman, who happened 
 to be standing by the window outside and had just remarked what a 
 fine morning it was. Mr. Lively took the letter, wondering how he 
 could have been so careless as to leave it there. He opened it, looked 
 at the beginning for a moment, and then at the end ; then remarking 
 that it was all right, and that he was much obliged to Susan, he went 
 to his office. At breakfast Mr. Lively said that he believed he would 
 ride to the court-house that day, as he had not been there in some 
 time, but that he would surely return at night. Mrs. Hodge merely 
 remarked that she had given orders for a chicken-pie for dinner ; but 
 to-morrow would do as well, she supposed. Oh yes, certainly; or 
 Mrs. Hodge and Susan might have it all to themselves. Oh no, no ; 
 they could have it to-morrow. 
 
 That night when Mr. Lively returned and came into supper, there 
 was a sight for .the eyes of a man who had ridden twenty miles and 
 gone without his dinner, except a couple of biscuits which Mrs. Hodge 
 had put with her own hands into his coat-pocket in the morning. On 
 that supper-table were not only fried eggs, but two sorts of fish, perch 
 and horny-heads. IMr. Lively had an appetite, and these dishes 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 217 
 
 looked and smelt exactly right. Uncle Moses, Aunt Dilcy's husband, 
 had been made to quit his work for the afternoon for the express 
 purpose of having those fish for supper. Mrs. Hodge looked at them 
 and at Mr. Lively. She said nothing, but there was expression in 
 her countenance. * 
 
 "Ah, indeed.?" inquired Mr. Lively, as he took his seat. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," answered Mrs. Hodge. 
 
 Even Susan looked gratified; she had fried them every one. In 
 spite of his intense satisfaction, Mr. Lively was a little pained that 
 the ladies should compel him to eat more than as an honest man he 
 considered his proper share. He insisted and insisted, not only that 
 Mrs. Hodge, but that Susan should take some ; and at last he declared 
 that if they didn't, he would stop eating himself. He maintained 
 that people oughtn't to try to kill a person that liked them as well as 
 he did the present company, by trying to make him eat himself 
 to death, and that, as for his part, that he wasn't going to do it, 
 because he felt more like living on in this little world now than he 
 had ever done. Being thus pressed, she compromised. She agreed 
 that she would take an egg and a horny-head, or maybe two horny- 
 heads ; but she declared that she wouldn't tech a pearch : they was 
 for Mr. Lively, and him alone. Susan had to come in that far 
 also; Mr. Lively insisted upon it. She tried to get off with one 
 very small little bit of a horny-head ; but it was no go. Mr. Lively 
 maintained that there was enough perch for all, and he made them 
 both come squarely up. 
 
 _ Oh it was all so nice ! Mr. Lively was quite chatty for him. His 
 visit to the county-town, the ride and the supper, had all enlivened 
 him up smartly ; but after all, he didn't see that the county-town had 
 any very great advantage over Dukesborough. Dukesborough was 
 coming along ; there was no doubt about that. As for himself, he 
 would rather live where he was living now than at the county-town, or 
 indeed any other place he knew of; he hoped to end his days right where 
 he was. It would have been too indelicate for Mr. Lively to look at 
 Mrs. Hodge after these words, and so he locked at Susan. Both the 
 ladies looked down ; but it was all so pleasant. 
 
 By the time supper was over, as it had been delayed for Mr. Lively's 
 
 return, it was getting to be his bed-time ; but it didn't look right to be 
 
 hurrying off after such a supper as that. Besides, Mr. Lively of late 
 
 had been in the habit of lingering in the house a little lono-er of 
 
 28 '' 
 
2i8 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 evenings than formerly — no great deal, but a little. On this 
 occasion it might have been foreseen that he was not going to rush 
 right away from that society. 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Lively ,«when he and Mrs. Hodge had taken their 
 seats before the fireplace, and Susan was clearing away the things, 
 " Well, they ware fine ! I pity them that don't live on any sort of 
 water-course. Fish air blessings, certain, even when they air small. 
 Indeed, the little ones air about the best, I believe ; because they air 
 as a general thing always fried brown, and then a person don't have 
 to be always stopping to pull out the bones. Those we had for 
 supper ware fried ex-zactly right." 
 
 Mrs. Hodge was a woman who liked appreciation even in small 
 things. " I'm glad you think so, Mr. Lively. I told Susan to be very 
 particler about 'em, because I thought you loved to have 'em brown." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Lively, with some emphasis ; " always when they 
 air small and you don't have to stop to pull out the bones." 
 
 "Yes, and you may well say bones," replied Mrs. Hodge — "fish- 
 bones in particler. Fish-bones is troublesome, and even dangous 
 sometimes. My grandfather had a aunt that got one in her throat 
 outen one o' them big fish they used to have in them times, and it 
 come nigh killing her at the first offstart ; and it never did git out 
 that anybody ever heerd of. And she used to have a heap of pains 
 for forty years arfter, and she said she knowed it was that fish-bone, 
 and that it run up and down all over her ; and even when she was on 
 her dyin bed with the rheumatism, and I don't know how old she war 
 then, she declared that it was nothin but that fish-bone that was a 
 killin her." 
 
 " My ! my ! your grandfather's aunt ! " exclaimed Mr. Lively, and 
 he could not have looked more concerned if it had been his own 
 grandfather's aunt instead of Mrs. Hodge's who had come to such a 
 tragical end. But he reflected perhaps that for some time past that 
 relative had been relieved of her sufferings, and then he looked 
 towards the table where Susan was rapidly clearing away the things. 
 
 " Be in a hurry there, Susan," said Mrs. Hodge, in a mild but 
 admonitory tone. 
 
 "Yes; fish and such-like's blessins ; but yit — " Mrs. Hodge 
 couldn't quite make it out. 
 
 Susan hurried matters, I tell you. 
 
 " Oh yes, indeed," suggested Mr. Livel}'. 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 219 
 
 "Yes," Mrs. Hodge admitted; "but still fishes and — livin on 
 water-courses, and — everything o' that kind's not the onliest things 
 in this world." 
 
 "Oh no, indeed," hastily replied Mr. Lively. "But still — I 
 suppose, indeed I think — of course thair must be — and — " But 
 Mr. Lively at that moment couldn't think of what else there was in 
 the world. 
 
 "Yes, indeed." Mrs. Hodge, having thus recovered, could proceed 
 a little further. " Fishes and such-like's blessins, I know ; I don't 
 deny it. Of cose it is to them that loves 'em, and to them I spose it's 
 very well to live on water-courses. Yit them and everything else is 
 not all to every person." 
 
 " Oh no, no ; by no means." Mr. Lively would not wish to be so 
 understood. 
 
 "Not all," continued Mrs. Hodge; "particler that a person might 
 wish in a vain world. No, fair be it to them that has loved and lost, 
 and loved and lost again, and might love again once more, and that 
 forever and eternally ! " 
 
 Pen cannot describe the touching solemnity with which these words 
 were uttered. Mr. Lively was extremely embarrassed. He had not 
 intended to go very far that night ; matters were so recent. He looked 
 very much puzzled, and seemed to be trying to make out how an 
 innocent remark about water-courses could have led them away so 
 far into dry land. 
 
 " Susan," he called out confusedly, and looked around. But 
 Susan had cleared off everything and gone to bed. 
 
 Mrs. Hodge waited a moment to see if Mr. Lively intended to avail 
 himself of this good opportunity of saying anything specially con- 
 fidential ; but he was too confused to get it out. So she thought she 
 would venture a remark about the weather that might reassure him. 
 
 " It's right cool these nights, Mr. Lively." 
 
 This made Mr. Lively almost jump out of his chair. He had been 
 remarking only a day before how warm it was for the season, and 
 according to his feelings there had been no change since that time. 
 He answered as well as he could : 
 
 " No, I don't — yes — it's right cool — that is, it's tolerable cool. I 
 suppose — that is, I expect it will be qjiite cool after a while. A — 
 yes — I think a good rain — and a pretty strong wind from the north- 
 west now — would — ah, help — and ah — " 
 
2 20 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," assisted Mrs. Hodge; "and it's about time that 
 people war getting ready for winter. Thar isn't anything like people's 
 bein ready to keep theirselves warm and comfortable in the cold, cold 
 winter." 
 
 Mrs. Hodge shrugged her shoulders as if winter was just at the 
 door, and then she hugged herself up nice and tight. 
 
 " Yes, oh yes," answered Mr. Lively, somewhat circularly ; " we 
 all don't know. But still comforts — yes — of course — and especially 
 in the winter-time." 
 
 Mrs. Hodge looked down, her hands played with a corner of her 
 pocket-handkerchief, and she thought that she blushed. Mr. Lively, 
 concluding possibly that he had carried matters far enough for one 
 evening, rose up and broke away. That night he was more desirous 
 than ever to make that place his home as long as he lived, if he could ; 
 and he rather believed he could. 
 
 Although matters did not advance with the rapidity that might have 
 been expected, yet it was very plain to Mrs. Hodge, and even to 
 Susan, that Mr. Lively saw and appreciated the whole situation. Mrs. 
 Hodge knew that he was a steady and rather a slow man, but persistent 
 in his purposes, and somewhat peculiar in his ways of compassing 
 them. He could neither be driven nor too violently pulled. His 
 growing cheerfulness and the new interest he took in ever3'thing about 
 the premises showed that his expectation was to make that his 
 permanent home. He even went so far one day as to say that the 
 house needed repairs, and that it must have them before very long. 
 Mrs. Hodge and Susan looked at each other and both smiled. Susan 
 seemed to be gratified about as much as anybody, poor thing ; for 
 of late, Susan seemed to be on some little better ground with her 
 aunt. Thus it is that a new and very strong feeling towards one 
 dear object disposes us sometimes to feel kindly towards all. 
 
 It was delightful to see how pleasant and affable Mr. Lively could 
 be ; slow as he might be, he was perfectly affable and pleasant. Mrs. 
 Hodge would have been pleased to see Mr. Lively more ardent ; but 
 she knew that was not his way, and upon the whole she was very well 
 satisfied. 
 
 Matters grew more and more interesting every day. All parties 
 were perfectly sociable. Improvements were constantly going on in 
 Mr. Lively's dress. A great box came for him one day from Augusta, 
 and the next Sunday Mr. Lively came out in a new cloth suit. Both 
 
CONCERA'ING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 22 1 
 
 Mrs. Hodge and Susan declared at breakfast that he looked ten years 
 younger; that pleased him highly. It seemed that thoughts upon 
 marriage had suggested to him the notion of going back to his youth 
 and living his life over again. But how would you suppose Mrs. 
 Hodge looked when, after breakfast, Mr. Lively brought in a long 
 paper bundle, laid it on the table, and then took out and handed to 
 her one of the finest black silk dress-patterns that had ever appeared 
 in that neighborhood ? — and not only so, but buttons, hooks-and-eyes, 
 thread, lining, and binding ! Nor had that kind-hearted man forgotten 
 Susan, for he handed her at the same time a very nice white muslin 
 pattern. " Oh my goodness gracious me, Mr. Lively ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Hodge; "I knew it; but — but — still I — I didn't — expect 
 it." Susan was overpowered too, but she couldn't express herself 
 like her Aunt Malviny. But she took the pattern, and blushed all the 
 way round to the back of her neck. It was Susan's first present. 
 
 And now those dresses had to be made up right away. Mr. Lively 
 required that in the tone of a master, and he intimated that there 
 were other things in that same box. Mr. Bill Williams was not so 
 very far wrong when he said that man was a book. 
 
 People now began to talk. Already Mr. Bill had hinted to several 
 persons how his Cousin Malviny appeared to look up to Mr. Lively. 
 This started inquiry, and the new clothes and youthful looks 
 convinced everybody that it was so. Mrs. Hodge began to be joked ; 
 and without saying yea or nay, laughed and went on. Susan was 
 approached ; but Susan was a girl, she said, that didn't meddle with 
 other people's business, and that if people wouldn't ask her any 
 questions they wouldn't get any lies — a form of denial which in old 
 times was considered almost as an affirmative. So here they had it. 
 
 Matters had come to this stand when Mr. Lively determined to 
 make a decisive move. 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 It so happened that my parents had made a visit, taking me with 
 them, to my father's sister, who resided about a hundred miles distant. 
 We were gone about a couple of weeks, and returned on a Saturday 
 night. I wished that the next day might have been the one for the 
 
22 2 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 monthly meeting in Dukesborough, as I was anxious among other 
 reasons to see Mr. Bill and inquire about the parties on Rocky 
 Creek. The next afternoon I was walking alone in the grove, and 
 was surprised and pleased to see him coming up the road towards me. 
 I walked on to meet him. 
 
 "Why, Philip, my dear friend, you've got back, have you? I'm so 
 glad to see you. Mammy said you was all to git back last night, and 
 I thought I'd jest walk over this evenin like, and see if you had 
 come shore enough. And here you are ! In cose, you've heerd the 
 news ? " 
 
 No ; we had got back last night, and had seen no person but the 
 negroes. What news .-' 
 
 " About the old man Jonis. You haint heerd the news ? Good- 
 ness gracious ! I'm so glad. Come along, Squire. I'm so glad." 
 
 Mr. Bill did look even thankful. We went together to our tree. 
 
 " And you haint heerd it ? Goodness gracious ! I thought it would 
 a been all over Georgy before this. Let's set down here. Philip 
 Pearch, I think I told you that Jonis Lively war a book. I won't be 
 certing; but I think I did." 
 
 He certainly did. 
 
 " Is it all over ? " I asked. 
 
 Mr. Bill smiled at the very idea that I should have expected to get 
 it out of him in that style. 
 
 " Don't you forgit what I told you, Philip. Let every part have a 
 far chance to be interestin. Law me, law me ! I'm so glad you 
 haint heerd it." 
 
 Mr. Bill fixed himself as comfortably as possible among the roots 
 of the old tree, and thus began : — 
 
 "Well, you know, Squire, I told you that I seed that Cousin 
 Malviny war lookin up mighty to-wards the old man. Which I sposen 
 I oughtn't to say the old man now ; but let that go. I seed that she 
 war lookin up to him, and I knowed that she war thinkin about 
 changin her conditions. I knowed that she had change 'em twice 
 already befo' j and I knowed that wimming, when they git in sich a 
 habit, you needn't try to alter 'em. When Cousin ]Malviny have made 
 up her mind, she take right arfter Mr. Lively. Mr. Lively, it seem, 
 war at first surprise, and he rather hold back. It appear like he war 
 hard to understand Cousin Malviny. But the more he hold back, the 
 more Cousin Malviny keep movin up. He see Cousin Malviny keep 
 
COiVCERNIiVG MR. yONAS LIVELY. 22^ 
 
 sprusen up ; but he think he know sich things is common with 
 widders, and he have no sich idee that she war sprusenin up so for 
 him. But byn-bye Mr. Lively begin to sprusen up hisself, and to git 
 new clothes, you know ; and he war monstous free and friendly like 
 with Cousin Malviny, and begin to talk about what ought to be done 
 about fixin up the bouse and things in ginilly ; and it seem like he 
 and Cousin Malviny war movin up tolerble close : and I haint seed 
 Cousin Malviny so spry and active sense she war a widder befo', 
 and that war when I warn't nothin but a leetle bit of a boy. 
 
 " Well, things kept a goin on, and everybody see that they war 
 obleeged to come to a head, and that soon, becase people knowed 
 they was both old enough to know thar own mind ; and both of 'em a 
 livin in the same place, everything was so convenant like. Mr. Lively 
 begin to spend his money free. He have bought new clothes for 
 hisself, and he have bought a fine silk dress for Cousin Malviny, and 
 he even went so far as to give a right nice muslin to Susan. Oh he's 
 a book ! The very day you all went away a man come thar from 
 Augusty and fotch a bran-new gig, and two fine bed-stids, and a 
 bureau, and cheers. And he never say a word to Cousin Malviny till 
 they got thar, and he have all the furnitoor put in the office ; and 
 Cousin Malviny war delighted, and didn't ax him anything about it, 
 becase she know he war a man of mighty few words, and didn't do 
 things like t'other people nohow, and didn't keer about people axin 
 him too many questions — and which I could a told her the same. 
 When all this got thar people know what was a comin : leastways 
 they think they do. As for me, I war lookin out every day for a 
 invite. 
 
 " And now, lo and behold ! The next mornin I war woke up by day- 
 light by wheels a rattlin ; and our nigger-boy, who war makin me and 
 Mr. Jones's fire, he went to the door, and he come back and he say 
 that it war Mr. Lively in a new gig, and he have a female in thar 
 along with him, and which she have on a white dress and a veil, but 
 which he know it war Cousin Malviny Hodge, and they went a scootin 
 on. Thinks I to myself, and I says to Mr. Jones, what's the reason 
 they can't git married at home like t'other people ? And Mr. Jones he 
 say that considerin they war both tolerble old people they was in a 
 monstous hurry from the way the wheels was a rattlin ; and which 
 they minded him of what old Mr. Wiggins said in his sarmints about 
 rushin along Gallio-like, a keerin for none o' these things. Shore 
 
224 DUKESBOROVGH TALES. 
 
 enough they goes on to Squire Whaley's at the two-mile branch, and 
 thar they git married. 
 
 " I have just git up from breakfast at Spouter's, when lo and 
 behold ! here come that gig a driving up nigh and in and about as fast 
 as it come by the sto'. I know that they was in for a frolic that day, 
 and was bent on havin of it, and I laughed when I see 'em a comin. 
 When they got to the tavern door, Mr. Lively he hilt up his horse, 
 and it war nice to see how spry the old man hop outen the gig and 
 hand out his wife. And she, why she farly bounce out, and bounce 
 up and down two or three times arfter she lit ! I says to myself, 
 Cousin Malviny she think now she about sixteen year old. She have 
 on her white veil till yit, and clean till she got in the house. 
 
 " ' How do you do, Mr. Williams .'' ' says he to me when I follered in. 
 * A very fine morning,' says Mr. Lively. Says I, ' How do you do, 
 Mr. Lively; or mout I now say Cousin Jonis? A fine mornin indeed, 
 I sposen, to you. Sir, and 'specially for sich pleasant bizness. I 
 wishes you much joy, Mr. Lively, and also Cousin Malviny. But,' 
 says I, ' I did spect a invite, and I wants to know what made you two 
 run away in that kind o' style ; for I calls it nothin but runnin away ? 
 Why didn't you have the frolic at home. Cousin Malviny ? ' says L 
 And then she ansered me. I tell you, Philinipinimon, she ansered 
 me ! " 
 
 Mr. Bill paused, and seemed waiting for me to question him 
 further. "Why didn't they marry at home, then.?" I inquired. 
 
 " Ah, yes ; well mout you ax that question, my friend of the 
 sunny hour. When you ax that question yur talkin sense. Well, I'll 
 tell you. One reason why thev didn't was becase they couldn't." 
 
 "They couldn't?" 
 
 "Couldn't. Onpossible. Jest as onpossible as if it had been a 
 bresh-heap and it afire." 
 
 " But why not ? " 
 
 "Becase Cousin Malviny wouldn't a been willin." This was 
 answered almost in a whisper. 
 
 "Well, that is funny." 
 
 " Fun to some people and death to the t'others." 
 
 "Why, I should think she would rather marry at home." 
 
 " She, I think you said, Philip .> " 
 
 "Yes. She." 
 
 "Well, Philmon Pearch, will you jest be kind and condescendin 
 enough to tell me who it is you're speakin about at the present t " 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 225 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Hodge, of course ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Mr. Bill in apparently great surprise. " Oh yes ; 
 Cousin Malviny. Yes. Well I sposen Cousin Malviny, reasonable 
 speakin, she mout ruther git married at home, providin in cose that 
 people has got homes to git married at. I should ruther suppose 
 that Cousin Malviny mout some ruther git married at home." 
 
 " Well, why didn't she do it then ? " 
 
 " Do what ? " Mr. Bill seemed to be growing very much abstracted. 
 
 " Get married," said I quite distinctly. 
 
 " Git married ! Ah yes. Git married. To who, Philip .' " 
 
 " To Mr. Lively. What's the matter with you, Mr. Bill .? " 
 
 Mr. Bill slowly elevated his eyes until they looked into the zenith 
 for a moment, and then he lowered them again. 
 
 " Oh ! ]\Ir. Lively ! Well, when Mr. Lively he got married, you see, 
 Philip j when Mr. Lively he got married, Cousin Malviny she warn't 
 thar." 
 
 I could have put both my fists into Mr. Bill's mouth, and there still 
 would have been room. 
 
 " What ! " I exclaimed. ." Didn't Mr. Lively marry Mrs. Hodge ? " 
 
 Mr. Bill rose upon his feet, bent his head and knees forward, and 
 roared : 
 
 " Na-ee-ii-o-oh-woH ! " 
 
 " What ! Then they didn't get married after all .' " 
 
 " Yes they did." 
 
 " Why, what do you mean, Mr. Bill ? Did Mr. Lively get married > " 
 
 " Certing he did. Ef any man ever got married, Mr. Jonis Lively 
 got married that same mornin." 
 
 " W'ho did he marry then ? " 
 
 " Se-00-woo-woosen ! " 
 
 " Who .? " 
 
 " See-00-woo-woosen, Tem-em-pem-pemple. Susan ! Temple ! " 
 
 " Susan Temple ! " 
 
 " Yes, Sir, it war Susan Temple ; and I didn't have not the slightest 
 concate of sich a thing tell she lift up her veil and I see her with my 
 own blessed eyes spread out in all her mornin glories, so to speak. 
 Didn't I tell you, Philerimon Pearch, that that blessed an ontimely 
 old feller war a book.? I'm not so very certing, but I ruther thi/ik 
 I did." 
 
 " But what about Mrs. Hodge .? What did she say 
 
 ■? 
 
 29 
 
226 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 "Ah now," said Mr. Bill sadly, "now, Philip, yur axin sensible 
 questions, but monstous long ones. You must let me git over that 
 first awful and ontimely skene befo' I can anser sich long questions 
 as them about poor Cousin Malviny. Them questions is civil ques- 
 tions, I know, and I shall anser 'em ; but they're mighty long ques- 
 tions, Philip, and a body got to have time. Ain't he a book.-* Come 
 now, Philippippimon, my honest friend, you ax me questions ; and far 
 play, I axes you one. Ain't he a book .'' " 
 
 I could but admit that if ever man was, it was Mr. Lively. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 I HAD to let Mr. Bill expatiate at length upon his surprise and that of 
 the public at this unexpected match before I could bring him to the 
 finale. Mr. Bill admitted that he was at first not only embarrassed, 
 but speechless. He never had expected to live to see the day when 
 he should be in that condition before Susan Temple. But such it 
 was. We never know what is before us. The longer a man lives to see 
 anything, the more he finds that it is a solemn fact that he can't tell 
 what he may live to see. He had never been so minded of that as at 
 the present; "leastways " on that blessed and "ontimely" morning. 
 Wx. Bill was very sorry that Miss Angeline Spouter had not been at 
 home to share in his astonishment ; but she had gone the evening 
 before to spend the night with Miss Georgiana Pea, friendly and inti- 
 mate relations having been fully restored between these ladies. 
 
 " When I got so I could open my mouth," said Mr. Bill, " in cose I 
 feel like I ought to say somethin, even ef it war but a few lines, 
 and — ah — some perliminary remarks — so to speak. So I goes up 
 to Mr. Lively, I does, and I says to him : ' Mr. Lively,' says I, ' you 
 has took us all by surprise. And you more so, Susan,' says I ; 'which 
 I sposen I ought to say Miss Lively, but which it ar so onexpected 
 that I begs you'll excuse me.' And then I ax 'em ef Cousin Malviny 
 know of all sich carrins on. Then Susan she looked skeered. And 
 I tell you, Philippimon, that gurl look right scrimptious with them fine 
 things on and them shoes. But Mr. Lively war cool as a summer 
 evenin like, and he said that he sposen not. Then he say that he 
 had stop to git his breakfast, him and Susan, and that arfter breakfast 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 227 
 
 they was goin out thar ; but also that he war first goin to git Mr. 
 Spouter to send Cousin Malvin)' word what had become of em, and that 
 they war all safe. And then I tells Mr. Lively that ef it suited him 
 I would go myself. I tell you, Philip, I wanted to car that news out 
 thar myself Mr. Lively he sorter smile, and say he would be much 
 obleege ef I would. I hurries on to the sto', tells Mr. Jones what's 
 up, and gits leave to go to Cousin Malviny ; and I mighty nigh run all 
 the way out thar. 
 
 " Cousin Malviny war standin at the gate. When I git about 
 twenty yards from her I stop to catch a little breath. Cousin 
 Malviny holler out to me : ' Has you seen 'em. Cousin William ? ' I 
 tried to be calm and cool, and I ax Cousin Malviny to be calm and 
 cool. And I saj^s, 'What's the matter. Cousin Malviny? Ar any- 
 thing wrong out here .'' Seed who ? ' ' Susan,' says Cousin Malviny, 
 'and Mr. Lively, and Uncle Moses.' 'Uncle Moses!!' says I; 
 ' have Uncle Moses gone too ? ' ' Yes,' says Cousin Malviny ; ' I 
 sent Moses on John mule to look for 'em when I heerd they was 
 gone.' At the very minnit here come old Uncle Moses a trottin on up 
 on John mule ; and I don't know which war the tiredest and solemest, 
 John or old Uncle Moses. Cousin Malviny ax Uncle Moses what 
 news. ' Bad, Missis,' said Uncle Moses, ' bad nuff. You see. Missis, 
 when you tole me git on top o' John an take arter 'em. Missis, I 
 thought fust they was gwine todes Agusty, for he did start off that 
 way ; but, Missis, time I got to the creek and t'other side whar the 
 roads forks, I gits off, I does, offen John, and looks close to the 
 ground to find track of 'em an' which road they tuck. Day hit jest 
 begin to crack a leetle bit ; and bless your soul, Missis, they hadn't 
 been thar. I rode on back tell I got to our cowpen right yonder ; and 
 shore nuff they has been done got down, let down the draw-bars, gone 
 round the cowpen, let down the fence up yonder ontoo the road agin, 
 back up yonder and gone on todes Dukesborough. I tracks 'em in 
 that field thar same as Towser and Loud arter a possum.' 
 
 " Cousin Malviny tell Uncle Moses to let possums alone and go 
 on. 'Yes, Missis. I war jest tellin how they let down our draw-bars 
 and went through behind the cowpen yonder, an got ontoo the road 
 agin an whipt on to town.' But, Philip, I couldn't stop for Uncle 
 Moses to tell his tale ; it war always astonishin to me how long it do 
 take a nigger to tell anything. So I tells Uncle Moses to go -long 
 and put up his mule, and feed him to boot, and hisself too, as I seed 
 
2 28 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 the)^ was both of 'em hongry and tired, and that I knowed all about 
 it and would tell Cousin Malviny myself. And so I did tell her the 
 upshot of the whole business. And oh, my honest friend, ef you 
 ever see a person rip and rar, it war Cousin Malviny ; she come nigh 
 and in an about as nigh cussin as she well could, not to say the very 
 words. But which you know Cousin Malviny ar a woming, and kin to 
 me — leastways we claims kin ; and you musn't say anything about it. 
 When I told her they was comin back arfter a little, she declared on 
 her soul that they shouldn't nary one of 'em put their foot into her 
 house ef she could keep 'em from it ; and it look like, she said, she 
 ought to be mistiss of her own house. Well, I war nately sorry for 
 Cousin Malviny, an I ax her ef Mr. Lively have promise to marry 
 her. Cousin Malviny say that no, he didn't in ezactly them words ; 
 but he have bought furnitoor, an' talk in sich a way about the place an' 
 everything on it as ef he spected to own it hisself; and she war 
 spectin him to cote her, and then she war goin to think about it 
 when he did ax : not that she keerd anything about him no way ; and 
 now sense he had done gone and made a fool o' hisself, and took up 
 with that poor, good-for-nothin Susan Temple, he mout go ; and as 
 for comin into her house, she would set old Towser and Loud arfter 
 him first. Now I knowed that war all foolishness ; and specially 
 about them dogs, which I knowed they was bitin dogs, and which I 
 wouldn't a gone out o' that house that night I stayed thar ef I hadn't 
 knew that Uncle Moses have went possum-huntin ; but which I told 
 Cousin Malviny that them dogs warn't goin to pester Mr. Lively nor 
 Susan, becase they knowed 'em both as well as they knowed her. 
 We was inside the gate, and we was jest a startin to go to the house 
 when here drive up Mr. Lively and Susan. ' Here, Towser, here, 
 Loud ! ' hollers out Cousin Malviny, ' here ! here ! ' Says I to Cousin 
 Malviny, 'Cousin Malviny, ef them dogs bites anybody here to-day, 
 it's agoin to be me ; and I hopes you will stop callin 'em.' But bless 
 your soul, my friend Philipiminon, them dogs was round by the 
 kitchen, and they heerd Cousin Malviny and they come a tarin and 
 a yellin. As soon as they turned the corner o' the house, I seed they 
 thought I was the person they was to git arfter. I jumps back, I does, 
 and runs through the gate and shets it. ' Sich 'em, Towser ! Sich 
 'em, my boys,' says Cousin Malviny — the foolishest that I think I ever 
 see any sensible person ever do sense I war born ; but Cousin 
 Malviny, all the eyes she had war upon Mr. Lively, and he war a 
 
CONCERNING MR. JONAS LIVELY. 229 
 
 gittin out of the gig, cool and calm, and he give Susan the reins to 
 hold. ' Sich 'em, my bo3's ! ' kept hollerin Cousin Maiviny, outen all 
 reason. Well, Sir, lo and behold ! while old Towser war at the gate 
 a rippin and a roarin to git out, Loud he run down about thirty steps 
 whar thar war a rail ofif the yard fence, and he lit over and he come a 
 chargin. I says to myself, ef here aint a responsibility nobody ever 
 had one, and the only way I has to git outen it is to clime that gate- 
 post. So I hops up, one foot on a rail of the fence, hands on the 
 gate-post, and t'other foot on one of the palins o' the gate. I war 
 climbin with all that bein in a hurry that you mout sposen a man in 
 my present sitooation would know he have no time to lose. I has 
 done got one foot on top o' the fence, and war about to jerk the 
 t'other from between the gate palins, when old Towser he grab my 
 shoe by the toe, inside the yard, and the next minute Loud he have 
 me by my coat-tails outside. 
 
 " At this very minute Mr. Lively have farly got down from the 
 gig ; and when he seed Loud have me by my last coat-tail (for he have 
 done tore off t'other), he rush up, gin him a lick with his hickory-stick, 
 and speak to Towser, and they let me go. Bless your soul, Philip ! 
 I war too mad to see all what follered. Both o' my coat-tails was tore 
 pretty well off; and hadn't been for my shoes bein so thick, and tacks 
 in 'em to boot, I should a lost one of my toes, and maybe two. When 
 I got sorter cool I see Mr. Lively tryin to show Cousin Maiviny a 
 paper, and call her Aunty. When she hear Mr. Lively call her Aunty, 
 Cousin Maiviny, who have been a ravin all this time, she say that 
 war too much ; and then she go in the house, and sink in a chair and 
 call for her smellin vial, and tell 'em to put her anywhar they wants 
 to, ef it even war her grave. She give up farly and squarly. 
 
 " Come to find out, Mr. Lively, while I war gittin back my temper 
 and bein sorter cool — for I tell you, boy, I war never madder in my 
 life — Mr. Lively have been a tellin Cousin Maiviny what I'm now a 
 telling you, that that place and everything on it belong to him now as 
 the husband o' Susan ; and which they have jest t'other day found 
 Hodge's will, which he have hid away in that desk ; and which Hodge 
 he give everything thar to Susan and Cousin Maiviny jintly, for 
 Cousin Malviny's death, and arfterwards the whole to Susan ; and 
 which he have pinted Mr. Lively his Ezecketer ; and which that ar a 
 law word, Philipip — a meanin that somebody arfter a man dies have 
 got to tend to the business in ginerly. 
 
230 DUKESBOROUCH TALES. 
 
 "And now, Philip, I tell you that Mr. Lively ar a right clever old 
 man arfter all. He ar from old North Calliner, shore nuff; and 
 away long time ago he have a plantation thar, and he war goin to 
 marry a gurl over thar, long time ago, but she took sick and died. 
 And then Mr. Lively, he got low sperited like, and sell out and move 
 to Augusty and buy propty, and make more money and buy more 
 propty, tel he got to be worth twenty thousand dollars at least 
 calclation. Did you ever see such a man ? 
 
 "Well, he got tired livin in sich a big place, and he want to git 
 back in the country. But somehow he don't feel like goin back to old 
 North Calliner ; and then he git acquainted with Hodge, and he heern 
 about Dukesborough, and so he come here. Well, arfter Hodge he 
 died. Cousin Malviny, you see, she think about changin her conditions 
 again, and they aint no doubt but she take arfter Mr. Lively. She 
 deny it now ; but wimming can't fool me. Well, Mr. Lively he git 
 somehow to like the place and don't want to go away from it ; but he 
 see somethin's obleeged to be done ; and he have always like Susan, 
 becase he see Cousin Malviny sorter put on her so much. Hodge 
 war sorry for Susan too, and he use to talk to Mr. Lively about her ; 
 and he tell Mr. Lively that ef he died he war goin to 'member her 
 in his will. But shore enough they couldn't find no will, and Mr. 
 Lively he sposen that Hodge done forgit Susan ; and so Mr. Lively 
 he make up his mind to cote Susan, and ef she'd have him he mean 
 to buy out the propty even ef he have to pay too much for it. So he 
 go to cotin Susan the first chance he git ; and Susan, not spectin she 
 war ever goin to be coted by anybody, think she better ^■^y yes, and 
 she say yes. It war a quick cotin and a quick anser. But lo and 
 behold ! Susan found in the sto' one day a paper, and she give it to 
 Mr. Lively ; and Mr. Lively see it war Hodge's will, as I tell you. But 
 this didn't alter Susan ; for when the old man told her about it, and 
 say he'd let her off ef she wanted to, Susan say she don't want to 
 be let off; and you now behold the conshequenches. 
 
 " And now, Philip, what make I tell you he ar a right clever old 
 feller ar this : when Cousin Malviny ar sorter come too, and understan 
 herself and the sitooation she war in, Mr. Lively call Susan in ; for I 
 tell you that gurl war not for gittin out o' that gig till matters got 
 cooler. And then Mr. Lively tell Cousin Malviny that she mout stay 
 right whar she war, and that he war goin to fix up her house, and she 
 mout keep her same room, only it should have new furnitoor, and he 
 
CONCERXIXG MR. JONAS LIVELY. 231 
 
 would fix another room for him and Susan ; and he war goin to find 
 everything hisself, and she shouldn't be at no expense ; and ef she 
 got married he would give her more'n the will give her in money, and 
 she mout will away her intrust into the bargin and he would pay it in 
 money ; only Mr. Lively say that sto' must be broke up, and he will 
 pay her down in cash twice what the stock war worth. Arfter all this, 
 Cousin Malviny gin up for good and call for Susan. Susan went to 
 her, and they hugged ; and Cousin Malviny she laughed, and Susan 
 she cried. I could but notice them two wimming. One of 'em was 
 a laughin and one was a cryin ; and which I couldn't see the use nor 
 the sense of nary one. But wimming's wimming, and you can't alter 
 'em. 
 
 " But it war time I war leavin and goin back to my business. Thar 
 business war not mine. I bids them wimming good-bye ; and I axes 
 Mr. Livel}', ef it war not too much trouble, to see me throo the gate 
 and safe from them dogs ; becase I told Mr. Lively I didn't want to 
 hurt them dogs, but I wanted 'em not to be pesterin o' me no more. 
 Mr. Lively he go with me about a hundred yards ; and as I war about 
 to tell him good-bye, I says to Mr. Lively, says I, ' Mr. Lively, it 'pear 
 like you has plenty o' money ; and I don't sposen that you think 
 people ought to lose anything by 'tendin to your business, when it's 
 none o' theirn. Well, Mr. Lively, it seem like somebody by good 
 rights, reasonable speakin, somebody ought to pay for my coat-tails ; 
 for you can see for yourself, Mr. Lively, that ef this coat ar to be of 
 any more use to me, it ar got to be as a round jacket ; and all this 
 bizness whar it got tore — and I come monstous nigh gittin dog-bit — 
 war none o' mine, but t'other people's ; and it seem like I ought to git 
 paid by somebody.' Mr. Lively smile and say 'of cose,' and ax me 
 about what I sposen them coat-tails was worth ; and I tells him I don't 
 think two dollars and a half was high. And then, Philip, ef he didn't 
 pull out a five-dollar bill and give me, I wish I may be dinged ! 
 
 " And then, Philip, what do you sposen that blessed and ontimely 
 old man said to me .-' Says he, ' Mr. Williams, you did lose your coat- 
 tails, and come very nigh bein badly dog-bit while lookin on at busi- 
 ness which, as you say, was not yourn. You've got paid for it. When 
 you war out here before, Mr. Williams, you took occasion to look at 
 some other business — oh, Mr. Williams, I saw your tracks, and you 
 told on yourself next mornin at breakfast. Towser and Loud war 
 then gone with Uncle Moses possum-hunting. Sup-pose they had 
 
232 DUKESBOROUGH TALES. 
 
 been at home, and had caught you in the dark at my window, Mr. 
 WiUiams ? Don't say anything, Mr. Williams ; but let this be a 
 lesson to you, my young friend. There's more ways than one of 
 paying for things. I advise you, Mr. Williams, not to talk about 
 what you saw that night to any more people than you can help. I 
 am not anxious to fool people, Mr. Williams, and haven't done it ; 
 but I would ruther people wouldn't dog me about. You see how un- 
 pleasant it ar to be dogged, and what Loud got for meddlin with your 
 coat-tails. But he didn't know any better. You do, or ought to. 
 Let Loud's be a example to you, Mr. Williams. Good-day, Mr. 
 Williams.' And he left me befo' I could say a single word. 
 
 " Now, Philip, I war never so much nonplushed in all my born 
 days ; and which when he talk about how Loud mout be an ezample, 
 I knowed what he mean, becase which I don't have to be knock 
 down stairs befo' I can take a hint. But you see, Philip, under all 
 the circumsances I thinks it's maybe best not to say anything about 
 the old man's har. Not as I keer for Mr. Lively's old hickory-stick, 
 becase thar's plenty o' hickories in the woods ; but, Philip, it mout 
 git you into dif-ficulties ; and ef it was to do that, I should jest feel 
 like I ought to take the responsibility, and I should do it. So let's 
 keep still. I haint told nobody but you and Mr. Jones ; and he ar a 
 man of mighty few words anyhow, and he aint goin to talk. So less 
 let the old man go, and not interrupt him, and wish him much joy of 
 his young wife. Poor Cousin Malviny ! But she look peen as ever. 
 I see her yistiday, and she look peert as ever. But wimming's wim- 
 ming, Philip, and you can't alter 'em." 
 
I 
 
RARE BOOK 
 COLLECTION 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT 
 
 CHAPEL HILL 
 
 Wilmer 
 621